“For fame, (whose journies are through ways unknown,
Traceless and swift and changeful as the wind,)
The morn and Hurgonil had much outgone,
While Truth mov’d patiently within behind.”
DAVENANT.
From Hovenden Lodge, Philip Martindale returned home; and after finding
every thing as it should be at the Abbey, and arranging with the
trusty Oliver concerning uniformity of narrative, he called upon the
old gentleman at the cottage. There he underwent a long harangue on
the folly of archery, and the silliness of Sir Andrew Featherstone,
together with a desultory dissertation on the frivolity of the age in
general. From which dissertation, it was to be inferred that old John
Martindale was the only man living who had the least idea of propriety
and wisdom of conduct.
With becoming deference and submission, the young gentleman gave his
assent to whatsoever the senior was pleased to assert. This is one
of the greatest pains of a state of dependence, that it robs a man
of the pleasure of contradicting; and it is also one of the greatest
evils of holding intercourse with dependants, that a man is thereby
deprived of the pleasure of being contradicted. These were evils which
the old and the young gentleman both felt, but the old gentleman felt
it most deeply. Contradiction was so much his element, that he could
hardly live without it; and rather than not enjoy the pleasure of it,
he would contradict himself. That must have been a man of uncommon and
high powers of mind, who could so have managed the old gentleman as to
stimulate without offending him. The Hon. Philip Martindale was not
equal to it, either from want of capacity or from lack of attention
and diligence.
When the old gentleman had finished a tolerably long harangue on fools
and follies of all descriptions, it almost occurred to him that if so
great was the number of follies, and so long was the list of fools,
there could be little else than folly in all human pursuits; and that
he himself, in his own singularity of wisdom, was something of a fool
for being so outrageously wise, when there was nobody left to keep him
in countenance. Paradoxical as it may sound, it is not far from truth
that excess of wisdom is excess of folly. The old gentleman thought so
when he said to his cousin:
“I dare say now that you think me an old fool for my pains, if you
would be honest enough to speak your mind.”
Not waiting for a reply to this very wise, though not very original
remark, Mr. Martindale continued his talk: “I am sorry, Master Philip,
you thought fit to take yourself off just at the very moment that you
were wanted. I have had a very pleasant and intelligent companion at
the cottage for the last two days, I particularly wished to introduce
him to you; I mean the young barrister, who pleaded old Richard Smith’s
cause so temperately and so successfully. I should have thought that
the company of an intelligent young man would be far more agreeable
than a set of idle gabbling chits, and an old simpleton of a baronet,
who has not an idea in the world beyond a cookery-book. But every man
to his taste.”
“I am sorry, sir,” replied Philip, “that I was not aware of your
friend’s being at Brigland. It would have given me great pleasure
to be introduced to him. He certainly conducted his cause with great
propriety, and did not take, as some persons might have done, an
opportunity of insulting me.”
“He did not conduct himself as your advocate did, Master Philip; he
did not attempt to convert a court of justice into a bear-garden, or
degrade the dignity of his profession by playing the buffoon to make
boobies laugh. Mr. Markham is a man of good sense, and I think his
conversation would have been of service to you: though he is a young
man, he is very extensively informed.”
“I have not the least doubt of it,” replied Philip; “I am only sorry
that I was so unfortunate as to be out of the way when he was here. I
shall be more fortunate I hope another time.”
That was a lie; but dependants must lie if they would not lose their
places. The Hon. Philip Martindale recollected the time when he was
under no necessity of saying the thing which was not, when he was
independent but of his profession; but then he was not called the
honourable, then he had no rank to support or dignity to keep up.
It was really mortifying and distressing to him that those very
circumstances to which he had looked with hope and pleasure, and
from which he had anticipated an accession to his happiness through
the gratification of his pride, should become the means of annoying
him so keenly where he was most susceptible. The dilemma in which
he was placed was grievously perplexing. Turn which way he would,
mortifications awaited him. There was the daughter of a retired
soap-boiler on one side; there was the son of a country shopkeeper
pestering him on the other. To go back to his profession was quite out
of the question. To marry rank and fortune too was not in the compass
of probability. Oh, how perplexing and troublesome it is that such
perpetual encroachments should be made upon persons of rank; so that
notwithstanding all the care and pains which they take to avoid it,
they are perpetually brought into contact with the commercial cast.
Most deeply did Philip Martindale feel this inconvenience, but he could
find no remedy for it. He had however one consolation, in the thought
that he was not alone in his sorrows. He was acquainted with others
who carried their heads much higher than himself, who yet suffered the
convenient degradation of commercial affinities.
“Well, well,” said the old gentleman, “I am sorry that Mr. Markham is
gone; and I fear we shall not see him again very soon.”
This was no subject of regret with the Hon. Philip Martindale; he
was glad to hear that he was not likely to be soon annoyed by an
introduction to a man of such equivocal rank as Horatio Markham.
But seeing that his opulent relative was very much pleased with
this stranger, he thought it might be agreeable if he made farther
inquiries; he therefore asked, how it happened that Mr. Markham had
made so short a visit. To his inquiries he received for answer, that
an express had arrived calling the young barrister to London, and
offering to his acceptance a highly respectable legal situation in
one of the colonies. For this information Philip was thankful; and
finding that there was no danger of being compelled to realise his
profession, he began to speak very highly of the young barrister’s
moral and intellectual qualities, and to express in still stronger
terms the sorrow he felt at not being able to have the pleasure of his
acquaintance. Cunning as old Mr. Martindale in general was, he was so
far deceived by these protestations, that he was put by them into high
good humour, both with himself and his relative; and then he went on
to talk about Richard Smith and his niece. This, however, was a topic
not altogether agreeable to Philip; but the young gentleman so far
succeeded in explaining that affair, that Mr. Martindale was ready to
accept the explanation. He then told Philip that Mr. Markham and he
had visited the cottage; and so communicative and good-humoured was the
elder Martindale, that he even repeated, as far as he could recollect,
what took place at that visit, and how he had cautioned the young
barrister not to lose his heart.
While this discourse was going on in the cottage, the town of Brigland
was agitated to its very centre by a tragical event which had occurred
at old Richard Smith’s cottage. Multitudes of idle people were running
from place to place, full of dreadful news of a murder that had been
committed in the course of the preceding night. Almost every one had
a different story to tell; and the affair lost nothing of its horror
and mystery by being transmitted from one to another. Mr. Denver,
as in duty or in habit bound, brought the tidings to Mr. Martindale
at the cottage. The story, as related by the good-humoured perpetual
curate, spoke of poor old Richard Smith as having been murdered by
the gipsies, and of his niece being carried away nobody knew where.
Upon cross-examination, however, it was elicited that Mr. Denver had
acquired his information by a very circuitous route; for he had heard
Mrs. Price and Mrs. Flint both at once telling a different version
of the same story to Mrs. Denver, who, while those two ladies were
speaking narratively, noisily, and contradictorily, was herself also
talking exclamatively and interrogatively. The ladies who communicated
the event to Mrs. Denver had received their information also from
compound sources, but both were satisfied that they had received their
intelligence from the best authority; and in order to prove that they
were both rightly informed, they both of them talked very loudly and
very rapidly.
Mr. Denver must have been a very clever man under such circumstances
to have made out any story at all; and he was a very clever man in
such matters, and very much experienced in carrying and collecting
intelligence: indeed, the mode above stated was that in which he
usually acquired his knowledge. Practice gives great facility. But it
must be acknowledged, notwithstanding all Mr. Denver’s accuracy and
dexterity, that there were in his narrative some errors. It was not
true that Richard Smith had been murdered; and it was not true that his
niece had been carried away by violence or otherwise. These were the
only two errors in the whole account. Much more however was reported,
which Mr. Denver did not relate; and that which he did not relate was
the part to which was most especially applicable that pathos of look
and exclamation with which he introduced his narrative. This part of
the story unfortunately was not true; we say unfortunately, because it
is really mortifying to the multitude when investigation and inquiry
deprive them of the richest part of a most horrible story. It was not
likely that Mr. Denver should mention this part of the report when he
saw Mr. Philip; for it was to that gentleman that it referred.
The report was, that Richard Smith had been murdered by some ruffians
who had been employed by the Hon. Philip Martindale to carry off the
niece of the poor old man. There was mention made of a fierce-looking
military man, who was to all appearance a foreigner, who had been seen
lurking about Brigland Common, and conversing with the gipsies that had
but recently made their appearance there; and one person actually saw
this foreigner enter the lane where old Smith’s cottage stood. All
this part of the tale was very properly and very considerately omitted
by Mr. Denver, who was a very candid man; and who thought that if it
were true, it would in proper time transpire; and that if Mr. Philip
had employed ruffians to carry off the young woman, he might have his
own reasons for it.
At the hearing of this very serious story, the two Martindales
expressed their horror and astonishment; and Philip immediately asked
Mr. Denver why he had not gone to the old man’s cottage, in order to
make some inquiry about the matter: to which interrogation Mr. Denver
gave no answer. The retailers of intelligence would indeed lose many
a choice and delightful story, if they were to take great pains to
investigate the matter before they talked about it.
Philip Martindale requested Mr. Denver immediately to accompany him to
the spot, that they might be assured whether or not any violence had
been used, and whether there was any necessity for the interference
of a magistrate. In their way they called on the constable, who was
frightened out of his wits at the thought of going into a house where
a man lay murdered. But the presence of Philip Martindale inspired
him with an extraordinary share of courage. As they proceeded, they
saw groups of people standing here and there, discussing with great
gravity, the mysterious affair of the old man’s cottage. They looked
with great earnestness on Mr. Martindale and his companions; and their
murmurings and whisperings grew thicker and deeper.
When at length they arrived at the cottage, they found it surrounded
by a crowd of women and children, and idle girls and boys. The women
were all talking, and the girls and boys were clambering up to the
cottage-windows, or were mounted on trees that were near, as if to
catch a glimpse of something within the cottage. At the approach of
Philip Martindale and his party, the boys and girls slunk down from
the windows; the women stayed their loud talking; the whole multitude
buzzed with low whisperings; and the faces of all were turned towards
the magistrate, who was hastily dragging the clergyman by his arm, and
was followed at a very respectful distance by the constable.
Not staying to make any inquiries, Philip Martindale hastily opened the
door of the cottage, and leading in Mr. Denver, he turned round and
urged the constable to make haste in. When he entered the apartment, he
saw presently that one part of the clergyman’s narrative was incorrect,
namely, that which referred to the murder of old Richard Smith; for
there sat the old man in life and health, but apparently in a state of
great agitation, unable to answer a word to the impatient and numerous
interrogatories of Philip Martindale and Mr. Denver. A very short
interval elapsed, before there appeared from an inner-room a person who
was likely to be able to give some rational account of the mystery.
This person was a surgeon. As soon as he heard Mr. Martindale’s voice,
he came forward to explain the affair.
“Pray, Mr. Davis,” exclaimed the magistrate, “what is the cause of all
this bustle and confusion? Mr. Denver has been informed that this poor
man was murdered. What has given rise to such a rumour?”
“I am happy to say, sir,” replied Mr. Davis, “that there has been
no life lost, though there was great danger of it; and I fear that
this poor man will suffer seriously from the agitation which he has
undergone. If you will give me leave, sir, I will tell you all the
particulars. A little better than an hour ago, just as I was preparing
to go my rounds, a boy came running almost breathless into my surgery,
imploring me to make all the haste I could up to old Richard Smith’s
cottage, for there was a man there who was so dreadfully wounded that
he was almost killed. Of course I made the best of my way here; and
when I arrived, I found the poor man sitting, as he is now, quite
speechless; and while I was endeavouring to learn from him what was
the matter, there came into the room a gentleman, who spoke like a
foreigner, and asked if I was a surgeon, and begged me to step into the
back room; there I found upon the bed one of the gipsies that have been
here for some days, just at the edge of the common. They are gone now,
all but this man. I found, sir, that this man had been severely wounded
with a pistol-ball, and that he had suffered much from loss of blood.
I immediately dressed the wound, which is by no means dangerous,
and then inquired of the foreign gentleman what was the cause of the
accident; for I could not get a single word from the man himself. It
appeared, sir, from the account which the stranger gave me, that the
gipsey had broke into the cottage in the night, or rather early in the
morning, and that he was threatening to murder this poor old man if he
would not tell where his money was. The stranger hearing a noise in the
apartment where Richard Smith slept, listened, and soon ascertained
the cause of it; fearing that the robber might have fire-arms in his
possession, he seized a pistol, and without farther thought entered the
room, and discharged it at the robber. The gentleman also informed me
that he heard the voices of persons outside the cottage, but that after
he had discharged the pistol, they retreated. He tells me that Richard
Smith, in consequence of the fright, has not been able to speak since.”
On hearing this account, Philip Martindale expressed a wish to see
the foreigner, of whom Mr. Davis had made mention; and upon his
introduction, he immediately recognised the Italian whom he had met in
London a day or two ago. The poor foreigner looked full of concern for
the hasty manner in which he had acted, and seemed to fear that he had
violated the law. He made many apologies to Philip Martindale, whom
he presently recognised as a person of some importance; but his mind
was soon set at ease, when he was informed that what he had done was
perfectly legal. He then repeated with great energy the obligations
under which he lay to his very good friend, who had so kindly assisted
him in finding his wife and child.
The next step was the committal of the wounded man for burglary; and
upon the assurance of Mr. Davis that he might be safely moved, the
commitment was accordingly made out; and the stranger, who gave his
name as Giulio Rivolta, was bound over to give evidence at the trial.
Matters being thus arranged, Philip and the clergyman returned to
give the old gentleman a more accurate version of the story than he
had before heard. Mr. Denver underwent, as was usual, a lecture from
the old gentleman, on the folly of telling stories just as he heard
them, without taking any trouble, to ascertain as he easily might in
most cases, whether those said stories were true or false. And when
the truth of the matter came to be generally known in Brigland, every
body laughed at every body for circulating, inventing, and believing
improbable tales; and all the idle, gossiping people in the town, went
about from house to house, complaining, bewailing, and lamenting, that
Brigland was the most idle, gossiping, censorious place in the world.
But still it was insinuated that there was something very mysterious in
the business, which was not yet brought to light. There was more talk
than ever concerning Richard Smith; and nobody could recollect when or
how he first came to take up his abode at Brigland.