A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my receiving any
accounts of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I felt so much
soreness on the subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it
from my thoughts. At length chance took me into that part of the
country, and I could not refrain from making some inquiries.
I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self-willed, and
clownish. His ignorance and clownishness had prevented his
mingling with the neighboring gentry. In spite of his great
fortune he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the hand
of the daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk into the
limits of such society as a mere man of wealth can gather in a
country neighborhood.
He kept horses and hounds and a roaring table, at which were
collected the loose livers of the country round, and the shabby
gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could get no
other company he would smoke and drink with his own servants, who
in their turns fleeced and despised him. Still, with all this
apparent prodigality, he had a leaven of the old man in him,
which showed that he was his true-born son. He lived far within
his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious on many
points on which a gentleman would be extravagant. His house
servants were obliged occasionally to work on the estate, and
part of the pleasure grounds were ploughed up and devoted to
husbandry.
His table, though plentiful, was coarse; his liquors strong and
bad; and more ale and whiskey were expended in his establishment
than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at his own table,
and exacted a rich man’s homage from his vulgar and obsequious
guests.
As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient of
the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quarrelled
with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man had
retired to a neighboring village where he lived on the legacy of
his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out
of it as a rat out of his hole in daylight.
The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinctive attachment
to his mother. She resided with him; but, from long habit, she
acted more as servant than as mistress of the mansion; for she
toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was oftener in the
kitchen than the parlor. Such was the information which I
collected of my rival cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me
out of all my expectations.
I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this scene
of my boyhood; and to get a peep at the odd kind of life that was
passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I determined
to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never seen enough of me
to be very familiar with my countenance, and a few years make
great difference between youth and manhood. I understood he was a
breeder of cattle and proud of his stock. I dressed myself,
therefore, as a substantial farmer, and with the assistance of a
red scratch that came low down on my forehead, made a complete
change in my physiognomy.
It was past three o’clock when I arrived at the gate of the park,
and Was admitted by an old woman, who was washing in a
dilapidated building which had once been a porter’s lodge. I
advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, many of the trees of
which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds were in
scarcely better keeping than during my uncle’s lifetime. The
grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted pruning and
clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns,
and ducks and geese swimming in the fishponds.
The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage wheels, as
my cousin received few visitors but such as came on foot or on
horseback, and never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I
was told, he had had the old family carriage drawn out from among
the dust and cobwebs of the coachhouse and furbished up, and had
drove, with his mother, to the village church to take formal
possession of the family pew; but there was such hooting and
laughing after them as they passed through the village, and such
giggling and bantering about the church door, that the pageant
had never made a reappearance.
As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out barking
at me, accompanied by the low howling, rather than barking, of
two old worn-out bloodhounds, which I recognized for the ancient
life-guards of my uncle. The house had still a neglected, random
appearance, though much altered for the better since my last
visit. Several of the windows were broken and patched up with
boards; and others had been bricked up to save taxes. I observed
smoke, however, rising from the chimneys; a phenomenon rarely
witnessed in the ancient establishment. On passing that part of
the house where the dining-room was situated, I heard the sound
of boisterous merriment; where three or four voices were talking
at once, and oaths and laughter were horribly mingled.
The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, a tall,
hard-fisted country clown, with a livery coat put over the
under-garments of a ploughman. I requested to see the master of
the house, but was told he was at dinner with some “gemmen” of
the neighborhood. I made known my business and sent in to know if
I might talk with the master about his cattle; for I felt a great
desire to have a peep at him at his orgies. Word was returned
that he was engaged with company, and could not attend to
business, but that if I would “step in and take a drink of
something, I was heartily welcome.” I accordingly entered the
hall, where whips and hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on
an oaken table, two or three clownish servants were lounging
about; everything had a look of confusion and carelessness.
The apartments through which I passed had the same air of
departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The once rich
curtains were faded and dusty; the furniture greased and
tarnished. On entering the dining-room I found a number of odd,
vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which
were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several
dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their
masters, and one was gnawing a bone under a side-table.
The master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was
greatly altered. He had grown thick-set and rather gummy, with a
fiery, foxy head of hair. There was a singular mixture of
foolishness, arrogance, and conceit in his countenance. He was
dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red
waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a
little flushed with drinking. The whole company stared at me with
a whimsical muggy look, like men whose senses were a little
obfuscated by beer rather than wine.
My cousin, (God forgive me! the appellation sticks in my throat,)
my cousin invited me with awkward civility, or, as he intended
it, condescension, to sit to the table and drink. We talked, as
usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and hard times. My
cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accustomed to talk
without contradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal,
and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, “as
every gentleman of fortune should do.” The village exciseman, who
was half asleep, could just ejaculate, “very true,” to every
thing he said.
The conversation turned upon cattle; he boasted of his breed, his
mode of managing it, and of the general management of his estate.
This unluckily drew on a history of the place and of the family.
He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I
could easily forgive. He mentioned my name, and my blood began to
boil. He described my frequent visits to my uncle when I was a
lad, and I found the varlet, even at that time, imp as he was,
had known that he was to inherit the estate.
He described the scene of my uncle’s death, and the opening of
the will, with a degree of coarse humor that I had not expected
from him, and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining in the
laugh, for I have always relished a joke, even though made at my
own expense. He went on to speak of my various pursuits; my
strolling freak, and that somewhat nettled me. At length he
talked of my parents. He ridiculed my father: I stomached even
that, though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with a
sneer—and in an instant he lay sprawling at my feet.
Here a scene of tumult succeeded. The table was nearly
overturned. Bottles, glasses, and tankards, rolled crashing and
clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of both of us
to keep us from doing farther mischief. I struggled to get loose,
for I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to strip and
fight him on the lawn. I agreed; for I felt the strength of a
giant in me, and I longed to pummel him soundly.
Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. I had a second
assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, as he advanced to
fight, said something about his generosity in showing me such
fair play, when I had made such an unprovoked attack upon him at
his own table.
“Stop there!” cried I, in a rage—“unprovoked!—know that I am John
Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory of my mother.”
The lout was suddenly struck by what I said. He drew back and
reflected for a moment.
“Nay, damn it,” said he, “that’s too much—that’s clear another
thing. I’ve a mother myself, and no one shall speak ill of her,
bad as she is.”
He paused again. Nature seemed to have a rough struggle in his
rude bosom.
“Damn it, cousin,” cried he, “I’m sorry for what I said. Thou’st
served me right in knocking me down, and I like thee the better
for it. Here’s my hand. Come and live with me, and damme but the
best room in the house, and the best horse in the stable, shall
be at thy service.”
I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of nature
breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I forgave the
fellow in a moment all his crimes of having been born in wedlock
and inheriting my estate. I shook the hand he offered me, to
convince him that I bore him no ill will; and then making my way
through the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade adieu to my uncle’s
domains forever. This is the last I have seen or heard of my
cousin, or of the domestic concerns of Doubting Castle.