Now I was once more on public ground. By so many anxious efforts had I
disengaged myself from the perilous precincts of private property. As
many stratagems as are usually made to enter a house had been employed
by me to get out of it. I was urged to the use of them by my fears; yet,
so far from carrying off spoil, I had escaped with the loss of an
essential part of my dress.
I had now leisure to reflect. I seated myself on the ground and reviewed
the scenes through which I had just passed. I began to think that my
industry had been misemployed. Suppose I had met the person on his first
entrance into his chamber? Was the truth so utterly wild as not to have
found credit? Since the door was locked, and there was no other avenue,
what other statement but the true one would account for my being found
there? This deportment had been worthy of an honest purpose. My betrayer
probably expected that this would be the issue of his jest. My rustic
simplicity, he might think, would suggest no more ambiguous or elaborate
expedient. He might likewise have predetermined to interfere if my
safety had been really endangered.
On the morrow the two doors of the chamber and the window below would be
found unclosed. They will suspect a design to pillage, but their
searches will terminate in nothing but in the discovery of a pair of
clumsy and dusty shoes in the closet. Now that I was safe I could not
help smiling at the picture which my fancy drew of their anxiety and
wonder. These thoughts, however, gave place to more momentous
considerations.
I could not imagine to myself a more perfect example of indigence than I
now exhibited. There was no being in the city on whose kindness I had
any claim. Money I had none, and what I then wore comprised my whole
stock of movables. I had just lost my shoes, and this loss rendered my
stockings of no use. My dignity remonstrated against a barefoot
pilgrimage, but to this, necessity now reconciled me. I threw my
stockings between the bars of a stable-window, belonging, as I thought,
to the mansion I had just left. These, together with my shoes, I left to
pay the cost of my entertainment.
I saw that the city was no place for me. The end that I had had in view,
of procuring some mechanical employment, could only be obtained by the
use of means, but what means to pursue I knew not. This night's perils
and deceptions gave me a distaste to a city life, and my ancient
occupations rose to my view enhanced by a thousand imaginary charms, I
resolved forthwith to strike into the country.
The day began now to dawn. It was Sunday, and I was desirous of eluding
observation. I was somewhat recruited by rest, though the languors of
sleeplessness oppressed me. I meant to throw myself on the first lap of
verdure I should meet, and indulge in sleep that I so much wanted. I
knew not the direction of the streets; but followed that which I first
entered from the court, trusting that, by adhering steadily to one
course, I should some time reach the fields. This street, as I
afterwards found, tended to Schuylkill, and soon extricated me from
houses. I could not cross this river without payment of toll. It was
requisite to cross it in order to reach that part of the country whither
I was desirous of going; but how should I effect my passage? I knew of
no ford, and the smallest expense exceeded my capacity. Ten thousand
guineas and a farthing were equally remote from nothing, and nothing was
the portion allotted to me.
While my mind was thus occupied, I turned up one of the streets which
tend northward. It was, for some length, uninhabited and unpaved.
Presently I reached a pavement, and a painted fence, along which a row
of poplars was planted. It bounded a garden into which a knot-hole
permitted me to pry. The enclosure was a charming green, which I saw
appended to a house of the loftiest and most stately order. It seemed
like a recent erection, had all the gloss of novelty, and exhibited, to
my unpractised eyes, the magnificence of palaces. My father's dwelling
did not equal the height of one story, and might be easily comprised in
one-fourth of those buildings which here were designed to accommodate
the menials. My heart dictated the comparison between my own condition
and that of the proprietors of this domain. How wide and how impassable
was the gulf by which we were separated! This fair inheritance had
fallen to one who, perhaps, would only abuse it to the purposes of
luxury, while I, with intentions worthy of the friend of mankind, was
doomed to wield the flail and the mattock.
I had been entirely unaccustomed to this strain of reflection. My books
had taught me the dignity and safety of the middle path, and my darling
writer abounded with encomiums on rural life. At a distance from luxury
and pomp, I viewed them, perhaps, in a just light. A nearer scrutiny
confirmed my early prepossessions; but, at the distance at which I now
stood, the lofty edifices, the splendid furniture, and the copious
accommodations of the rich excited my admiration and my envy.
I relinquished my station, and proceeded, in a heartless mood, along the
fence. I now came to the mansion itself. The principal door was entered
by a staircase of marble. I had never seen the stone of Carrara, and
wildly supposed this to have been dug from Italian quarries. The beauty
of the poplars, the coolness exhaled from the dew-besprent bricks, the
commodiousness of the seat which these steps afforded, and the
uncertainty into which I was plunged respecting my future conduct, all
combined to make me pause. I sat down on the lower step and began to
meditate.
By some transition it occurred to me that the supply of my most urgent
wants might be found in some inhabitant of this house. I needed at
present a few cents; and what were a few cents to the tenant of a
mansion like this? I had an invincible aversion to the calling of a
beggar, but I regarded with still more antipathy the vocation of a
thief; to this alternative, however, I was now reduced. I must either
steal or beg; unless, indeed, assistance could be procured under the
notion of a loan. Would a stranger refuse to lend the pittance that I
wanted? Surely not, when the urgency of my wants was explained.
I recollected other obstacles. To summon the master of the house from
his bed, perhaps, for the sake of such an application, would be
preposterous. I should be in more danger of provoking his anger than
exciting his benevolence. This request might, surely, with more
propriety be preferred to a passenger. I should, probably, meet several
before I should arrive at Schuylkill.
A servant just then appeared at the door, with bucket and brush. This
obliged me, much sooner than I intended, to decamp. With some reluctance
I rose and proceeded. This house occupied the corner of the street, and
I now turned this corner towards the country. A person, at some distance
before me, was approaching in an opposite direction.
"Why," said I, "may I not make my demand of the first man I meet? This
person exhibits tokens of ability to lend. There is nothing chilling or
austere in his demeanour."
The resolution to address this passenger was almost formed; but the
nearer he advanced my resolves grew less firm. He noticed me not till he
came within a few paces. He seemed busy in reflection; and, had not my
figure caught his eye, or had he merely bestowed a passing glance upon
me, I should not have been sufficiently courageous to have detained him.
The event, however, was widely different.
He looked at me and started. For an instant, as it were, and till he had
time to dart at me a second glance, he checked his pace. This behaviour
decided mine, and he stopped on perceiving tokens of a desire to address
him. I spoke, but my accents and air sufficiently denoted my
embarrassments:--
"I am going to solicit a favour which my situation makes of the highest
importance to me, and which I hope it will be easy for you, sir, to
grant. It is not an alms, but a loan, that I seek; a loan that I will
repay the moment I am able to do it. I am going to the country, but
have not wherewith to pay my passage over Schuylkill, or to buy a morsel
of bread. May I venture to request of you, sir, the loan of sixpence? As
I told you, it is my intention to repay it."
I delivered this address, not without some faltering, but with great
earnestness. I laid particular stress upon my intention to refund the
money. He listened with a most inquisitive air. His eye perused me from
head to foot.
After some pause, he said, in a very emphatic manner, "Why into the
country? Have you family? Kindred? Friends?"
"No," answered I, "I have neither. I go in search of the means of
subsistence. I have passed my life upon a farm, and propose to die in
the same condition."
"Whence have you come?"
"I came yesterday from the country, with a view to earn my bread in some
way, but have changed my plan and propose now to return."
"Why have you changed it? In what way are you capable of earning your
bread?"
"I hardly know," said I. "I can, as yet, manage no tool, that can be
managed in the city, but the pen. My habits have, in some small degree,
qualified me for a writer. I would willingly accept employment of that
kind."
He fixed his eyes upon the earth, and was silent for some minutes. At
length, recovering himself, he said, "Follow me to my house. Perhaps
something may be done for you. If not, I will lend you sixpence."
It may be supposed that I eagerly complied with the invitation. My
companion said no more, his air bespeaking him to be absorbed by his own
thoughts, till he reached his house, which proved to be that at the door
of which I had been seated. We entered a parlour together.
Unless you can assume my ignorance and my simplicity, you will be unable
to conceive the impressions that were made by the size and ornaments of
this apartment. I shall omit these impressions, which, indeed, no
description could adequately convey, and dwell on incidents of greater
moment. He asked me to give him a specimen of my penmanship. I told you
that I had bestowed very great attention upon this art. Implements were
brought, and I sat down to the task. By some inexplicable connection a
line in Shakspeare occurred to me, and I wrote,--
"My poverty, but not my will, consents."
The sentiment conveyed in this line powerfully affected him, but in a
way which I could not then comprehend. I collected from subsequent
events that the inference was not unfavourable to my understanding or my
morals. He questioned me as to my history. I related my origin and my
inducements to desert my father's house. With respect to last night's
adventures I was silent. I saw no useful purpose that could be answered
by disclosure, and I half suspected that my companion would refuse
credit to my tale.
There were frequent intervals of abstraction and reflection between his
questions. My examination lasted not much less than an hour. At length
he said, "I want an amanuensis or copyist. On what terms will you live
with me?"
I answered that I knew not how to estimate the value of my services. I
knew not whether these services were agreeable or healthful. My life had
hitherto been active. My constitution was predisposed to diseases of the
lungs, and the change might be hurtful. I was willing, however, to try
and to content myself for a month or a year, with so much as would
furnish me with food, clothing, and lodging.
"'Tis well," said he. "You remain with me as long and no longer than
both of us please. You shall lodge and eat in this house. I will supply
you with clothing, and your task will be to write what I dictate. Your
person, I see, has not shared much of your attention. It is in my power
to equip you instantly in the manner which becomes a resident in this
house. Come with me."
He led the way into the court behind and thence into a neat building,
which contained large wooden vessels and a pump: "There," said he, "you
may wash yourself; and, when that is done, I will conduct you to your
chamber and your wardrobe."
This was speedily performed, and he accordingly led the way to the
chamber. It was an apartment in the third story, finished and furnished
in the same costly and superb style with the rest of the house. He
opened closets and drawers which overflowed with clothes and linen of
all and of the best kinds. "These are yours," said he, "as long as you
stay with me. Dress yourself as likes you best. Here is every thing your
nakedness requires. When dressed, you may descend to breakfast." With
these words he left me.
The clothes were all in the French style, as I afterwards, by comparing
my garb with that of others, discovered. They were fitted to my shape
with the nicest precision. I bedecked myself with all my care. I
remembered the style of dress used by my beloved Clavering. My locks
were of shining auburn, flowing and smooth like his. Having wrung the
wet from them, and combed, I tied them carelessly in a black riband.
Thus equipped, I surveyed myself in a mirror.
You may imagine, if you can, the sensations which this instantaneous
transformation produced. Appearances are wonderfully influenced by
dress. Check shirt, buttoned at the neck, an awkward fustian coat, check
trowsers and bare feet, were now supplanted by linen and muslin, nankeen
coat striped with green, a white silk waistcoat elegantly
needle-wrought, cassimere pantaloons, stockings of variegated silk, and
shoes that in their softness, pliancy, and polished surface vied with
satin. I could scarcely forbear looking back to see whether the image in
the glass, so well proportioned, so gallant, and so graceful, did not
belong to another. I could scarcely recognise any lineaments of my own.
I walked to the window. "Twenty minutes ago," said I, "I was traversing
that path a barefoot beggar; now I am thus." Again I surveyed myself.
"Surely some insanity has fastened on my understanding. My senses are
the sport of dreams. Some magic that disdains the cumbrousness of
nature's progress has wrought this change." I was roused from these
doubts by a summons to breakfast, obsequiously delivered by a black
servant.
I found Welbeck (for I shall henceforth call him by his true name) at
the breakfast-table. A superb equipage of silver and china was before
him. He was startled at my entrance. The change in my dress seemed for a
moment to have deceived him. His eye was frequently fixed upon me with
unusual steadfastness. At these times there was inquietude and wonder in
his features.
I had now an opportunity of examining my host. There was nicety but no
ornament in his dress. His form was of the middle height, spare, but
vigorous and graceful. His face was cast, I thought, in a foreign mould.
His forehead receded beyond the usual degree in visages which I had
seen. His eyes large and prominent, but imparting no marks of benignity
and habitual joy. The rest of his face forcibly suggested the idea of a
convex edge. His whole figure impressed me with emotions of veneration
and awe. A gravity that almost amounted to sadness invariably attended
him when we were alone together.
He whispered the servant that waited, who immediately retired. He then
said, turning to me, "A lady will enter presently, whom you are to treat
with the respect due to my daughter. You must not notice any emotion she
may betray at the sight of you, nor expect her to converse with you; for
she does not understand your language." He had scarcely spoken when she
entered. I was seized with certain misgivings and flutterings which a
clownish education may account for. I so far conquered my timidity,
however, as to snatch a look at her. I was not born to execute her
portrait. Perhaps the turban that wreathed her head, the brilliant
texture and inimitable folds of her drapery, and nymphlike port, more
than the essential attributes of her person, gave splendour to the
celestial vision. Perhaps it was her snowy hues, and the cast rather
than the position of her features, that were so prolific of enchantment;
or perhaps the wonder originated only in my own ignorance.
She did not immediately notice me. When she did she almost shrieked with
surprise. She held up her hands, and, gazing upon me, uttered various
exclamations which I could not understand. I could only remark that her
accents were thrillingly musical. Her perturbations refused to be
stilled. It was with difficulty that she withdrew her regards from me.
Much conversation passed between her and Welbeck, but I could comprehend
no part of it. I was at liberty to animadvert on the visible part of
their intercourse. I diverted some part of my attention from my own
embarrassments, and fixed it on their looks.
In this art, as in most others, I was an unpractised simpleton. In the
countenance of Welbeck, there was somewhat else than sympathy with the
astonishment and distress of the lady; but I could not interpret these
additional tokens. When her attention was engrossed by Welbeck, her eyes
were frequently vagrant or downcast; her cheeks contracted a deeper hue;
and her breathing was almost prolonged into a sigh. These were marks on
which I made no comments at the time. My own situation was calculated to
breed confusion in my thoughts and awkwardness in my gestures. Breakfast
being finished, the lady, apparently at the request of Welbeck, sat down
to a piano-forte.
Here again I must be silent. I was not wholly destitute of musical
practice and musical taste. I had that degree of knowledge which enabled
me to estimate the transcendent skill of this performer. As if the
pathos of her touch were insufficient, I found after some time that the
lawless jarrings of the keys were chastened by her own more liquid
notes. She played without a book, and, though her bass might be
preconcerted, it was plain that her right-hand notes were momentary and
spontaneous inspirations. Meanwhile Welbeck stood, leaning his arms on
the back of a chair near her, with his eyes fixed on her face. His
features were fraught with a meaning which I was eager to interpret, but
unable.
I have read of transitions effected by magic; I have read of palaces and
deserts which were subject to the dominion of spells; poets may sport
with their power, but I am certain that no transition was ever conceived
more marvellous and more beyond the reach of foresight than that which I
had just experienced. Heaths vexed by a midnight storm may be changed
into a hall of choral nymphs and regal banqueting; forest glades may
give sudden place to colonnades and carnivals; but he whose senses are
deluded finds himself still on his natal earth. These miracles are
contemptible when compared with that which placed me under this roof and
gave me to partake in this audience. I know that my emotions are in
danger of being regarded as ludicrous by those who cannot figure to
themselves the consequences of a limited and rustic education.