"Here is a true, correct, and particular account, of the noblemen,
gentlemen, and yeomen's horses, that is to run this day over the course
of Musselburgh, with the names, weights, and liveries of the riders, and
the same of the horses themselves!"
Such were the cries that saluted me, as next day I rode up to the
race-course of Musselburgh. I purchased a card, which, among other
entries, contained the following:--
EDINBURGH SQUADRON CUP, 12 STONE.
Mr A. CHAFFINCH'S br. g. GROGGYBOY--_Green and White Cap_.
Mr RANDOLPH ns. b. g. CAPSICUM--_Geranium and French Grey_.
Mr M'WHIRTER'S bl. g. MASANIELLO--_Peach-blossom and Scarlet_.
Mr HARGATE ns. ch. m. LOUPOWERHER--_Fawn and Black Cap_.
Mr POUNSET'S b. m. MISS FROLIC--_Orange and Blue_.
Mr SHAKERLEY ns. b. g. SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION--_White body
and Liver-coloured Sleeves_.
I made my way to the stand. Miss Bogle and Mary Muggerland were there,
but so also was the eternal Roper.
"Ah, M'Whirter!" said the latter. "How do you feel yourself this
morning? None the worse of your tumble yesterday, I hope? Mere accident,
you know. Spiwited cweature Masaniello, it must be confessed. 'Gad, if
you can make him go the pace as well to-day, you'll distance the whole
of the rest of them."
"Oh, Mr M'Whirter! I'm _so_ glad to see you!" said Edith. "How funny you
looked yesterday when you were running away! Do you know that I waved my
handkerchief to you as you passed, but you were not polite enough to
take any notice?"
"Indeed, Miss Bogle, I had something else to think of at that particular
moment."
"You were _not_ thinking about me, then?" said Edith. "Well, I can't
call that a very gallant speech."
"I'll lay an even bet," said Roper, "that you were thinking more about
the surgeon."
"Were you ever wounded, Mr Roper?" said I.
"Once--in the heart, and incurably," replied the coxcomb, with a glance
at Edith.
"Pshaw! because, if you had been, you would scarce have ventured to
select the surgeon as the subject of a joke. But I forgot. These are
times of peace."
"When men of peace become soldiers," retorted Roper.
"I declare you are very silly!" cried Edith; "and I have a good mind to
send both of you away."
"Death rather than banishment!" said Roper.
"Well, then, do be quiet! I take _such_ an interest in your race, Mr
M'Whirter. Do you know I have two pairs of gloves upon it? So you must
absolutely contrive to win. By the way, what are your colours?"
"Peach-blossom and scarlet."
"How very gallant! I take it quite as a compliment to myself."
"M'Whirter! you're wanted," cried a voice from below.
"Bless me! I suppose it is time for saddling. Farewell, Edith--farewell,
Mary! I shall win if I possibly can."
"Good-by!" said Roper. "Stick on tightly and screw him up, and there's
no fear of Masaniello."
"Where the deuce have you been, M'Whirter?" said Randolph. "Get into the
scales as fast as you can. You've been keeping the whole of us waiting."
"I'll back Masaniello against the field at two to one," said Anthony
Whaup.
"Done with you, in ponies," said Patsey Chaffinch, who was assisting his
brother from the scales.
"Do you feel nervous, M'Whirter?" asked Hosier, a friend who was backing
me rather heavily. "You look a little white in the face."
"To tell you the truth--I do."
"That's awkward. Had you not better take a glass of brandy?"
"Not a bad idea;" and I took it.
"That's right. Now canter him about a little, and you'll soon get used
to it."
I shall carefully avoid having any future occasion to make use of my
dear-bought experience. I felt remarkably sheepish as I rode out upon
the course, and heard the observations of the crowd.
"And wha's yon in the saumon-coloured jacket?"
"It'll be him they ca' Chaffinch."
"Na, man--yon chield wad make twa o' Chaffinch. He's but a feather-wecht
o' a cratur."
"Wow, Jess! but that's a bonnie horse!"
"Bonnier than the man that's on it, ony how."
"Think ye that's the beast they ca' Masonyellow?"
"I'm thinkin' sae. That man can ride nane. He's nae grupp wi' his
thees."
These were the kind of remarks that met my ears as I paced along, nor,
as I must confess, was I particularly elated thereby. Pounset now rode
up.
"Well, M'Whirter, we are to have another sort of race to-day. I half
fear, from the specimen I have seen of Masaniello, that my little mare
runs a poor chance; but Chaffinch will give you work for it--Groggyboy
was a crack horse in his day. But come, there goes the bell, and we are
wanted at the starting-post."
The remainder of my story is short.
"Ready, gentlemen?--Off!" and away we went, Spontaneous Combustion
leading, Miss Frolic and Groggyboy next, Randolph and myself following,
and Hargate bringing up the rear on Loupowerher, who never had a chance.
After the first few seconds, when all was mist before my eyes, I felt
considerably easier. Masaniello was striding out vigorously, and I
warmed insensibly to the work. The pace became terrific. Spon. Bus.
gradually gave way, and Groggyboy took the lead. I saw nothing more of
Randolph. On we went around the race-course like a crowd of motley
demoniacs, whipping, spurring, and working at our reins as if thereby we
were assisting our progression. I was resolved to conquer or to die.
Round we came in sight of the assembled multitude. I could even hear
their excited cries in the distance. Masaniello was now running neck and
neck with Groggyboy--Miss Frolic half-a-length before!
And now we neared the stand. I thought I could see the white fluttering
of Edith's handkerchief--I clenched my teeth, grasped my whip, and
lashed vigorously at Masaniello. In a moment more I should have been
ahead--but there was a crash, and then oblivion.
Evil was the mother that whelped that cur of a butcher's dog! He ran
right in before Masaniello, and horse and man were hurled with awful
violence to the ground. I forgive Masaniello. Poor brute! his leg was
broken, and they had to shoot him on the course. He was my first and
last charger.
As for myself, I was picked up insensible, and conveyed home upon a
shutter, thereby fulfilling to the letter the ominous prophecies of
Nelly, who cried the coronach over me. Two of my ribs were fractured,
and for three weeks I was confined to bed with a delirious fever.
"What noise is that below stairs, Nelly?" asked I on the second morning
of my convalescence.
"'Deed, Maister George, I'm thinking it's just the servant lass chappin'
coals wi' yer swurd."
"Serve it right. And what parcel is that on the table?"
"I dinna ken: it came in yestreen."
"Give it me."
"Heaven and earth! Wedding-cake and cards! MR AND MRS ROPER!"
DEVEREUX HALL.
BY MRS SOUTHEY.
[_MAGA._ OCTOBER 1832.]
CHAPTER I.
"Do you remember that pretty cottage we passed in our ride round
Silvermead, last Tuesday?" inquired my friend L----, some days ago, as
we were mounting our horses for an equestrian lounge. "We were pressed
for time that evening, or I should have liked to show you the interior
of the little dwelling, and to have introduced you to its worthy humble
owners, who are old friends of mine, and not the least respected on my
list. What say you, shall we take the 'Peasant's Nest' in our round
to-day?" The proposal met my willing acquiescence, and an hour's quiet
amble through a richly wooded and beautifully diversified part of the
country brought us to a short straight lane, half-embowered by luxuriant
hedges on either side, and (except a half-worn cart-track) carpeted with
the greenest and softest turf, which terminated in a gateway to a small
meadow, and in a low green wicket in the centre of a sweet-brier hedge;
behind which, and two intervening flower-knots on either side the neat
gravel-walk, stood the little dwelling which had attracted my attention
on a former day by its air of peculiar neatness and comfort, and even
rustic elegance. Its thatched roof (a masterpiece of rural art) had
just acquired the rich mellowness of tone which precedes the duller
hue of decay, and when the last rays of a golden sunset touched it
in flickering patches through the dark foliage of overhanging elms,
it harmonised, and almost blended in brilliancy of colour, with
the brightest blossoms of the buddlea, which, overtopping its
fellow-trailers, seemed aspiring to meet and dally with the sunbeams,
and almost to rival them with its topaz stars.
Moss-roses were budding round each of the wide low casements on either
side the door, over which a slight arch of rustic trellis-work supported
a mass of rich dark foliage, soon to be starred with the pale odorous
flowers so typical of virgin purity; and far along the low-projecting
eaves on one side of the cottage, ran the flexile stems and deep verdure
of the beautiful luxuriant plant, till it reached and formed a bowery
pent-house over a long open lattice, through the wire-work of which
brown glazed pans were discernible, half-filled with rich creaming milk,
and pats of neatly printed butter--yellow as the flower which gilds our
summer meadows--ranged with dairy-woman's pride on the wet slab of
whitest deal.
The master of the cottage--a respectable-looking old man--was so
intently occupied in tying up some choice pheasant-eyed pinks in one of
the flower-knots, that he had not heard the quiet pacing of our steeds
down the green bowery lane, and was only roused from his floral labours
by the salutation of my friend, as we dismounted before the low
wicket-gate, and, hooking our bridles to its side-posts, prepared to
enter the little territory. Starting from his flower-bed, the old man,
at sight of us, respectfully uncovered his grey head, and came forward
as quickly as was compatible with the state of limbs crippled by
rheumatic gout, to admit and welcome his visitors with something beyond
rustic courtesy.
"Ah, Hallings!" said my friend, cordially shaking hands with his humble
acquaintance, whose countenance brightened with pleasure at the kind
greeting--"here you are at your favourite work; no wonder your garden is
celebrated for the most beautiful flowers in the neighbourhood, for you
and Celia tend them, I verily believe, night and day; and as for those
pinks--which are, I know, the pride of your heart--you may rest content,
for they are the pride of the country. Remember, Mrs L---- has your
promise of a few slips at the proper season."
"Be pleased to look, sir at these few plants I have made free to pot
for Mrs L----," answered the venerable Hallings, with a glance of
conscious pleasure, not unmingled with pride, as he directed my friend's
attention to some perfect specimens of the choice flowers in question:
"I will send them down to the lady to-morrow morning by my brother's
cart, and Celia and I shall be proud to think madam will accept them,
and set some store, may be, on our poor offering, for the remembrance of
old times, and the sake of those who are gone. You may remember, sir,
how our dear lady prized this particular sort?"
"Well do I remember it, and those old times you allude to, my good
Hallings. Methinks at this moment I can see your worthy venerable
master, and his faithful companion and friend, the dear sister of whom
you speak;--he, with one of these, her choice flowers, in his
button-hole when he came into the drawing-room dressed for dinner, and
she often assisted to her seat during her slight attacks of gout by Mrs
Hallings, her faithful Celia. I believe, Hallings, Mrs Eleanor used to
send her brother a daily present, for his afternoon toilet, of one of
these rare beauties--was it not so?" asked my friend, with a smile; the
good-humoured archness of which soon, however, changed to a more serious
expression, as he observed that the old man's voice faltered in his
attempted reply, and that he hastily drew his sleeve across his eyes, to
disperse the watery film which had gathered over them while Mr L----
was speaking.
"But come, Hallings," said the latter, quickly changing the subject that
had struck painfully on a too sensitive chord in the old man's heart--"I
am come not only to visit you and your flowers, but my old friend,
Celia; and I have promised, in her name, a frothing glass of red cow's
milk, fresh from the pail, to this gentleman, Mr Hervey, who complained
of thirst in our way hither."
Recovering from his momentary emotion, the master of the cottage threw
open its latched door, and respectfully made way for us to enter the
little carpeted parlour, where his well-assorted partner (my friend's
friend, Celia) sat smoothing her apron, in expectation of the visitors,
the sound of whose voices had reached her through the open casement.
The comely dame who rose up at our entrance, and dropt to each a curtsy
that would not have dishonoured the patrician graces of her revered lady
and prototype, the late Mrs Eleanor Devereux, was still comely for her
years--"fat, fair, and sixty" and exhibiting, in her prim neatness of
person, the antiquated but becoming fashion of her dress, and her
profound respectfulness, untinctured by anything like cringing servility
to those she considered her superiors, no unfavourable specimen of
the housekeeper and waiting-woman of former days--of a class now
almost extinct, as the times in which it flourished are accounted
obsolete--when better feelings, and more Christian principles than those
which loosely huddle up our modern mercenary compacts, based and
cemented the mutual obligations of masters and servants, of the great
and their dependants--when there was dignity in the humblest servitude,
and meekness in the most absolute authority--self-respect on both sides,
and the fear of God above all.
The cottage parlour contained the unusual luxury of a sofa, from which
Mrs Hallings affected to brush, with her snowy apron, the dust that
could scarce have been perceptible to "microscopic eye," as she
courteously begged us to be seated; and her husband, as he shook up one
of the end cushions to make the corner seat, into which L---- had thrown
himself, more commodious, said, smiling, as he addressed himself to
me,--"You may well wonder to see such a piece of furniture in a poor
man's house, sir, but my poor master had it put for me into my own room
at the Hall, when I had my first fit of the gout there, and we made
shift to buy it, and a few others of the old things that were so natural
to us, when all was sold;" and the old man's speech, that had begun
cheerfully, ended in a deep sigh.
"Ah, Hallings! I wish with all my heart more had fallen to your share of
the venerable relics that fell into far other hands at that revolting
sale," observed L----, echoing the faithful servant's sigh; "but I love
to look at those few familiar things you have saved from the unhallowed
hands of indifference. Look, Hervey," he continued, turning to me, "at
that beautiful shell-work basket on the bracket, yonder. It is the work
of that dear and venerable friend whose loss, and that of her excellent
brother, you have heard me lament so deeply and sincerely."
The object to which my attention was so directed, was a beautiful
specimen of female ingenuity, an elegantly formed corbeille of flowers,
imitated from nature, with art little less than magical, considering the
nature of the materials employed in its construction. The elegant
trifle, now the boast of a poor cottage, might have been conceited by a
fanciful gazer to have been the work of sea-nymphs, for the pearl grotto
of their queen; but a nearer inspection must have assigned it to mortal
fingers, for the name of "Eleanor Devereux" was inlaid with minute
gold-coloured shells in a dark medallion, that formed the centre of the
basket.
"That was not bought at the sale, sir," said Mrs Hallings, drawing
towards the precious relic I was inspecting, and regarding it herself
with looks of almost devotional reverence. "Be pleased to read what is
written there, sir," she added, in a voice not sufficiently steady to
have articulated the sentence to which she pointed, written apparently
with a trembling hand, in old Italian characters, on a slip of paper,
laid within the glass cover of the basket. I looked as she directed, and
read,
"The work of Eleanor Devereux.
Her last gift to her old and faithful servant, Celia Hallings."
"This is indeed a precious relic," I remarked, in a low voice, and with
not unmoistened eyes. Those of the good woman to whom I spoke were
filled to overflowing; but with that modesty of feeling which is a sure
test of its deep sincerity, she quietly drew back, and left the room, on
"hospitable cares intent," in quest of the "brimming bowl," for which my
friend had preferred our joint petition. During her absence, L----
continued to talk with his old acquaintance on the subject so deeply
interesting to both the speakers, and not a little so even to myself, a
stranger in the neighbourhood, and uninformed of more than the general
character of the deceased person of whom they discoursed with such
affectionate and melancholy sympathy. My friend had noticed in the looks
and tone of Hallings, and even in his wife's, during the few moments she
had remained with us, a troubled and sorrowful expression, far different
from the placid cheerfulness with which they had been wont to receive
him, since Time had mellowed their affliction for the loss of those they
had served with life-long fidelity; and even from the tender seriousness
of their manners, when reverting--as it was their delight to do--to the
revered memories of the departed, and the fond ones of days that were
gone.
On L----'s gently hinting his fear that some recent cause had arisen to
disturb the serenity of his worthy friends, the old man shook his head
in mournful affirmation of the implied suspicion; and, after a moment's
pause to subdue the tremor of his voice, answered,--"Oh, sir! I am
ashamed you should see how my poor wife and I are overcome by the work
which has been going on for this last fortnight, and to which almost the
finishing-stroke has been put this very day. And I, old fool that I am!
have hardly been able to keep away from the place, sir! though every
stroke of the masons seemed like a blow upon my heart, and every stone
that fell, like a drop of blood from it. And poor Celia! though she kept
at home, could hear the sounds even here. Grief has sharp ears, sir."
"Ah, is it even so, my good friend?" said L----, affected even to tears.
"I have been away from home almost this month, you know; I had not heard
what was going on. So then the old Hall is no more? I have looked my
last at its venerable walls. Would I had returned a few days earlier--in
time to have seen but one fragment standing."
"That you may do yet, sir! that you may do yet," sobbed out the old
servant, with a burst of now uncontrolled feeling; "_one_ fragment is
still standing, half of the south gable, and a part of the north side
wall,--just the corner of _one_ chamber, with the bit of flooring
hanging to it. My master's own chamber, sir, and the chair in which he
died stood in that very corner, on those crazy boards that will be down
to-morrow."
"Then, Hallings, I must go this very evening--this very moment, to take
my farewell look at all that remains--that last remaining portion so
sacred to my feelings and to yours."
So saying, L---- started from his seat just as Celia entered, followed
by her little handmaiden (an orphan relation of her husband's, the
adopted child of the worthy couple), and placed on the shining round
table a collation of dairy luxuries and fresh-gathered strawberries,
hastily arranged with a degree of simple good taste, too nearly
approaching elegance to have been acquired by one accustomed only to
provide for poor men's tables.
Our kind hostess was in no present mood "_gaily_ to press and _smile_,"
but she did press us to partake of her rustic dainties, with such
earnest yet modest importunity, that it would have been worse than
churlish to have slighted her invitation, if even my parched and thirsty
palate had not made the sight of the creaming milk-bowl, and a second of
clear whey, irresistibly tempting. While I did ample justice to the
merits of those refreshing fluids, and my friend partook more sparingly,
he endeavoured to persuade Hallings from accompanying us, as the old
man prepared to do, to a scene, the recollection of which affected him
so painfully. But the remonstrance was fruitless.
"I have not taken _my own last_ look, sir," was the touching and
unanswerable reply; "and that I was minded, please God, to take, when
all the workmen had left the place, and I could stand and look my fill
at the crumbling wall, without being distracted by their noises, or
scoffed at belike for giving way to an old man's weakness. But my
master's friend will make allowance for his old servant, and it will do
me good to go with you, sir."
We both felt that he was right; that, as he expressed it, it _would do
him good_ to take that "last look," accompanied by one who could so
fully sympathise in all his feelings, and to whom he could pour out his
full heart with the garrulous simplicity of age, and of a sorrow,
heart-seated truly, but _not_ "too deep for tears." So he was allowed to
secure our steeds in an adjoining cowshed, while we talked with Celia on
the subject that day uppermost in her thoughts also; and having
calculated with her that the nearly full moon would be up by our return,
to light us on our homeward way, we left her standing on the threshold
of the back door of her cottage, and followed her husband down the
garden path which opened into a small orchard (a portion of his little
property), and led through it to a narrow stile, over which we passed
into some beautiful meadows, appertaining, as Hallings informed me, to
the Devereux Hall estate, three of them only intervening between his own
little territory and the old mansion-house, or rather the site where it
had stood. "Ay," continued the old man, in a low under-tone, half
communing with himself, and half addressing me,--"Ay, so it is--to think
what changes I have lived to see! The Hall down in the dust before its
time, and that hard man's house raised (as one may say) upon its ruins!
Blessed be the kind master who provided for his old servants' age, and
secured to _them_ the shelter of their humble roof-tree, before
misfortune fell on his own grey hairs, and would have made him houseless
at fourscore years and upward, had he lived a few weeks longer!
But--but--God is merciful!----" The old man devoutly aspirated after the
abrupt pause, accompanied with a sort of inward shudder, which preceded
those pious words; and he spoke no more during the remainder of our
walk.
A shade of peculiar solemnity passed over my friend's countenance, as
Hallings concluded his brief soliloquy, and both of them became so
profoundly silent, sympathetically affected as it seemed by the same
shuddering recollections, that the infection partly extended itself to
me, ignorant as I was of the particular circumstances of their painful
retrospect, and the words died on my lips as I was about to inquire
Hallings' meaning in alluding to the "hard man, whose house had been
raised on the ruins of his master's." I could not for worlds have broken
into the sacredness of their silent thoughts; so, without further
interchange of words, we quietly pursued our pleasant path, till it
brought us to a boundary of thick hazel copse, across a stile, and over
a rustic bridge, which spanned a little trout-stream just glancing
between the boughs of over-arching alders, to a green door in a high
holly hedge. While Hallings stept before us to undo the temporary
fastening with which the workmen had secured it for the night, my
friend, aroused from his fit of abstraction, said, pointing to the
hedge, "I remember the time when that verdant wall, now straggling into
wild luxuriance, was as trimly kept as were those of Sayes Court, before
the barbarous sport of Evelyn's imperial guest destroyed his labour of
years. Neglect is making progress here, destructive as that royal havoc,
though more gradual."
Our venerable conductor having unfastened the door while L---- was
speaking, we passed into a square enclosure, or rather area; for though
still bounded on three sides by the noble evergreen hedge, it was open
on the fourth to a dreary site of demolished walls and heaps of rubbish,
in place of what had been the ancient mansion of the Devereuxs. The
small garden (for such it was, though now a trampled field of
desolation) had been called more especially Mr Devereux's garden. The
glass-door of his library, and its large bay-window, as well as that of
his bed-chamber above, had opened into it, and in this small secluded
but sunny and cheerful spot it was that the old man had loved best to
spend his solitary and contemplative hours.
Under the hedge on the side we had entered, had stood a range of
bee-hives, the ruins of which were still remaining, though little more
than heaps of mildewing thatch, and long deserted by the industrious
colonies, to watch whose labours had been among the innocent pleasures
of Mr Devereux; and Hallings pointed out some fragments of green
trellis-work, in the angle of the holly wall, which had formed part of
the old man's favourite arbour, where he would sit for hours with his
book, or enjoying the ceaseless humming of the bees, as they gathered in
their luscious harvest from the herbs and flowers he had collected in
that quarter of the garden for their delight and sustenance.
"And they knew my master, sir," said Hallings, turning to me, and
appealing to L---- to confirm the truth of his assertion--"They knew my
master, and, poor small creatures as they were, must have loved him too
in their way, as every living thing did; for they used to buzz all round
him as he sat there, and often pitch upon him, even upon his hands or
head, and never one was known to sting him, vengeful as they were if
strangers made too free near their hives, or among the flower-beds my
master used to call their pleasure-grounds."
"What has become of old Ralph and the tortoise, Hallings?" asked L----,
as he stopt to take a melancholy survey of the altered scene. "The
gold-fish, of course, have been long destroyed, for I see the little
basin with its small fountain is quite choked up with dead leaves and
rubbish."
"Mr Heneage Devereux took out the gold-fish, sir, the week after my
master's death," replied the old butler; "but the tortoise had buried
himself for the winter; and when he crawled out the spring afterwards,
and took to his old haunt in the basin, one would have supposed he found
out the change that had taken place, for the creature was quite
restless; and I often found him out of the water, and making his way
about the garden, as if in search of something; and for a long, long
time, old Ralph and he--for Ralph is living, sir, and you will see him
presently--he and the old raven were the only living creatures, beside
the birds, that did not desert the poor old place--except myself indeed.
I could never keep away from it a whole day together, and I used to come
here to feed old Ralph too; for it was long before we could lure him to
the cottage for his food, and now he is almost always here, and hides
himself for the most part in the great bay-tree there in the corner,
where part of the north gable is still standing."
As he spoke, we coasted leisurely along the hedge-side walk, as
carefully (though almost unconsciously) avoiding to tread the beds it
skirted, as if they were still filled with choice flowers, or fragrant
and aromatic herbs, or matted hoops, or hand-glasses guarding the rarer
or tenderer plants, bulbs, and auriculas, once (L---- observed) the
pride of that small garden. The forms of those fair flower-knots were
still discernible from their edgings of thrift, box, daisy, London
pride, now grown, however, into perfect hedges, where still untrampled,
or into ragged bushes, still indicating the once clipt line of
geometrical exactness, as each bed radiated to a centre, where lay the
little basin with its fairy fountain before alluded to. Some large stone
flower-pots, green and discoloured with damp and weather-stains, were
still standing round it in mockery of decoration. From two or three shot
up a luxuriant growth of common weeds; in one, a beautiful foxglove,
exulting as it were in plebeian pride and brilliancy over its
aristocratical neighbour in an adjoining vase, a delicate and sickly
Persian lilac, whose pensile sprays drooped languidly even under their
scanty growth of yellow leaves and pale and stunted blossoms. Here and
there, within the flower-knots, bloomed a tuft of double white
narcissus, struggling through grass and matted vegetation. Some tall
fris's, white lilies, and other hardy flowers, had also shot up into
beauty or fair promise; but the elegant moss-rose drooped to the earth,
as if in sorrow, and its half-blighted buds lay cankering on the
moss-grown path. The scene, desolate as it was, would still have been
one of beauty in decay, had the work of destruction been wrought by
"Time's defacing fingers" only; but man's more desecrating touch was too
perceptible there; and, independently of peculiar circumstances and
associations, there is a wide difference between the pleasing melancholy
which loves to meditate among ivied and moss-grown ruins, and that
painful feeling with which we contemplate the newness of untimely
desolation. It was a ghastly sight even to a stranger's eye, that of the
gaping void left along one entire side of the little garden by the
demolition of the old mansion; and the dreary effect of that blank
exposure was not a little heightened by the contrasting incongruity of
the prospect beyond, where the great gateway to what had been the
principal entrance-court stood perfectly isolated and entire. The
beautiful gate of iron open work closed between the massy side-pillars,
on each of which the lion couchant of the Devereuxs still kept watch and
ward as proudly as when that gate had unclosed in the last reign of the
Tudors to admit a royal visitant and her courtly train.
On either side, the ballustraded wall was wholly removed, so that the
eye ranged on, unimpeded but by the solitary gateway, down a triple
avenue of magnificent elms, in whose tall tops the dark people, who from
generation to generation had built there unmolested, were fast
assembling for the night; the mingled sounds of their hoarse cawing, and
the rustling of innumerable wings, adding in no slight degree to the
impressive sadness of that scene and hour.
We were now standing on the lime and brick-strewn site of what (L----
informed me) had been the Library. All around us, the vaults and
cellarage below were laid open to view through the bare rafters, from
whence the flooring and pavement had been removed; but the boards were
not yet torn up from that one small spot--so small in its unwalled
exposure, which had been so recently an apartment of noble dimensions,
furnished with the collected wisdom of successive ages! At one end it
was of those few square yards of flooring, that a part of the gable,
including a stack of chimneys, was still standing. We stood on the
hearthstone of what had been the Library fireplace; and high above us,
in the naked wall, yawned a corresponding aperture, belonging to the
upper chamber, which had been Mr Devereux's bedroom, the flooring of
which had been rent away with the side and partition walls, all but a
small portion which hung slanting from a few rafters still adhering to
the remaining corner of the end gable. The eyes of my companions seemed
drawn by sympathetic impulse towards that forlorn remnant; and, calling
to mind the words of Hallings, I was at no loss to account for the deep
and sorrowful interest with which they dwelt upon it. After a long
pause, a look of intelligence passed between them; and the old man,
first breaking silence, said, with a deep sigh,--"That is the very
place, sir! The very spot where I stood by the easy-chair in which my
dear master breathed his last, his head supported on my shoulder."
"And it was there you found him, was it not, Hallings, when"----
"Yes, sir! yes! there, in that very spot, from whence, as you see, he
could just reach the mantel-shelf, where stood"--But here the old
servant stopt abruptly, glancing towards me a look of troubled
consciousness; and L----, hastening to relieve his embarrassment, said,
"Fear nothing, good Hallings, from my friend Hervey here! He is one from
whom I have no secrets--who would feel as you and I do on the subject of
your thoughts, if he were acquainted with it. But neither you nor I must
now dwell on it longer. You have said it, Hallings--'God is merciful!' To
Him we commit the issue. And now, a long farewell to Devereux Hall!"
So saying, my friend cast round him one long leisurely survey of the
desolated spot, turning again, and lingering yet a moment on what had
been the threshold of the glass door into the Library. The short
twilight was already brightening into silvery moonlight, edging the dark
glossy leaves of the old bay-tree by the ruined gable, towards which its
tall spiral top (just agitated by a passing breeze) swayed with slow and
melancholy motion, while a shivering sound ran through the crisped
foliage and long rustling branches, like whisperings and lamentations
of good genii departing from the scene of their long-delegated
guardianship. As he gazed with these "thick-coming fancies" on the fine
old evergreens, so magnificent in sombre beauty, I was startled by the
sudden disturbance of its lower boughs, and by a sound proceeding from
them more hoarse and deep, if not more ominous, than the low unearthly
murmurs I had been listening to with such excited feelings. My
exclamation roused Hallings from the abstraction he had fallen into
while taking his farewell look at all that remained of the venerable
mansion, and, turning towards the object at which I pointed, he said,
with a sad smile, "It is my old fellow-servant, sir! the only one
besides me that haunts the place now; but it is time he should leave it
too, for even _that_ tree, my master's favourite tree, that he planted
when a child with his own hands, will be cut down to-morrow." So
saying, he gave a low whistle, and calling, "Ralph! Ralph!" the
well-known signal was acknowledged by an answering croak, and a huge
raven, hopping to the ground from his dark covert in the interior of
the bay-tree, came towards Hallings with sedate and solemn gait, and,
first eyeing the old man's countenance with a look of almost human
intelligence, perched upon his extended wrist, and suffered himself to
be borne on it as we retraced our steps toward the cottage, discoursing
(I could have fancied) by sidelong glances at his kind supporter, of the
departed glories of their master's house, and their last look at its
untimely ruins.
CHAPTER II.
Our ride home--our pleasant moonlight ride! was performed almost
in silence. My friend's thoughts were busy with sad and tender
recollections, and mine with the scene from whence we came, and the
persons and circumstances I had heard so tenderly spoken of, and
mysteriously alluded to. "I must hear more before I sleep," was my
inward soliloquy, as we reined up our steeds at the lodge gate; and
forthwith I obtained a promise from L---- that he would gratify my
curiosity before we retired for the night. My fair hostess was able
and willing to contribute her share of information on a subject not
less interesting to her than to her husband; and from their mutual
reminiscences I made out a little history of the last Devereux,
uneventful, indeed, for the most part, and not perfectly explanatory
in its latter details, but such a one as may be listened to without
impatience by the indulgent hearer, who has accompanied me unwearied in
my pilgrimage to the cottage of Matthew Hallings, and to the desolated
site where so lately stood the venerable fabric of Devereux Hall.
The late Mr Devereux and his sister, said my friend, were the only
children of Roger Devereux, Esq., and Dame Ethelred, his wife, whose
venerable and dignified old age I well remember, for it was extended to
such a patriarchal term, that "the young folks" (as they were wont to
term their son and daughter, "the young Squire and Miss," as Mr Reginald
and Miss Devereux were called by the servants and tenantry) had
attained--the former to the mature age of fifty years--the latter to
that of forty-eight, before the children were called on to pay the last
duties to those dear and honoured parents, to whom they had been
children indeed--in a sense of the word little understood in our day of
enlightened liberality, when, for the most part, the obsolete virtues
that were then thought beautiful and becoming in the filial character
(deferential tenderness and submissive duty), are cast aside with other
antique trumpery, and triumphantly superseded by the improved system of
familiar intercourse, on terms of perfect equality, friendly and
confidential, or cold and ceremonious, according to the character and
circumstances of the parties, whose filial and parental relations, like
those of "the beasts that perish," appear to cease with the flight of
the young brood, or the sprouting of its pen-feathers. I can remember
that when I was an idle boy, the antiquated fashions of Devereux Hall
sometimes excited in me "a laughing devil," that was scarcely repressed
by the frowning of my anxious mother, or my own profound veneration for
our excellent friends and neighbours--and that the wicked spirit had
nearly got the better of me on more than one occasion, when Mrs Devereux
would tenderly censure for "youthful heedlessness or imprudence" the
sedate spinster, whose years outnumbered those of my own mother, or when
Mr Reginald, while undergoing his seventh annual attack of gout, was
alluded to as "the dear boy," by his sympathising father. But if my
boyish mirth was sometimes excited by these and suchlike innocent and
natural incongruities, far other feelings--such as I firmly believe have
been happily influential in the formation of my character--were oftener
awakened in me, by the example, early witnessed at the dear old Hall, of
tender union, pure morality, and genuine Christianity. And when I look
back upon those old times and antiquated manners (antiquated even in
that long past day), and contrast them with our modern times and modern
code, I am disposed to think we have gained less by exploding the
stateliness and formality of our ancestors, than we have lost in
degenerating from their high-toned politeness and true English
hospitality into fashionable ease, often (in the higher ranks
especially) amounting to vulgarity, and a style of living with which it
would be absurd to connect the idea of social intercourse. But, in fact,
the country gentry of England have been long a deteriorated, and will
soon be an extinct species. The last perfect specimens within my
knowledge were the late possessors of Devereux Hall.
I have told you that Mr Devereux and his sister were far advanced in
life when their parents paid the debt of nature. Both were single, also,
as they continued to the last hour of their inseparable companionship;
for, though "the young Squire" had been early wedded to the choice of
his heart, and the selected of his parents--a fair and gentle being, who
was transplanted to her husband's home, and taken to the bosom of his
family, only to win for herself its tender affection and undying
remembrance--before the expiration of the nuptial year, the young wife
and her new-born son slept in the vault of the Devereuxs, and her
sorrowing husband (in this instance only resisting the gently implied
wishes of his parents) could never be prevailed on to contract a second
marriage.
His sister--the faithful sharer of all his joys and sorrows--was to him
as a consoling angel in the season of his sore calamity. Her mind (the
stronger of the two) was the support of his in its great trial, and her
heart, tender as ever beat in a woman's breast, was tuned to finer
sympathy with his, by having also undergone the touchstone of
affliction.
Eleanor Devereux had been wooed and won with the parental sanction--had
loved tenderly--had trusted nobly--would have wedded splendidly in the
world's acceptation. But before the irrevocable knot was tied, the
suspicions of her anxious father were awakened by certain unguarded
expressions of his future son-in-law, which led to serious investigation
on the part of Mr Devereux, and a reluctant, but unqualified avowal, of
more than scepticism on the most sacred subject, from him to whom the
truly Christian parent was about to commit the earthly welfare of his
beloved child, and perhaps her eternal interests. Mr Devereux shrank not
for a moment from the fulfilment of the duty imposed on him by this
painful discovery. But when he imparted it to his darling, and required
from her the sacrifice of those innocent hopes which had grown up under
the fullest sanction of parental encouragement, the utmost exertions of
manly fortitude, based on Christian principle, alone enabled him to
persevere in his painful duty. There was no passionate remonstrance, no
resisting wilfulness, no ebullition of violent feeling, on the part of
the mild and right-minded Eleanor; but the quivering lip, the swimming
upraised eye, the voice that faltered and failed in its endeavour to
articulate her acquiescence to the required sacrifice--this voiceless
eloquence went to the father's heart, and his tears mingled with hers as
he clasped her to his breast, inwardly ejaculating, almost in the words
of the prophet-king--"Would to God I could suffer alone for thee, my
child! _my child!_" For a while the hopeful tenderness of woman's nature
delayed Eleanor's final decision, speciously whispering to her heart the
possible blessedness of converting darkness into light, by the influence
of holy example, and love's unwearying persuasiveness. But the parental
guardian was near, to suggest to her the dangerous fallacy of that fond
illusion, and Eleanor's love, though true and tender as ever woman felt,
was not the blinding, all-engrossing passion "which refuses to hear the
voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely." She wept and spoke not,
but retired to her chamber, and for that day was seen no more; but the
next morning brought her to her parents' feet, with a colourless cheek
indeed, but a look of such heavenly composure, as seemed reflected from
the source of light to which she had resorted in her hour of mental
darkness and distress; and though she hid her face on her mother's lap,
and her soft voice trembled in uttering the decisive words, they were
spoken--the renunciation was made--and the sacrifice complete. How dear
it cost her, was known only to God and her own heart; for, having
renounced (as it then seemed to her) every view of earthly happiness for
herself, she devoted herself the more assiduously to promote that of her
parents and her brother, and of every living creature within the sphere
of her benign influence, till at last, and by insensible degrees, she
became blest in the consciousness of blessing, and never for one moment
of her after life did she repent the act of that hour, the sharp agony
of which had left behind it "Peace which passeth understanding." But
from thenceforth the lot of Eleanor Devereux was one of fixed celibacy.
Hers were not transferable affections; and however, for her sake, the
fond parents might have wished it otherwise, they could ill resist the
pleading of the dutiful child, who only prayed to be allowed to cleave
to them, and them only, and to her dear brother, in this life, as she
hoped to be reunited to them in eternity. So it came to pass that the
elder branch of the House of Devereux was destined to become extinct,
when the bachelor brother and his maiden sister were removed from the
Hall of their ancestors to the family burying-place, in the chancel of
their parish church.
After the year of mourning and seclusion, religiously observed by Mr
Reginald and his sister, for the loss of their last surviving parent,
all things at the Hall fell into their former course, and, save the
diminution of the family circle, and that the places of the revered
elders at the hospitable board were now filled by their filial
successors, little change was perceptible to readmitted guests; and the
brother and sister resumed those habits of social intercourse with the
large and respectable surrounding neighbourhood, which it had been the
pleasure and principle of their parents to maintain, as in like manner
devolved upon them by the example of revered progenitors.
The Devereuxs had been at one time the wealthiest, as they continued to
be the most ancient family, in their part of the country; and on the
succession of the last lineal descendant to the inheritance of his
forefathers, the same liberality, and even stately hospitality,
characterised the general establishment and style of entertainment at
Devereux Hall, as had distinguished it under the rule of many preceding
generations. Far less did it enter into the contemplation of the last
Devereux to diminish aught of the munificent charities which had so long
dispensed comfort and gladness, not only among the dependants of the
family, and the peasantry on their estate, but in every poor man's
cottage for many miles around the venerable Hall. The bounteous stream
flowed in its several channels with unabated regularity, and little was
it suspected by any of those who shared as friends or dependants in its
diffusive plenteousness, that the waters at the source were already
shrunken, and threatened with fatal diversion from their ancient
courses.
Yet such was the melancholy fact, though known only to Mr Devereux, his
confidential man of law, and his distant relation, Mr Heneage Devereux,
of whom you may remember Old Hallings made mention in terms of no
special reverence, while we stood among the ruins of the demolished
mansion. That man has been indeed a serpent in the bosom of his noble
unsuspecting kinsman.
Very distantly related to the family of Devereux Hall, and still less
akin by congeniality of character to its respected possessors, between
them and Mr Heneage Devereux little social intercourse had at any time
been kept up, though, unfortunately for my venerable friend,
communication on matters of business became but too frequent between him
and his wily kinsman, who acquired over him a strange and at the time
inexplicable ascendancy; inexplicable even to Mrs Eleanor, whose
stronger mind (had she been early aware of her brother's circumstances)
might have counteracted the influence so banefully exerted on his
feebler character.
But loving her, dearly as ever brother loved the dearest
sister--cherishing her as the inestimable companion--the faithful
friend--almost the guardian angel of his life, Mr Devereux's affection
lacked that perfect confidence which "casteth out fear;" for, strange as
was the anomaly, from some instinctive sense of weakness and
inferiority, he stood in awe of the opinion of that gentle being whose
tenderness and devotion to him were almost deferential. Motives of
tenderness towards her--a desire to spare her the participation of his
corroding cares, had doubtless their share in his ill-starred system of
concealment--and having no other confidential friend and adviser, so it
was that he became the prey--alas! I fear the victim--of his
calculating, unprincipled relation.
I cannot detail to you--for all such are unknown to me--the minute and
particular circumstances of those pecuniary transactions between my old
friend and Mr Heneage Devereux, which ended in results so fatal to the
former; but I have reason to believe that Mr Heneage, who had
accumulated considerable wealth in mercantile speculations, found means
in the first place to possess himself of certain bond debts and
considerable mortgages on the property, incurred by the father and
grandfather of Mr Devereux, as the pressure of the times or untoward
casualties forced upon them the alternative of so burdening the family
property, or the more energetic measure of wise and timely retrenchment.
Mr Devereux's legal adviser was undoubtedly in the interest of his
speculating kinsman, whose primary object was to secure to himself the
reversion of the family property, the entail of which ended with the
late possessors. And Mr Heneage was well aware that he had no chance of
being voluntarily selected as the heir of the Devereuxs.
Not only had there been a long-subsisting estrangement between the
ancient stock and that distant branch from which Mr Heneage derived his
descent, though a frigid intercourse was formally kept up by visits at
stated periods, and letters of ceremony as occasion called for them; but
on the part of the late Mr Devereux there was evidently a degree of
instinctive repugnance towards his distant relation, which would have
amounted to aversion, had his kindly and gentle nature been capable of
so unchristian-like a feeling. No two characters could have been more
dissimilar than these two kinsmen. I have already dwelt affectionately
on the amiability of Mr Devereux. I have also touched on its slight
alloy--a degree of moral weakness, in part doubtless inherent in his
nature, but which, from the circumstances of his life and long
indulgence of his tastes and feelings, had grown into constitutional
infirmity, which made him an easy prey to the bold and designing.
Mr Devereux's manners and habits were those of refined elegance, his
tastes and opinions nice even to fastidiousness; and his perceptions
acute on some points to a degree of sickliness. His very person was cast
as if for an appropriate mould to enshrine this fine frame of moral
organisation. Small, delicate, beautifully proportioned, with hands and
feet of almost feminine moulding--while those of Cousin Heneage!----How
have I seen the slender fingers of my dear old friend shrink from the
vice-like grasp of that coarse bony hand, that looked capable of
crushing it to atoms, together with the large mourning ring on the
little finger, the oval of which, set with diamonds, encircled a
groundwork of fair silky hair, bearing the device of an urn and a
weeping willow, in small brilliants.
During the last few years of Mr Devereux's life, it became too evident
to his old and true friends that, notwithstanding his ill-concealed
repugnance to Cousin Heneage, the man had by some unaccountable means
obtained an extraordinary influence over him--a baneful influence, that
by degrees superseded that mild persuasive power hitherto exercised so
beneficially for Mr Devereux, by the faithful companion of his life--the
tenderest of sisters. His affection for her was evidently unabated. His
tender solicitude for her, as the growing infirmities of advanced life
rendered her more feeble and delicate, was peculiarly affecting, from
the circumstances of his own age, and more evident decay, and from the
expression of anxious sadness with which he often regarded her. What,
then, was the surprise of their mutual friends, when the wife of Mr
Heneage Devereux accompanied her husband in one of his now frequent
visits to the Hall, and was received by Mr Devereux as an invited guest!
Cousin Heneage had promoted this lady from the superintendence of his
kitchen to that of his family, and the honours of a lawful wife, but he
did not deem it requisite to notify the forming of so respectable a
connection to the then surviving parents of Mr Devereux; neither did the
birth of some half-score promising babes, with whom he was presented in
yearly succession, form part of the formal communications addressed at
stated periods to his kinsman at the Hall. And when he occasionally
presented himself in person, no allusion was ever made on either side to
the lady or her progeny, till the time I mentioned, about three years
preceding the death of my venerable friend. Imagine, then, the
consternation of Mrs Eleanor, when her brother, with an abruptness of
manner very different from his usual address, requested her to prepare
herself for the reception of Mrs Heneage Devereux, who, with her husband
and three elder children, a son and two daughters, between the ages of
fifteen and one-and-twenty, would arrive the day following, to make
some stay at the Hall. It so happened that I went over to pay a visit to
my friends on the morning of this strange communication, and was ushered
into Mrs Eleanor's morning room, just as her brother left it, passing me
with a hurried excuse, and in evident agitation. I found the sister
flushed, and trembling with surprise and pain; and it was in vain that
she endeavoured to welcome me with her usual serenity, and the kind
sweet smile that was wont to light up her benevolent countenance at
sight of those she loved and valued: when I took her hand with the
inquiring look of affectionate concern it was impossible not to feel at
the thought that any distressful circumstance should wound the heart of
that gentle and heavenly-minded creature, the tears gushed from her
eyes, and with a tremulous tone, she related to me the short and
peremptory communication just made to her by her brother.
"And such a brother!" she exclaimed, while her voice trembled with
emotion--"You knew him, Mr L----; you have known him from your
childhood; the best and kindest of human beings--one from whose lips no
living creature ever heard a harsh or an ungentle word. And to me, what
has he not been!--in what perfect love and unity have we not dwelt
together all our long lives!--But that fearful man!--that hard,
coarse-minded Heneage Devereux! Is it to be believed that that man
should step in between my brother and myself--not sundering our hearts,
for that is impossible; but causing reserve on the part of my dear
brother, in lieu of that perfect confidence he ever placed in me? What
can be the nature of the influence that has so changed him? and how has
it been acquired? I am sure his heart bled but now, when, as if
compelled by some dire necessity, he desired me to prepare for the
reception of Mrs Heneage Devereux; but when I would have uttered--as
well as the suddenness of my surprise permitted--a few words of gentle
remonstrance, my brother stopt me, with an almost stern reiteration of
his wishes, and turned from me as if in anger. But it was not so; it was
in deep distress, I am certain, Mr L----, and therefore it is that you
find me thus overpowered; for what fearful cause can so move my dear
brother, and instigate his present determination?"
You may readily believe how tenderly I sympathised in the anxiety and
distress of my venerable friend, though powerless to give her comfort,
for my mind was painfully impressed with similar apprehensions; and
vague surmises had for some time haunted me, that all was not well with
the circumstances of Mr Devereux. As we talked together--forming various
conjectures respecting the motives which could have led him to put such
violence on his feelings, and even on his sense of propriety, as to
require his respectable sister to receive, in the house of their
ancestors, a person so every way unworthy of admittance there as was
the wife of Mr Heneage Devereux--the sad gleams of truth seemed to flash
momentarily across the mind of Mrs Eleanor; and as I considered the
matter, my previous suspicions became more definite. But still, save
and except the late inconsistencies of Mr Devereux's conduct in
relation to his subtle and unprepossessing kinsman, there had been
nothing--absolutely nothing--in his conduct and apparent circumstances,
to warrant a doubt respecting the perfect order and prosperousness of
his worldly affairs. And I felt a delicacy--or rather a difficulty--in
discussing the subject with Mrs Eleanor, which restrained me from fully
opening my mind to her. I have regretted more than once that I did not
overcome this morbid feeling, and that, overstepping, in the zeal and
truth of friendship, the shallow suggestions of false delicacy, I had
not spoken openly even to Mr Devereux. I might have spoken in time. One
friendly hand stretched out in time might have prevented.... But I
cannot dwell on that conjecture--It is too painful.
Well! I know not how the reception day passed off, nor how dear Mrs
Eleanor was supported through her distressing task. But when I called,
a few days after, at the Hall, I found her apparently reconciled to the
appointed trial, looking, indeed, more pale and serious than was usual
with her, but not less serenely composed, and her manner, and the
expression of her countenance, when she addressed her brother, or
looked towards him, was almost heavenly--so eloquent of the tenderest
compassion and respect. But that brother! I--my old respected
friend--how had a few days of mental misery--the truth was evident--how
fearfully had those few days altered him! He was alone with his sister
when I entered his morning room.
"A little indisposed," he said, smiling; "and faint, from the unusual
heat." And she stood by him as he reclined in his easy-chair, to take
back the wine-glass, in which she had just administered to him some
drops of ether. The ancient handmaiden, with whom you have made
acquaintance, was in attendance with the salver, and having received the
empty glass from her lady, withdrew with a respectful curtsy to myself,
and, as she passed me, and her eyes met mine, I saw they were glistening
with tears.
My old friend stretched out to me a trembling hand, and apologised, with
his wonted and unfailing courtesy, for not rising to receive me: "But
Eleanor insists on it that I have over-exerted myself lately," he
observed, smiling affectionately on her; "and I must be rude and
self-indulgent to oblige her, and to recruit myself, to meet my guests
at dinner. They are so good as to excuse me in the morning," he added
hurriedly, and a faint blush passed over his countenance as he continued
with averted eyes, "By the by, L----, you have heard from my sister,
that I have felt it due to my cousin Heneage to invite his wife and part
of his family to the Hall? His feelings were naturally hurt by their
exclusion from it--and--and"----The struggle to proceed was a painful
one, but he achieved it, and in a firmer tone, and with eyes that were
raised to meet mine with a deprecating look, went on to say,--"You are
aware, L----, that I should not willingly have imposed on my dear sister
the irksomeness of receiving as a guest a person so ill qualified to
associate with her as is Mrs Heneage Devereux, by birth and breeding,
and perhaps--I fear"----And again his voice faltered, and his eye
avoided mine--"I fear, by other circumstances, previous to her union
with my cousin; but _he is_ my cousin, you know, and--and--my dear
sister _could not_ disoblige me;"--and as he pressed his lips to her
hand as it lay upon the arm of his easy-chair, I saw a tear drop on it
from his closed eyelids. "Of course," he continued, recovering himself
after a moment's pause, during which I had endeavoured to relieve his
distress by a few cheerful, though scarce connected words--"Of course,
during the time of my cousin's visit to us, we shall live secluded from
our friends and neighbours; for I cannot expect from any lady the
complaisance of meeting Mrs Heneage Devereux at my table." Yet he looked
at me half-imploringly as he spoke, and it would be impossible for me
to describe the expression of grateful affection which beamed in the
countenances of both brother and sister, when I hastened to remove the
humiliating doubt, by exclaiming, "Whatever be your intention with
regard to the neighbourhood in general, my dear sir, do not flatter
yourself you will so easily banish your old and attached friends.
Neither my wife nor I could endure a week's exclusion from Devereux
Hall, and I think it is more than that period of time since we have sat
at your hospitable board. Mrs L---- would take it kindly if you were to
invite us for to-morrow, and we would do our best to help you to
entertain these inconvenient visitors."
Mr Devereux grasped my hand, and looked his grateful acquiescence to my
proposal, for it was more than a minute before he could speak it
audibly, and I left my valued friends that morning with the comfort of
believing that I had been so fortunate as to evince my affection for
them in the way most grateful and soothing to their feelings.
As I passed through the Hall in my way out, the door of the eating-room
burst open, and out rushed a couple of overdressed hoydens, with
flame-coloured faces and arms, followed by a hopeful youth, all
shirt-collar and cravat, booted and spurred, and armed with a dog-whip,
which he flourished in playful menace after the fair fugitives,
eloquently apostrophising them with--"Hoie! hoie! little dogs!--That's
it, Loa!--Well run, Phil!--Unkennel the old one!" At sight of me the
frolicsome trio slunk back somewhat confused, and a shrill female voice
called out from the eating-room, in a half-laughing, half-wrathful tone,
"Come back, you combustious creturs! Come back, I tell ye, or I'll tell
your Pa when he comes in. Let alone your sisters, do, Watty, dear! or
you'll tear their tails again, as you did yesterday, wi' them there
nasty spurs!" My inclination to laugh was overpowered by sensations of a
very different nature as I hurried past the scene of uproarious
vulgarity, and I rode away from the old Hall, with a full heart,
well-nigh lamenting that the last lineal descendants of the Devereuxs
had lived so long as to witness its desecration.
From that day forward.... But I should tell you that my dear wife gave
her ready assent to the engagement I had ventured to make for both of
us, though she accompanied me next day to the Hall in painful
expectation of witnessing the annoyance and distress of our valued
friends. But the perfect good-breeding of Mr Devereux and his sister,
especially the dignified self-possession of Mrs Eleanor, prevented all
outward manifestation of what must have been the inward feeling. We
found them assembled in the drawing-room with their uncongenial guests,
and two neighbouring gentlemen, old bachelor friends of Mr Devereux,
who had dropt in uninvited to dinner. We were previously acquainted
with Mr Heneage, but were, of course, introduced to his lady and her
daughters, and Walter Heneage Devereux, jun., who bobbed his chin into
the depths of his starched cravat in the most approved style of dandy
vulgarity--and Mrs and Misses Heneages! Heavens! that such masses of
coarseness, finery, and ignorant assumption, should have borne in common
with our venerable friends the honoured name of Devereux! It was my
office (Mr Devereux having led out my wife) to conduct Mrs Heneage to
the dining-room; and had my feelings been less painfully excited, I
should have been amused at her evidently first attempt at the assumption
of aristocratical ease and urbanity, as, thrusting her huge thick arm
through mine up to the elbow, she leant on me with a weight that would
have annihilated the fragile frame of our venerable host, and must have
left on my arm the impression of the gilt jack-chain she wore by way of
bracelet.
Ludicrous as was throughout the day the deportment of these incongruous
personages, the remembrance of it is, even now, too painful, as
connected with the distress and humiliated feelings of my lamented
friends, for me to enter more fully into details that might be amusing
enough under other circumstances. Whatever, however, must have been the
feelings of our host and hostess, they were never for a moment betrayed
into visible annoyance by the species of martyrdom to which they were
subjected; and the remarkably dignified, though gentle deportment of
Mrs Eleanor in particular, was not without its triumph in obtaining for
her a degree of involuntary deference, even from the coarse-minded
persons who were incapable of appreciating her real claims. Yet once (I
remember it now)--once _she was moved_ to the utterance of a reproof,
the severity of which was felt rather than understood by the vulgar mind
of Mrs Heneage, who had provoked it by some offensive comment on the
portrait of "the old lady there," as she familiarly designated the late
Mrs Devereux. "I am sure, madam, you are not aware," said the dear Mrs
Eleanor, while her sweet voice faltered with emotion, and a faint blush
suffused her venerable face,--"I am sure you cannot be aware that the
lady represented by that portrait was our dear and venerated mother, to
whose lifeless resemblance even, I should hope, no person would
knowingly allude disrespectfully, least of all in the presence of her
children." The woman to whom this mild rebuke was addressed, coloured,
fidgeted, fanned herself violently, and glancing as if half frightened
towards her husband, who frowned tremendously, stammered out something
of an apology, which was accepted with a grave and silent inclination of
the head, as Mrs Eleanor rose to lead the way into the drawing-room.
The scenes I have sketched so hastily are but samples of a long long
series of annoyances and mortifications, to which my dear friends were
from thenceforward subjected at frequent intervals, until the close of
the clouded evening of their lives; for the air of Devereux Hall was
found to be particularly beneficial to the delicate health of Mrs
Heneage, and the bloom (as she termed it) of the full-blown peonys, her
daughters, besides that Walter Heneage, jun., took especial pleasure in
thinning Mr Devereux's preserves, and insolently trespassing on those of
the neighbouring gentlemen, who submitted more patiently to the young
Cockney's inroads than they would have done, but for their regard and
respect for their venerable neighbour, whose moral thraldom to his stern
repulsive kinsman was now generally known and compassionated, as the
fatal cause became gradually, and at last strongly suspected. Some
attempts were made by myself and others to invite the confidence of Mr
Devereux; but from all allusion to that mysterious influence so visibly
exercised over him, he shrank with a morbid sensitiveness which made it
impossible to proceed, without seriously offending; and when I last
conferred on the subject with Mrs Eleanor, she requested me, with tears,
to desist from all farther interposition, "for, alas!" said the dear
lady, "all such attempts are, I am convinced, hopeless, and only inflict
additional pain on my beloved brother, even exciting in him a degree of
irritability, of which his mild spirit was till lately unsusceptible."
My late observations of the change in Mr Devereux's once equable
temper, but too well corroborated the qualified and reluctant hint thus
drawn from his devoted sister; and to me it was obvious, likewise, that
the mental powers of my venerable friend, always more characterised by
kindliness of nature, than by admixture of the "sterner stuff," which
goes to the composition of moral strength, had been for some time
yielding to the weight of some intolerable burden, and that as years and
infirmities grew upon him, his natural timidity became almost shyness,
and so helped to preclude him from the benefit of good offices which
many were ready to render him, had the least opening on his part
encouraged them to solicit greater confidence.
But the days drew near when our poor friend was to be bereaved of his
last earthly comfort--the companionship of this tender sister, who had
said truly, "That no evil influence could ever estrange their hearts
from each other, however it might have robbed her of her brother's
confidence." As they had grown up together in love and unity, so was her
life devoted to him to the last, and her faithfulness perfected in the
manner of her death. For though he never knew it (thank God! that drop
of bitterness was spared), her life was sacrificed to her anxiety for
his comfort, and her reluctance to cause him a moment's distress, or
even impatience, which it was in her power to avert.
For many years Mrs Eleanor Devereux, as well as her brother, had
been subject to periodical fits of gout, their hereditary malady. Mr
Devereux's attacks had always been most obstinate and painful, though
never alarming, as affecting only the hands and feet. His sister's
were still slighter, though more frequent, and she even forgot her
own pain, or thanked God it was so moderate, causing only a temporary
lameness--and leaving her hands free to minister, as only hers could
minister, to the comfort of her more suffering brother. As both advanced
in age, however, the disease gained ground on both.
Mr Devereux was subjected to long and excruciating torture, and almost
helplessness, being entirely confined to his bed and easy-chair; and
not being aware--for she never complained--that his sister was often
suffering at the same time, though not equally with himself, he not
only accepted, as he had been wont to do, that unwearied attention and
that tender ministry to which she had so long accustomed him, but
unconsciously became more exacting and more difficult to please, as his
mind and temper became enfeebled and irritable, from natural causes of
decay, and the more fatal inroads of unconfided care. So it was that at
seasons of suffering he could scarcely endure her absence for an hour
together; and when the cruel malady left him free from pain, but reduced
to greater feebleness, as little could he spare her from the side of his
garden seat, or study chair, who was the sharer of all his intellectual
pleasures, as she was the soother of his bodily anguish.
And when his evil genius was about him in the shape of cousin Heneage,
ill could the tender sister brook the thought of leaving him to that
hateful companionship, from which he evidently shrank with increasing
repugnance, though too frequently compelled, as it seemed, by some
secret necessity, to submit to long private conferences with his dark
kinsman. From these interviews, I have since heard from Hallings, he
always reappeared in a state of pitiable agitation or deep despondence;
and more than once on his reaching Mrs Eleanor's dressing-room, in
which, as if in a haven of safety, he was wont to take refuge from the
scene of torment, he has fallen into a sort of fit, his forehead
breaking out into profuse cold perspiration, and his eyes fixed with
perfect unconsciousness on his agonised sister.
It is wonderful that the mental fabric should not have been utterly
overthrown by such cruel conflicts; but though weakened in its powers of
endurance, and perhaps in its reflective faculties, the common course of
nature was reversed with regard to its sensibilities, which became more
painfully acute as those powers decayed which should have
counterbalanced their morbid ascendancy.
Toward the close of the last summer preceding his decease, a season
which had been made particularly irksome to him by the prolonged
visitation of Mrs Heneage and her family, my old friend was left once
more to the quiet society of his sister, and to her gentle tending,
through one of his constitutional attacks, the effects of which still
lingered about him, when the health of his kind nurse began to droop,
and a fearful change in her appearance was manifest to all those who
were not blinded to it by habits of hourly intercourse, and her
uncomplaining serenity. Her own maid, however, the faithful Celia, was
but too competent to perceive the alteration in her lady, and to surmise
its cause; for she was aware, though enjoined to strict secresy, that
for some time past, on the first indication of any gouty symptoms, Mrs
Eleanor had had recourse to powerful repellants, counting as little her
own personal risk, in comparison with the dread necessity of leaving her
brother companionless in the midst of his intrusive guests, or alone on
the bed of sickness, as might have been the case had her own malady been
allowed to take its progress unchecked at the first indications, which
were of a more than heretofore threatening nature. The antidote had been
but too efficacious, and when Mrs Eleanor was at length induced by the
entreaties of her faithful servant, and her own internal sensations, to
speak privately to her medical attendant (an attached friend of the
family), he saw so much cause for serious alarm, that it was with
difficulty she prevailed on him to withhold for a few days only from her
brother the shock of a communication, which she undoubtedly flattered
herself might yet be rendered unnecessary by her amendment.
And for a day or two she appeared to rally, and there was a visible
improvement in her, to my observation and that of Mrs L----, when we
stopt at the Hall in our evening drive, and drank tea with her and Mr
Devereux, on the last of those few days.
We had hardly done breakfast the following morning, when our medical
friend (the attendant of the Devereuxs) sent in a request to speak to me
in my library.
It was to announce to me the removal of our dear friend from earth to
heaven. She had been found that morning in her bed asleep in death.
It needs not to say how promptly I betook myself to the house of
mourning--how earnestly I pressed for admittance to the forlorn
survivor, who had locked himself into his library, at the door of which
stood Hallings in an agony of grief and apprehension, imploring leave to
enter, if but for a moment. I joined my supplications to his, and after
a time we heard a heavy sigh, and the approach of feeble footsteps to
the door, on the opening of which the bereaved old man, as if
overpowered by the effort, staggered backwards, and would have fallen,
but that I caught him in my arms, and supported him to his easy-chair,
still holding his hand, as I took my seat beside him, in that deep awe
of silent sympathy, which feels it profanation to break in with human
speech upon the sacredness of unutterable sorrow. Long he lay back, as
he had sunk into his chair, silent and motionless. The small thin hand
I held, was as cold and pale as that of a corpse; and as I contemplated
his venerable countenance, colourless as the hand, the closed eyelids,
and sunken temples, and every sharpened feature set in rigid and
unnatural composure, I was startled--not shocked--by a sudden thought
that the imperishable spirit had departed already from that poor frame
of decaying mortality.
In breathless awe I stole my fingers gently to the wrist of the hand I
held in mine, _almost_ praying inwardly that I might find all quiet
there; but even while I felt for the imperceptible pulse, a change came
over the pale countenance--a slight tremor of the muscles about the
mouth, a quivering of the lower eyelids, and then a tear stole
glistening through the thin worn lashes of either eye, and slowly,
heavily trickled down the furrowed cheek, and after a minute the
trembling hand was withdrawn from the tender pressure of mine, and with
its fellow joined and half upraised in the attitude of prayer. The old
man's eyes were still closed, but his lips moved, and in the tremulous
accents which escaped them, I distinguished--"I thank thee!... I thank
thee.... Oh Lord!... Thou hast taken _her_ from the evil to come."
Uninvited and unwelcome, Mr Heneage Devereux presented himself at the
Hall, as suddenly as rapid travelling could bring him there, after the
notification of Mrs Eleanor's death had reached him in London. And it
was evident to me and others that he had motives for preventing as much
as possible all unrestrained and confidential intercourse between his
cousin and those old friends and neighbours, who would have rallied
round him in his distress and perplexities, and, by their strenuous and
disinterested counsels and assistance, have even then released him from
his bondage to the fiend, had time been allowed them to win gradually
upon the shyness and timidity of Mr Devereux's character, so as to
induce him to overstep the little weakness of that false pride which
shrank from disclosure of worldly difficulties, and exposure--such as no
doubt he had pictured to himself--to the humiliating comments of
contemptuous pity. Mr Heneage came, and such perpetual and vexatious
obstacles were thrown in the way of the neighbouring gentlemen, in all
their attempts at a renewal of social intercourse with Mr Devereux, that
one by one all relinquished their kindly hopes of serving him
effectually, though a few, like myself, persevered in seeing him as
often as we could obtain admission into that altered abode, where in
past days such a gracious and smiling welcome had ever greeted us. But I
fear our venerable friend derived little pleasure or comfort from these
almost intrusive visits. Courteously and kindly indeed he ever received
all who approached him; and to the few who had been particularly
distinguished by his friendship and that of Mrs Eleanor, there was even
a more touching expression--one of grateful tenderness in his accustomed
affectionateness of manner. But the exertion of conversation, absorbed
as he was by corroding cares and fatal concealments, was evidently a
painful effort to him, and he often sunk, even while his friends were
endeavouring to engage his attention, into fits of sad abstraction,
broken unconsciously by such deep-fetched sighs as went to the heart of
those who were powerless to comfort. Little was even yet known of the
real nature of those transactions between our venerable friend and his
kinsman, which had wrought such lamentable change in him, and all
connected with him; but whispers got abroad that Mr Devereux's
circumstances were in a very dilapidated state, and that there was even
a possibility, if his life were spared beyond a certain period, that the
old man might be driven forth from the home of his ancestors, to seek
some meaner shelter for his grey head, before it was laid to rest in the
vault of the Devereuxs.
Mr Heneage began to assume more arbitrary authority over the
establishment at the Hall--conducting himself with an insolence of
manner so disgusting to the old respectable servants, that, by degrees,
all dropped off except Hallings and his wife, and a white-headed
coachman, whose devoted fidelity strengthened them to endure all things
rather than desert their aged master in the hour of his utmost need.
Towards the close of that sad winter succeeding the death of Mrs
Eleanor, Hallings (as I have since heard from him) observed an unwonted
degree of restlessness in his master, and at times, after having been
closeted with Mr Heneage and an attorney, who now frequently accompanied
the latter to the Hall--at such times especially a feverish and flushed
excitement, during the continuance of which his ideas seemed to wander,
and he uttered expressions which gave but too much ground of probability
to those rumours I have alluded to.
On one of those occasions, when the forlorn old man had, as it seemed,
been driven by his evil genius almost to the verge of desperation, his
faithful servant, urged on by uncontrollable feeling, ventured, for the
first time, to hint at the secret source of this overwhelming misery,
and to press upon him the entreaty that he would open his heart freely
to some old and true friend. "See Mr L----, sir!" implored the worthy
Hallings; "for God's sake, my dear, dear master! let me send directly
for Mr L----, or go to him and tell him you would speak with him
immediately."
For a moment Mr Devereux seemed as if half moved to compliance with the
prayer of his attached servant. For a moment he sat in trembling
agitation, with half-opened lips and eyes fixed on Hallings, as if about
to give the permission so earnestly supplicated; but the indecision
ended fatally. Slowly and mournfully shaking his head, as it sank upon
his breast, he waved his hand rejectingly, and faintly murmured in an
inward tone, "Too late! too late! Leave me, good Hallings! Your master
will not be long a trouble to you;--but he has lived too long."
On the day succeeding that on which this scene took place, Mr Devereux
was again shut up in conference with Cousin Heneage and his assistant
friend, the convenient scrivener. Hallings's anxiety kept him hovering
near the library where they were convened, and more than once he heard
the hateful grating voice of Cousin Heneage raised to a threatening
loudness, and then, after a pause, his master's well-known accents,
apparently pleading with pathetic earnestness, till overpowered by the
discordant tones of his kinsman and the attorney.
"At last," said Hallings, "I could distinguish a sort of choking,
gasping cry, and a hysterical sob from my dear master; and then I could
bear it no longer, but knocked loudly for admittance at the locked door.
My interruption broke up the conference; a chair was pushed back with
violence as Mr Heneage, it seemed, rose from it, for it was his voice
that thundered out, as he thumped the table in his rage--'To-morrow,
sir! I tell you, to-morrow. I will be fooled no longer.' And then my
master almost shrieked out--'A little time! a little time! Only a year;
one little year, Cousin Heneage!' But the savage laughed in scorn; and,
as he strode past me, followed by that other viper, looked back with
stern determination, while he uttered, in a loud insulting tone--'Not a
week, sir! Not a day beyond to-morrow.'"
On going to the assistance of his master, poor Hallings found him in a
state of dreadful agitation. "His forehead, sir, was wet with
perspiration, though the fire had burnt down to nothing, and there was
snow upon the ground, and there was a deep red spot upon either cheek.
His hands were grasping the arms of his chair, and he rose from it as I
entered, but stared at me with seeming unconsciousness. I could not see
him so, and control my own feelings. 'My dear master!' I said, and the
tears gushed from my eyes. The sight of that seemed to bring him to
himself a little--for you know, sir, how tender-hearted he was--and he
fetched two or three short sighs, and said, 'Oh, Hallings! it is all
over,' and trembled so violently that I feared he would fall, and ran to
his support; but he recovered himself, and seemed to have more strength
than usual in his crippled limbs, as he walked across the library and
hall, and up-stairs to his own bedroom, to the door of which I followed
him. But he forbade my entrance in a determined tone; and, desiring he
might not be disturbed for an hour or two, as he should lie down and
recover himself, he went in and shut the door, drawing the bolt after
him."
So far I have given you in substance the narrative of Hallings; but his
farther statement was of a nature so agitating that it was made more
unconnectedly, and I must briefly relate to you, in my own words, the
miserable conclusion.
The habitual deference with which Hallings was ever accustomed to obey
his master's least imperative command, restrained him on that last fatal
occasion from opposing his desire to be left alone and undisturbed.
But "something," the old man said, "would not let him rest, or keep away
for ten minutes together from his master's door, at which he was
anxiously listening, when he heard the tinkling of glass, and the
unlocking, as he well knew the sound, of Mr Devereux's medicine-chest."
Hallings noted the circumstance gladly, for he supposed from it that Mr
Devereux was taking a nervous medicine--some drops of sal-volatile, to
which he had often recourse at seasons of peculiar languor or nervous
agitation. But still, as he strongly repeated, he "could not rest," nor
refrain from assuring himself of his master's state a moment beyond the
absolutely prescribed hour. He knocked at the door, and for some time
awaited an answer; but none was made. And again, at the risk of
disturbing his master's slumber, he repeated the rap more loudly; and Mr
Devereux being a very light sleeper, aroused by the faintest sound,
Hallings said his heart sank within him when that knock, and the next,
and another, and another, were still unnoticed.
"I thought of our dear lady, sir," he said, "and how suddenly she was
taken."
And at that thought he grew desperate; and summoning assistance, had
the door forced open. There sat his master in his large easy-chair
beside the fireplace, wrapt in profound slumber, breathing heavily, and
his face overspread with a livid and ghastly paleness. Hallings stepped
forward in great agitation, and taking his passive hand, made all
possible attempts to arouse him from that death-like slumber, but in
vain; and as he was thus busied, his eye fell accidentally on a phial
that lay uncorked and empty beside a wine-glass, on the corner of the
mantel-shelf, within reach of his master's hand.
At that sight a fearful thought flashed upon him; and, turning to a
groom who had pressed in with others of the servants, he ordered him to
ride off instantly for Mr Maddox, the family apothecary, and urge his
attendance with utmost speed, on a matter of life and death. Our medical
friend was soon at the Hall, and by the side of him who still reclined
motionless and insensible in that easy-chair, sleeping that fearful
sleep. Heneage Devereux was absent for the day, and Hallings had, in
consequence, uncontrolled liberty to act on that trying occasion as
seemed best to him for the reputation as well as life of his dear
master. He therefore requested to speak in private to the surgeon, whose
feelings were, he knew, in all things relating to Mr Devereux, perfectly
congenial with his own. To _him_ only he told that the empty phial
labelled laudanum had, to his certain knowledge, been full that morning,
when, by his master's direction, he had taken some required drug from
the medicine-chest. To him also he confided the scene that had
immediately preceded Mr Devereux's retirement to his chamber. Little
mutual consultation passed, or was necessary. Mr Maddox proceeded
immediately to use such means as the exigency of the case demanded; but
either they were too late resorted to, or would have been ineffectual
from the first. Mr Devereux never awoke from that fatal slumber, and
within a fortnight from that disastrous day, his mortal remains were
deposited beside those of his beloved sister, and his earthly
inheritance was claimed, and taken undisputed possession of, by that bad
man, whose responsibility is awful indeed, if (as _we_ have too much
reason to believe) the sudden, though not untimely death of our lamented
friend, was occasioned by any other cause than that to which it was
generally ascribed--as adjudged by a jury--an overdose of laudanum,
taken incautiously, to allay a spasmodic affection, to which Mr Devereux
had been often subject. Of this I am morally assured, that if the act
was wilful, it was not deliberate. The last agony of that tender spirit
must have overset the mental balance, or the Christian's faith would
have triumphed over human weakness, and the malice of the wicked, which,
though it may kill the body, "hath no more that it can do."
THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
BY DR ROBERT MACNISH.
[_MAGA._ MAY 1826.]
CHAPTER I.
A slight shudder came over me as I was entering the inner court of the
College of Gottingen. It was, however, but momentary; and on recovering
from it, I felt both taller and heavier, and altogether more vigorous,
than the instant before. Being rather nervous, I did not much mind these
feelings, imputing them to some sudden determination to the brain, or
some unusual beating about the heart, which had assailed me suddenly,
and as suddenly left me. On proceeding, I met a student coming in the
opposite direction. I had never seen him before, but as he passed me by,
he nodded familiarly--"There is a fine day, Wolstang."--"What does this
fellow mean?" said I to myself. "He speaks to me with as much ease as if
I had been his intimate acquaintance. And he calls me Wolstang--a person
to whom I bear no more resemblance than to the man in the moon." I
looked after him for some time, pondering whether I should call him back
and demand an explanation; but before I could form any resolution, he
was out of my sight.
Thinking it needless to take any further notice of the circumstance, I
went on. Another student, whom I did not know, now passed me.--"Charming
weather, Wolstang."--"Wolstang again!" said I; "this is insufferable.
Hello, I say! what do you mean?" But at this very moment he entered the
library, and either did not hear my voice, or paid no attention to it.
As I was standing in a mood between rage and vexation, a batch of
Collegians came up, talking loud and laughing. Three, with whom I was
intimately acquainted, took no notice of me; while two, to whom I was
totally unknown, saluted me with "Good morning, Wolstang." One of these
latter, after having passed me a few yards, turned round and cried out,
"Wolstang, your cap is awry."
I did not know what to make of this preposterous conduct. Could it be
premeditated? It was hardly possible, or I must have discovered the
trick in the countenances of those who addressed me. Could it be that
they really mistook me for Wolstang? This was still more incredible, for
Wolstang was fully six inches taller, four stones heavier, and ten years
older than I. I found myself in a maze of bewilderment in endeavouring
to discover the cause of all this. I reflected upon it in vain,
summoning to my assistance the aids of Logic and Metaphysics to unravel
the mystery. Nay, Euclid was not forgotten. I called to mind the
intricate problems of science which a rigid study of this Prince of
Mathematicians had enabled me to solve; but on the present occasion my
thoughts, though screwed to the utmost pitch of philosophical acumen,
completely failed in their aim.
While meditating as in a reverie on these events, I was aroused by
approaching steps. On looking up, I beheld the most learned Doctor
Dedimus Dunderhead, Provost, and Professor of Moral Philosophy to the
College. He was a man about five feet high; but so far as rotundity of
corporation went, noways deficient. On the contrary, he was uncommonly
fat, and his long-waisted velvet coat of office, buttoning over a
capacious belly, showed underneath a pair of thick stumpy legs, cased in
short small-clothes and silk stockings, and bedizened at the knees with
large buckles of silver. The Doctor had on, as usual, his cocked-hat,
below whose rim at each side descended the copious curls of an immense
bob-wig. His large carbuncle nose was adorned with a pair of spectacles,
through which he looked pompously from side to side, holding back his
head in grenadier fashion, and knocking his long silver-headed baton to
the earth, as he walked with all the formal precision of a drum-major.
Now be it known that it is binding on every student who attends the
University of Gottingen, to doff his cap on meeting this illustrious
personage. This is not an optional ceremony; it is a compulsory one; and
never on any occasion has it been known to be neglected, except once by
a Dutchman, who, in consequence thereof, was expelled the College. It
may be guessed, then, what was my degree of stupefaction when I saw
Doctor Dunderhead approach--when I heard his baton striking upon the
ground, responsive to his steps--when I saw his large eyes, reflected
through the spectacles, looking intently upon me--I say my stupefaction
may be guessed, when, even on this occasion, my hand did not make one
single motion upward towards my cap. The latter still stuck to my head,
and I stood folded in my college gown, my mouth half open, and my eyes
fixed upon the Doctor in empty abstraction. I could see that he was
angry at my tardy recognition of his presence; and as he came nearer me,
he slackened his pace a little, as if to give me an opportunity of
amending my neglect. However, I was so drowned in reflection that I did
not take the hint. At last he made a sudden stop directly in front of
me, folded his arms in the same manner as mine, and looked upwards in my
face with a fixed glance, as much as to say, "Well, master, what now?" I
never thought the Doctor so little, or myself so tall, as at this
moment.
Having continued some time in the above attitude, he took off his hat,
and made me a profound bow. "Mr Wolstang, I am your most humble
servant." Then rising up, he lifted his baton towards my cap, and
knocked it off. "Your cap is awry," continued he. "Excuse me, Mr
Wolstang, it is really awry upon your head." Another bow of mockery, as
profound as the first, followed this action; and he marched away,
striking his baton on the ground, holding back his head, and walking
with slow pompous step down the College court.
"What the devil is the meaning of this?" said I. "Wolstang again!
Confusion, this is no trick! The Provost of the College engage in a
deception upon me--impossible! They are all mad, or I am mad! Wolstang
from one--Wolstang from another--Wolstang from Doctor Dedimus
Dunderhead! I will see to the bottom of this--I will go to Wolstang's
house immediately." So saying, I snatched up my cap, put it on my head,
and walked smartly down the court to gain the street where he lived.
Before I got far, a young man met me. "By the by, Wolstang, I wish you
could let me have the ten gilders I lent you. I require them
immediately."--"Ten gilders!" said I; "I don't owe you a farthing. I
never saw your face before, and my name is not Wolstang; it is Frederick
Stadt."
"Psha!--But, Wolstang, laying jesting aside," continued he, "I must
positively have them."
"Have what?"
"My dear fellow, the ten gilders."
"Ten devils!--I tell you, I don't owe you a farthing."
"Really, Wolstang, this joke is very silly. We know you are an odd
fellow, but this is the most foolish prank I ever saw you play."
"Wolstang again!" said I, my heart boiling with indignation. "I tell
you, sir--I tell you, sir, that--that--" I could not get out another
word, to such a degree had indignation confounded me. Without finishing
my sentence, I rushed into the street, but not without hearing the
person say, "By heaven, he is either mad or drunk!"
In a moment I was at Wolstang's lodgings, and set the knocker agoing
with violence. The door was opened by his servant-girl Louise, a buxom
wench of some eighteen or twenty.
"Is Mr Wolstang in?" I demanded quickly.
"Mr who, sir?"
"Mr Wolstang, my dear."
"Mr Wol---- Mr who, sir?--I did not hear you."
"Mr Wolstang."
"Mr Wolstang!" re-echoed the girl, with some surprise.
"Assuredly, I ask you if Mr Wolstang is within."
"Mr Wolstang!" reiterated she. "Ha ha, ha! how droll you are to-day,
master!"
"Damnation! what do you mean?" cried I in a fury, which I now found it
impossible to suppress, "Tell me this instant if Mr Wolstang, your
master, is at home, or by the beard of Socrates, I--I----"
"Ha, ha! this is the queerest thing I ever heard of," said the little
jade, retreating into the house, and holding her sides with laughter.
"Come here, Barnabas, and hear our master asking for himself."
I now thought that the rage into which I had thrown myself had excited
the laughter of the wench, whom I knew very well to be of a frolicsome
disposition, and much disposed to turn people into ridicule. I therefore
put on as grave a face as I could--I even threw a smile into it--and
said, with all the composure and good-humour I could muster, "Come now,
my dear--conduct me to your master--I am sure he is within." This only
set her a-laughing more than ever; not a word could I get out of her. At
last Barnabas made his appearance from the kitchen, and to him I
addressed myself. "Barnabas," said I, laying my hand upon his arm, "I
conjure you, as you value my happiness, to tell me if Mr Wolstang is at
home?"
"Sir!" said Barnabas, with a long stare.
I repeated my question.
"Did you ask," replied he, "if Mr Wolstang was at home? If that
gentleman is yourself, he is at home. O yes, I warrant you, my master is
at home."
"In what place is he, then?" I inquired.
"Wherever you are, he is not far off, I warrant you, master."
"Can I find him in his study?"
"O yes," continued Barnabas; "if you go to his study, I warrant you
he'll be there. Will you please to walk in, sir?" and I could see the
fellow put his finger to his nose and wink to the girl, who kept
tittering away in a corner. As soon as I was in the study she burst into
a loud laugh, which ended by her declaring that I must be mad--"Or
drunk," quoth the sapient Barnabas, in his usual dry manner.
On entering the room, no person was to be seen; but from behind a large
screen, which stood fronting the fire, I heard a sneeze. "This must be
Wolstang," thought I: "but it is not his sneeze either; it is too sharp
and finical for him; however, let us see." So on I went behind the
screen, and there beheld, not the person I expected, but one very
different--to wit, a little, meagre, brown-faced elderly gentleman, with
hooked nose and chin, a long well-powdered queue, and a wooden leg. He
was dressed in a snuff-coloured surtout, a scarlet waistcoat, and black
small-clothes buckled at the knee; and on his nose was stuck a pair of
tortoise-shell spectacles, the glasses of which were of most unusual
dimensions. A dapper-looking cocked-hat lay upon the table, together
with a large open snuff-box full of rich rappee. Behind his right ear a
pen was stuck, after the manner of the counting-house, and he seemed
busily poring over a book in manuscript.
I looked a few seconds at this oddity, equally astonished and vexed at
being put into what I naturally supposed the wrong room. "I am afraid,
sir," said I, as he turned his eyes towards me, "that I have intruded
upon your privacy. I beg leave to apologise for the mistake. The servant
led me to believe that Mr Wolstang, with whom I wished to speak, was in
this chamber."
"Don't talk of apology, my dear sir," said the little gentleman, rising
up and bowing with the utmost politeness. "Be seated, sir--be seated.
Indeed, I am just here on the same errand--to see Mr Wolstang--eh (_a
sneeze_)--that rappee is certainly very strong. Do me the honour to
occupy the seat opposite. I understand from the servants that he is
expected soon." (_Another sneeze._)
For the first five minutes I did not form a very high opinion of this
new acquaintance. He seemed to have all the fidgety politeness and
intolerable chit-chat of a French _petit maitre_ of the old school. He
bored me with questions and apologies, hoped I felt myself comfortable;
and every interval of his speech was filled up by intolerable giggling
and sneezing. In order, as it were, to increase the latter, he kept
snuffing away at a preposterous rate; and when he addressed me, his
mouth was drawn up into a most complacent smile, and his long nose and
chin, which threatened each other like nutcrackers, thrown forward to
within a foot of my face. However, in the next five minutes he improved
upon me, from some very judicious observations, as I thought, which he
made; and in five more I became convinced that, notwithstanding his
outward frivolity and sneezing, he was far from being an ordinary man.
This impression gained such strength, that in a short time I entirely
forgot all my previous irritation, and even the reasons which brought me
there. I found that he had a complete knowledge of the different
philosophical systems of the day; among others, that of my favourite
Kant;--and on the merits of the school in the North of Germany, founded
by this great metaphysician, his opinions and mine tallied to a point.
He also seemed deeply conversant with the mathematics. This was a
subject on which I flattered myself I had few equals; but he shot far
ahead of me, displaying a knowledge which scarcely any man in Europe
could have matched. He traced the science downwards, in all its
historical bearings, from Thales, Archimedes, and Euclid, to Newton,
Euler, Leibnitz, and Laplace. In algebra, geometry, and astronomy, his
information was equally extensive. From several hints which he threw
out, I learned that he was no stranger to the science of geomancy; and
he gave me to understand that he had cast the nativities of several
individuals belonging to noble families; and that as their horoscopes
portended, such invariably was their fate in after life. Nor was his
knowledge confined to these abstruser branches of science; it embraced
the whole circle of literature and the fine arts. Poetry, criticism,
philology, painting, and sculpture, seemed to be equally within his
range. He descanted upon them, illuminating his positions from such a
vast source of illustration, that I gazed upon him with a feeling akin
to amazement.
Let it not be supposed that all this was done with the formal pomp of a
philosopher: on the contrary, he preserved throughout his frivolousness
of manner, apologised for everything he advanced, hoped I was not
offended if he differed in opinion from me, and concluded every position
with a sneeze.
"By the by," said I, "talking of Gall and Spurzheim, what do you think
of their doctrine? I am inclined to believe there must be some truth in
it; at least, I have seen it verified in a number of heads, and among
others in that of Cicero, which I saw a few years ago in the
sculpture-gallery of the Louvre. It was a beautiful head."
"You are right there, my dear friend," replied he. "The head,
phrenologically considered, is extremely beautiful. I believe I have got
it in my pocket." (_A sneeze._)
"You got the head of Cicero in your pocket!" cried I, with surprise.
"O no! not absolutely the head of Cicero," said he, smiling. "Mark
Antony disposed of that--but only his bust--the bust that you saw."
"You mean a miniature of that bust?"
"No--not a miniature, but the real bust. Here it comes--how heavy it
is!" And, to my amazement, I saw him take out of his pocket the
identical bust, as large as life, of the Roman orator, and place it on
the table before me.
"Have you any more heads of this description about you?" said I, not a
little marvelling how he was able to stuff such a block of marble into
his pocket.
"I have a few others at your service, my dear friend. Name any one you
would wish to see, and I shall be most happy to produce it."
"Let me see, then, the head of Copernicus." I had scarcely spoken the
word when he brought out the philosopher, and put him beside Cicero.
I named successively Socrates, Thales, Galileo, Confucius, Zoroaster,
Tycho Brache, Roger Bacon, and Paracelsus, and straightway they stood
upon the table as fresh as if they had just received the last touch
of the sculptor's chisel. I must confess that such a number of large
heads emanating from the pockets of the little meagre man in the
snuff-coloured surtout and scarlet waistcoat, would have occasioned me
incredible wonder, had my stock of astonishment not been exhausted by
the previous display of his abilities. I had little more to throw away
upon any new subject, and looked upon these fresh exhibitions without
experiencing anything beyond a slight surprise.
"And do you," I demanded, as the last named was brought forth, "always
carry those heads about with you?"
"I generally do so for the amusement of my friends," answered he. "But
do not think that my stock is exhausted; I have still a few more that I
can show you--for instance, Pythagoras."
"Pythagoras!" exclaimed I; "no, don't produce him. He is the last of all
the philosophers I would wish to see. The Stoics, the Epicureans, ay,
even the Cynics, with Diogenes or Menippus at their head, were sages
compared with Pythagoras, the founder of the most preposterous system of
philosophy that ever existed."
"My dear friend," said the little man, with unusual gravity, "you do not
say so?"
"I do say so. Pythagoras was a fool, a madman, an impostor."
"You don't speak thus of the divine Pythagoras?" returned he, putting
his bust upon the table.
"No, not of the divine Pythagoras, for such a person never existed. I
speak of Pythagoras the Samian--him of the golden thigh, the founder of
what is called the Pythagorean philosophy."
"And the most rational system of philosophy that ever existed. Begging
your pardon, I think it goes far beyond that of Plato or the Stagyrite."
"If you mean that it goes beyond them in being as full of absurdity as
they are of wisdom, I really agree with you," said I, my anger rising at
hearing the divine doctrines of Aristotle and the disciple of Socrates
so irreverently spoken of.
"Pray, what were its absurdities?" asked he with the most imperturbable
good-nature.
"Did not Pythagoras enjoin silence to his disciples for a period of five
years,--absolute silence, muteness, dumbness?"
"And a very good injunction it was. No man can be philosopher unless he
knows how to keep his tongue under a restraint."
"I am afraid, then, _you_ will never be one," I remarked, forcing a
smile, although I was at bottom considerably nettled. He did not seem to
take my observation ill, but passed it off with one of his
characteristic giggles of laughter.
"You were talking of his absurdities, my dear friend."
"Ah, well, did he not forbid the use of animal food to his followers?
and, to crown all, did he not teach the monstrous doctrine of
transmigration of souls--sending the spirits of men, after death, to
inhabit the bodies of dogs, and cats, and frogs, and geese, and even
insects?"
"And call you this a monstrous doctrine?"
"Monstrous!" I exclaimed with surprise--"it is the _ne plus ultra_, the
climax of fatuity, the raving of a disordered imagination."
"So you do not believe in Metempsychosis?" asked he with a smile.
"I would as soon believe in demonology, or magic. There is nothing I
would not rather credit. Kenelm Digby's sympathetic powder, the
philosopher's stone, the elixir vitae, animal magnetism, metallic
tractors, judicial astrology--anything, in fact, would more readily find
a place in my belief than this nonsensical jargon, which is credited by
nobody but the superstitious Brahmins of India. But perhaps you are a
believer?" He shrugged up his shoulders at this last remark, stroked his
chin, and, giving me a sarcastic look, said, with a familiar nod and
smile, "Yes, _I am_ a believer."
"What!" said I, "you--you with your immense learning, can _you_ put
faith in such doctrines?"
"If I put faith in them," said he, "it is my learning which has taught
me to do so. If I were less learned, I might perhaps spurn at them as
erroneous. Doubt is as often the offspring of ignorance as of credulity.
Your great doubters are generally as ill-informed as your great
believers, and much more self-conceited."
"And do you really go all the lengths of Pythagoras?" I demanded.
"I not only go all his lengths, but I go much farther. For instance, he
believed that the soul never left the body until the latter was dead.
Now, my belief is, that two living bodies may exchange souls with each
other. For instance, your soul may take possession of my body, and my
soul of yours, and both our bodies may be alive."
"In that case," said I, laughing heartily, "you would be me, and I would
be you."
"Precisely so, my dear friend," replied the little gentleman, laughing
in his turn, and concluding with a sneeze.
"Faith, my good sir," my reverence for his abilities somewhat lessened
by this declaration, "I am afraid you have lost your senses."
"I am afraid you have lost something of more importance," returned he,
with a smile, in which I thought I recognised a tinge of derision. I did
not like it, so, eyeing him with some sternness, I said hastily, "And
pray, what have I lost?" Instead of answering me, he burst into a loud
fit of laughter, holding his sides while the tears ran down his cheeks,
and he seemed half stifled with a flood of irresistible merriment. My
passion at this rose to such a pitch, that had he been a man of any
appearance I should have knocked him down; but I could not think of
resorting to such an extremity with a meagre, little elderly fellow, who
had, moreover, a wooden leg. I could, therefore, only wait till his
mirth subsided, when I demanded, with as much calmness as I could
assume, what I had lost.
"Are you sure you have not lost your body?" said he.
"My body!" answered I with some surprise; "what do you mean?"
"Now, my dear friend, tell me plainly, are you sure that this is your
own body?"
"My own body--who the devil's can it be?"
"Are you sure you are yourself?"
"Myself--who, in heaven's name, could I be but myself?"
"Ay, that is the rub," continued he; "are you perfectly satisfied that
you are yourself, and nobody but yourself?" I could not help smiling at
the apparent stupidity of this question; but before I was able to
compose myself, he had resumed his query.--"Are you sure you are--that
you are--"
"That I am who?" said I, hurriedly.
"That you are Frederick Stadt?"
"Perfectly."
"And not Albert Wolstang?" concluded he.