There were grand rejoicings in Duplex Street when Jared obtained
official announcement, under the hand and seal of Mr Timson the
tea-dealer, of his appointment to the post of organist of St Runwald's,
with a salary of fifty pounds a year. To be sure, it was settled
before; but Mrs Jared said they might run back, and, after the many
disappointments they had had during their married life, it was dangerous
to reckon on too much. But now that there was an official appointment
in Mr Timson's round, neat calligraphy, she had no words to say, save
those of thankfulness.
Proud! Ay, he was proud, was Jared, for that was an organ to be proud
of. It was none of your grand new instruments, full of stops bearing a
score of unaccountable names, miserably naked, skeleton-looking affairs,
like a conglomeration of Pandean pipes grown out of knowledge, and too
big for the society of their old friend the big drum--beggarly painted
things, with pipes in blue and red and white, after the fashion of
peppermint sticks of the good old times. Why, I hardly believe that
Jared, unless prompted thereto by the wolf Poverty, would have struck
one of his mighty chords upon them.
But there would have been nothing surprising in Jared's refusal, since
the instrument now placed under his charge was a noble organ in a dark
wood case, one which grew richer of tone year by year, while the carved
fruit and flowers that clustered around pipes, reflector, music-stand--
in fact, wherever a scrap of carving could be placed--were worthy of
inspection, without taking into account the shiny Ethiopie cherubs that
perched upon their chins, and spread their wings at every available
corner.
No; Jared's was no common organ, as would be declared by any one who had
seen the great pipes towering up into the gloom of the roof, and their
gilding shedding a rich sunset hue into the farthest corners of the old
church. People came miles to hear that organ as soon as Jared became
its ruling spirit, and Mrs Nimmer grew hot on Sunday mornings in her
endeavours to find sittings for the strangers who flocked in. But the
old vicar, the Rev. John Grey, used to chuckle, and think that all was
due to his sermons, and wonder whether there could ever be a second St
Chrysostom, the golden-mouthed.
Purkis, the beadle, used to wink--that is to say, he would draw a heavy
lid over one of his lobster eyes--and say, "I know!" For Jared, in
spite of his poverty and large family, had commenced his musical reign
by a "donus" of three half-crowns to the beadle, who would boast that he
(the beadle) could give people a better service than they could get in
any other church in London; and "as to the orgin, why they'd better come
and see, that's all."
And truly it seemed that Jared could make that instrument thrill beneath
his touch, till every passion of the human heart had its representative
amongst those notes. You might hear it sob, and wail, and moan in the
most piteous manner, whisper and die away in sweet sighing melodies
amongst the old pillars, or far up in the carven corners of the chancel,
where the notes made the glass to tremble in the lead as they seemed
striving to pass through the painted windows. Hear it thunder too, like
a young earthquake, and rage, and roar, and growl, till the very pew
doors rattled and chattered; and however thick and soft your cushion,
you could feel the deep-toned diapasons shuddering up and down your
spine. There were love sighs, joy, rage, contending armies, the warring
elements, with the rolling billow and crashing thunder, all to be heard
from those organ-pipes when Jared Pellet touched the keys; and matters
grew to such a pitch, that, partly out of pity for Ichabod Gunnis, and
partly because people would not be played out, Mr Timson limited Jared's
voluntaries to a duration of ten minutes.
Mr Purkis's dinner grew cold; but he did not mind it, for he loved
music, and would sit with mouth open and eyes upturned, swallowing the
sweet sounds which floated in the air; but Mrs Nimmer, who was not
musical, and who, alternately with Mr Purkis, locked up the church, did
mind. Hints were of no use; the people would stop, while Ichabod Gunnis
heartily wished that he might do the same, for it was a close and
confined space where he laboured at the handle of his wind pump, until
Jared's afflatus had been dispersed.
Mr Timson stopped all this with his ten minutes' law--ample time as he
said; and as Jared Pellet never thought of opposing anybody, the
voluntaries were reluctantly brought to an end. For Jared's behaviour
at the competition was but a sample of his future proceedings, and when
once he began to play, and the organ was in full burst, there was no
Jared there, only his body see-sawing from side to side, with shoeless
feet working at the pedals, and fingers, bony almost as the keys
themselves, nimbly running from flat to natural and sharp, and back
again. Jared was not there, he was in the spirit soaring far away upon
musical pinions, and in another state of existence, wherein he was freed
from the cares and troubles of this life, and felt them only indirectly,
as they affected others with whom he seemed to weep or smile, as the
character of the music was grave or gay.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jared Pellet had just finished a morning practice, for he had had to
work hard to reduce his wild, semi-extemporised style to the
requirements of a regular choir. He had pushed in the last stop, and
left his long stool, closing the organ with a sigh, before opening the
locker in his seat and depositing therein his book and manuscript. He
had drawn the red curtains along the rod when he had entered, and on
leaving drew them back again, so that he stood confessed before Ichabod
Gunnis; and for a stranger to see Jared Pellet stand confessed after one
of his ethereal musical flights, was like taking him from the seventh
heaven and putting him under the pump. It was worse than going right
into fairyland at the back of the stage on pantomime night, and staring
dismayed at the dauby paint, canvas, and confusion.
Ichabod and the organist stood face to face, and whatever the failings
of the latter, the former was no pattern of personal beauty; for as to
his appearance, he had been rightly named, had there ever been any glory
to depart; but the sole reason for the boy bearing his quaint cognomen
was, that at the workhouse where he received his early gruel, the
authorities had worn out the twelve patriarchs and the twelve apostles,
while the number of Abels, Davids, Solomons, and Jonathans who had left
their walls was something startling, so they had tried Ichabod for a
change, the Gunnis being an after addition.
Ichabod's leather garments have already been delicately hinted at, but
it has not been said that they badly fitted his fourteen year old limbs,
neither have his blue bob-tail coat and his vest, ornamented with pewter
buttons, been mentioned--buttons bearing a large capital "G." There was
no star of merit upon the left breast of Ichabod, but a pewter plate was
stitched on, close to his heart, to keep him from being smitten by the
pity of those who saw his absurd garments, and also to act as a label,
and to show that he was number fifty-five in the list of scholars
belonging to that most excellent gift of charity--Gunnis's, which, every
one who knows London will tell you, is a school where so many boys are
educated, and made moral scarecrows; and Ichabod being a "fondling"--as
he was called by the workhouse nurse--was entered at last, to the
freedom of his parish, already overburdened, and became one of Gunnis's
boys.
"Six o'clock, Ichabod," said Jared, "and don't be late."
"No, sir," said 'Bod, as he was familiarly termed; and then he began to
spin his muffin cap by the tuft of coloured wool on the top.
"Don't do that, my boy, or you'll pull off the tassel," said Jared, as
he prepared to descend the stairs, while the young gentleman addressed,
evidently perceiving how disfigured his worsted cap would be without its
red tuft, tossed it high in the air, to nimbly catch it again upon his
head, though rather too far over his eyes for comfort in wearing. Then
listening to the descending footsteps, he threw off his coat, and went
down upon the boards in a sitting posture, but not of the common kind;
for, though one leg was down in a normal position, the other was
stretched out far behind, so that it appeared as if the joint had been
reversed.
Up again; and now one leg was thrust over his head, to the great danger
of his leather pants; then the other leg was tucked over, and the boy
down prostrate upon his chest, so that he wore the appearance of a
dislocated frog, though his countenance beamed with satisfaction.
"Ichabod!" cried Jared from below.
"Comin', sir," shouted the boy, trying hard to untie himself, but in
vain, although, after a couple more calls, he could hear the reascending
steps of his employer. He twisted, he turned, he struggled, but he was
like a mouse in a wire-trap; it was easy to get into his present state,
but extrication seemed impossible.
Higher came the steps, and the boy struggled more violently than ever to
free himself, till, just as Jared reached the door of the organ loft,
the unpractised tumbler rolled over upon his back and stared with
upturned eyes over his forehead at the organist.
"Why, bless my soul!" exclaimed Jared, "what a dreadful contortion. The
boy must be in a fit."
"No, I ain't," blubbered 'Bod. "I'm only stuck."
"Stuck!" exclaimed Jared.
"Yes, stuck," whimpered the boy. "Can't get my legs back 'cause I've
got shoes on."
"Stuck--shoes on," repeated Jared, in a puzzled way.
"Yes, sir," wept 'Bod, "and if you'll pull down one, I can do t'other
myself."
Jared stared at the imp for a few moments as if he took him for a sort
of human treble clef, then seizing the uppermost leg, he set it at
liberty, and the boy reduced himself to ordinary proportions, standing
erect, with one arm raised ready to ward off the expected blow.
"How dare you play such tricks as that in the church, sir?" cried Jared.
"Suppose that you had become fixed--what then?"
Ichabod evidently did not know "what then," so he did not say; but
snivelled and rubbed one eye with the cuff of the coat he was about to
put on.
"There, go on down first," said Jared, smiling grimly to himself, "and
mind and be punctual; there's a good boy."
The good boy, now that the danger was past, went down grinning, and
darted out of the porch, forgetting in less than five minutes all that
had been said to him about the practice.
Jared's must have been a more than usually patient disposition; for the
same evening he arrived at the church at the appointed hour to find that
Ichabod had not come, nor did he make his appearance when his master had
opened the organ, and seated himself to wait while gazing dreamily in
the old reflector before him.
Not the first time this, that Ichabod had failed; but Jared Pellet had
spent the whole of his life accommodating himself to circumstances; and
now, as had often before been his wont, he gave unbounded freedom to his
thoughts. The mirror before him was dim, for the night was closing in,
and besides, the old church was always in a state of twilight from the
stained glass windows; but as he looked he could just distinguish the
pulpit, dimly shadowed forth, and the screen before the chancel. Soon
these seemed to fade from the reflector, and Jared was gazing upon the
scenes of his early life--scenes now bright, now shadowed--which passed
rapidly before him as if actually mirrored in the glass;--the day that
his brother and he were left orphans; their school days, when he was
always fag and slave; scene after scene, scene after scene. That mirror
had grown to be Jared's opium--his one indulgence, and, seated alone in
the dark church, he had gone on dreaming of the past, and building up
fancies of the future, until a habit was formed that it was not easy to
shake off.
There was a strange life history to be read in that reflector, as Jared
dreamed on, recalling his first severe illness, and its following
weakness, for many months solaced by the attentions of the usher's
little girl, whose father had taken charge of him when he was removed
from school. Here it was that he had laid the foundation of his dreamy
future, as he read aloud to his fair little companion. This had been a
pleasant oasis in his life journey, in spite of long weary months of
suffering, during which he never left his reclining position, succeeded
by a long sojourn in a London hospital, and all from an unlucky blow
given by his tyrant brother.
Many dreams had Jared in that old church: of early manhood, and years
passed as usher in his old school, while his brother was prospering in
town; his love for his old playmate, Lizzie, and the bar of prudence
which stayed their marriage; the failure of the school, and his efforts
to gain a living by teaching music, eking out his income by the trifling
salary he obtained as organist of the little town church--an
accomplishment taught by love, for Lizzie Willis had been his
instructress, and now gave up the duty in his favour.
At such an hour as this, back too would float the times when he had
leaned against one of the old pews listening while she played some grand
old tune.
Floating before him always, scene after scene: his application to his
brother for help when he first reached London in search of a more
lucrative post; the refusal; and the subsequent rage of Richard when he
found that Jared, the despised, had married the woman who had but a
short time before rejected him, Richard, the prosperous. Then his
coming up to London with his wife, and their happiness together, even
though, on the second day after their arrival, the bankruptcy of a firm
threw Jared out of the employment he had gained.
He recalled, too, his despondency over the disappointment, and then his
determination to fight it out; how, struggling on, he had obtained a
tuning job here, and some repairing there; now taught a little, and now
obtained a commission to purchase some instrument; and one way and
another obtained a living, in spite of the way in which Mrs Jared seemed
to look upon him as a sort of human camel, adding to his burden year
after year with the greatest of punctuality; and still his back was not
broken, though twins, as he often told his wife, must have been fatal.
Volume 1, Chapter VI.