In which the occurrence of the accident mentioned in the last
chapter, affords an opportunity to a couple of gentlemen to tell stories against
each other
`WO HO!' cried the guard, on his legs in a minute, and running to the
leaders' heads. `Is there only genelmen there as can len' a hond here? Keep
quiet, dang ye! Wo ho!'
`What's the matter?' demanded Nicholas, looking sleepily up.
`Matther mun, matter eneaf for one neight,' replied the guard; `dang the
wall-eyed bay, he's gane mad wi' glory I think, carse t'coorch is over. Here,
can't ye len' a hond? Dom it, I'd ha' dean it if all my boans were brokken.'
`Here!' cried Nicholas, staggering to his feet, `I'm ready. I'm only a little
abroad, that's all.'
`Hoold 'em toight,' cried the guard, `while ar coot treaces. Hang on tiv'em
sumhoo. Weel deane, my lod. That's it. Let'em goa noo. Dang 'em, they'll gang
whoam fast eneaf!'
In truth, the animals were no sooner released than they trotted back, with
much deliberation, to the stable they had just left, which was distant not a
mile behind.
`Can you blo' a harn?' asked the guard, disengaging one of the coach-lamps.
`I dare say I can,' replied Nicholas.
`Then just blo' away into that 'un as lies on the grund, fit to wakken the
deead, will'ee,' said the man, `while I stop sum o' this here squealing inside.
Cumin', cumin'. Dean't make that noise, wooman.'
As the man spoke, he proceeded to wrench open the uppermost door of the
coach, while Nicholas, seizing the horn, awoke the echoes far and wide with one
of the most extraordinary performances on that instrument ever heard by mortal
ears. It had its effect, however, not only in rousing such of their fall, but in
summoning assistance to their relief; for lights gleamed in the distance, and
people were already astir.
In fact, a man on horseback galloped down, before the passengers were well
collected together; and a careful investigation being instituted, it appeared
that the lady inside had borken her lamp, and the gentleman his head; that the
two front outsides had escaped with black eyes; the box with a bloody nose; the
coachman with a contusion on the temple; Mr Squeers with a portmanteau bruise on
his back; and the remaining passengers without any injury at all -- thanks to
the softness of the snow-drift in which they had been overturned. These facts
were no sooner thoroughly ascertained, than the lady gave several indications of
fainting, but being forewarned that if she did, she must be carried on some
gentleman's shoulders to the nearest public-house, she prudently thought better
of it, and walked back with the rest.
They found on reaching it, that it was a lonely place with no very great
accommodation in the way of apartments -- that portion of its resources being
all comprised in one public room with a sanded floor, and a chair or two.
However, a large faggot and a plentiful supply of coals being heaped upon the
fire, the appearance of things was not long in mending; and, by the time they
had washed off all effaceable marks of the late accident, the room was warm and
light, which was a most agreeable exchange for the cold and darkness out of
doors.
`Well, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, insinuating himself into the warmest
corner, `you did very right to catch hold of them horses. I should have done it
myself if I had come to in time, but I am very glad you did it. You did it very
well; very well.'
`So well,' said the merry-faced gentleman, who did not seem to approve very
much of the patronising tone adopted by Squeers, `that if they had not been
firmly checked when they were, you would most probably have had no brains left
to teach with.'
This remark called up a discourse relative to the promptitude Nicholas had
displayed, and he was overwhelmed with compliments and commendations.
`I am very glad to have escaped, of course,' observed Squeers: `every man is
glad when he escapes from danger; but if any one of my charges had been hurt --
if I had been prevented from restoring any one of these little boys to his
parents whole and sound as I received him -- what would have been my feelings?
Why the wheel a-top of my head would have been far preferable to it.'
`Are they all brothers, sir?' inquired the lady who had carried the `Davy' or
safety-lamp.
`In one sense they are, ma'am,' replied Squeers, diving into his greatcoat
pocket for cards. `They are all under the same parental and affectionate
treatment. Mrs Squeers and myself are a mother and father to every one of'em. Mr
Nickleby, hand the lady them cards, and offer these to the gentleman. Perhaps
they might know of some parents that would be glad to avail themselves of the
establishment.'
Expressing himself to this effect, Mr Squeers, who lost no opportunity of
advertising gratuitously, placed his hands upon his knees, and looked at the
pupils with as much benignity as he could possibly affect, while Nicholas,
blushing with shame, handed round the cards as directed.
`I hope you suffer no inconvenience from the overturn, ma'am?' said the
merry-faced gentleman, addressing the fastidious lady, as though he were
charitably desirous to change the subject.
`No bodily inconvenience,' replied the lady.
`No mental inconvenience, I hope?'
`The subject is a very painful one to my feelings, sir,' replied the lady
with strong emotion; `and I beg you as a gentleman, not to refer to it.'
`Dear me,' said the merry-faced gentleman, looking merrier still, `I merely
intended to inquire--'
`I hope no inquiries will be made,' said the lady, `or I shall be compelled
to throw myself on the protection of the other gentlemen. Landlord, pray direct
a boy to keep watch outside the door--and if a green chariot passes in the
direction of Grantham, to stop it instantly.'
The people of the house were evidently overcome by this request, and when the
lady charged the boy to remember, as a means of identifying the expected green
chariot, that it would have a coachman with a gold-laced hat on the box, and a
footman, most probably in silk stockings, behind, the attentions of the good
woman of the inn were redoubled. Even the box-passenger caught the infection,
and growing wonderfully deferential, immediately inquired whether there was not
very good society in that neighbourhood, to which the lady replied yes, there
was: in a manner which sufficiently implied that she moved at the very tiptop
and summit of it all.
`As the guard has gone on horseback to Grantham to get another coach,' said
the good-tempered gentleman when they had been all sitting round the fire, for
some time, in silence, `and as he must be gone a couple of hours at the very
least, I propose a bowl of hot punch. What say you, sir?'
This question was addressed to the broken-headed inside, who was a man of
very genteel appearance, dressed in mourning. He was not past the middle age,
but his hair was grey; it seemed to have been prematurely turned by care or
sorrow. He readily acceded to the proposal, and appeared to be prepossessed by
the frank good-nature of the individual from whom it emanated.
This latter personage took upon himself the office of tapster when the punch
was ready, and after dispensing it all round, led the conversation to the
antiquities of York, with which both he and the grey-haired gentleman appeared
to be well acquainted. When this topic flagged, he turned with a smile to the
grey-headed gentleman, and asked if he could sing.
`I cannot indeed,' replied gentleman, smiling in his turn.
`That's a pity,' said the owner of the good-humoured countenance. `Is there
nobody here who can sing a song to lighten the time?'
The passengers, one and all, protested that they could not; that they wished
they could; that they couldn't remember the words of anything without the book;
and so forth.
`Perhaps the lady would not object,' said the president with great respect,
and a merry twinkle in his eye. `Some little Italian thing out of the last opera
brought out in town, would be most acceptable I am sure.'
As the lady condescended to make no reply, but tossed her head
contemptuously, and murmured some further expression of surprise regarding the
absence of the green chariot, one or two voices urged upon the president
himself, the propriety of making an attempt for the general benefit.
`I would if I could,' said he of the good-tempered face; `for I hold that in
this, as in all other cases where people who are strangers to each other are
thrown unexpectedly together, they should endeavour to render themselves as
pleasant, for the joint sake of the little community, as possible.'
`I wish the maxim were more generally acted on, in all cases,' said the
grey-headed gentleman.
`I'm glad to hear it,' returned the other. `Perhaps, as you can't sing,
you'll tell us a story?'
`Nay. I should ask you.'
`After you, I will, with pleasure.'
`Indeed!' said the grey-haired gentleman, smiling, `Well, let it be so. I
fear the turn of my thoughts is not calculated to lighten the time you must pass
here; but you have brought this upon yourselves, and shall judge. We were
speaking of York Minster just now. My story shall have some reference to it. Let
us call it
THE FIVE SISTERS OF YORK After a murmur of approbation from the other
passengers, during which the fastidious lady drank a glass of punch unobserved,
the grey-headed gentleman thus went on:
`A great many years ago--for the fifteenth century was scarce two years old
at the time, and King Henry the Fourth sat upon the throne of England--there
dwelt, in the ancient city of York, five maiden sisters, the subjects of my
tale.
`These five sisters were all of surpassing beauty. The eldest was in her
twenty-third year, the second a year younger, the third a year younger than the
second, and the fourth a year younger than the third. They were tall stately
figures, with dark flashing eyes and hair of jet; dignity and grace were in
their every movement; and the fame of their great beauty had spread through all
the country round.
`But, if the four elder sisters were lovely, how beautiful was the youngest,
a fair creature of sixteen! The blushing tints in the soft bloom on the fruit,
or the delicate painting on the flower, are not more exquisite than was the
blending of the rose and lily in her gentle face, or the deep blue of her eye.
The vine, in all its elegant luxuriance, is not more graceful than were the
clusters of rich brown hair that sported round her brow.
`If we all had hearts like those which beat so lightly in the bosoms of the
young and beautiful, what a heaven this earth would be! If, while our bodies
grow old and withered, our hearts could but retain their early youth and
freshness, of what avail would be our sorrows and sufferings! But, the faint
image of Eden which is stamped upon them in childhood, chafes and rubs in our
rough struggles with the world, and soon wears away: too often to leave nothing
but a mournful blank remaining.
`The heart of this fair girl bounded with joy and gladness. Devoted
attachment to her sisters, and a fervent love of all beautiful things in nature,
were its pure affections. Her gleesome voice and merry laugh were the sweetest
music of their home. She was its very light and life. The brightest flowers in
the garden were reared by her; the caged birds sang when they heard her voice,
and pined when they missed its sweetness. Alice, dear Alice; what living thing
within the sphere of her gentle witchery, could fail to love her!
`You may seek in vain, now, for the spot on which these sisters lived, for
their very names have passed away, and dusty antiquaries tell of them as of a
fable. But they dwelt in an old wooden house--old even in those days--with
overhanging gables and balconies of rudely-carved oak, which stood within a
pleasant orchard, and was surrounded by a rough stone wall, whence a stout
archer might have winged an arrow to St Mary's Abbey. The old abbey flourished
then; and the five sisters, living on its fair domains, paid yearly dues to the
black monks of St Benedict, to which fraternity it belonged.
`It was a bright and sunny morning in the pleasant time of summer, when one
of those black monks emerged from the abbey portal, and bent his steps towards
the house of the fair sisters. Heaven above was blue, and earth beneath was
green; the river glistened like a path of diamonds in the sun; the birds poured
forth their songs from the shady trees; the lark soared high above the waving
corn; and the deep buzz of insects filled the air. Everything looked gay and
smiling; but the holy man walked gloomily on, with his eyes bent upon the
ground. The beauty of the earth is but a breath, and man is but a shadow. What
sympathy should a holy preacher have with either?
`With eyes bent upon the ground, then, or only raised enough to prevent his
stumbling over such obstacles as lay in his way, the religious man moved slowly
forward until he reached a small postern in the wall of the sisters' orchard,
through which he passed, closing it behind him. The noise of soft voices in
conversation, and of merry laughter, fell upon his ears ere he had advanced many
paces; and raising his eyes higher than was his humble wont, he descried, at no
great distance, the five sisters seated on the grass, with Alice in the centre:
all busily plying their customary task of embroidering.
`"Save you, fair daughters!" said the friar; and fair in truth they were.
Even a monk might have loved them as choice masterpieces of his Maker's hand.
`The sisters saluted the holy man with becoming reverence, and the eldest
motioned him to a mossy seat beside them. But the good friar shook his head, and
bumped himself down on a very hard stone,--at which, no doubt, approving angels
were gratified.
`"Ye were merry, daughters," said the monk.
`"You know how light of heart sweet Alice is," replied the eldest sister,
passing her fingers through the tresses of the smiling girl.
`"And what joy and cheerfulness it wakes up within us, to see all nature
beaming in brightness and sunshine, father," added Alice, blushing beneath the
stern look of the recluse.
`The monk answered not, save by a grave inclination of the head, and the
sisters pursued their task in silence.
`"Still wasting the precious hours," said the monk at length, turning to the
eldest sister as he spoke, "still wasting the precious hours on this vain
trifling. Alas, alas! that the few bubbles on the surface of eternity--all that
Heaven wills we should see of that dark deep stream--should be so lightly
scattered!'
`"Father," urged the maiden, pausing, as did each of the others, in her busy
task, "we have prayed at matins, our daily alms have been distributed at the
gate, the sick peasants have been tended,--all our morning tasks have been
performed. I hope our occupation is a blameless one?'
`"See here," said the friar, taking the frame from her hand, "anintricate
winding of gaudy colours, without purpose or object, unless it be that one day
it is destined for some vain ornament, to minister to the pride of your frail
and giddy sex. Day after day has been employed upon this senseless task, and yet
it is not half accomplished. The shade of each departed day falls upon our
graves, and the worm exults as he beholds it, to know that we are hastening
thither. Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleeting hours?"
`The four elder sisters cast down their eyes as if abashed by the holy man's
reproof, but Alice raised hers, and bent them mildly on the friar.
`"Our dear mother," said the maiden; "Heaven rest her soul!"
`"Amen!" cried the friar in a deep voice.
`"Our dear mother," faltered the fair Alice, "was living when these long
tasks began, and bade us, when she should be no more, ply them in all discretion
and cheerfulness, in our leisure hours; she said that if in harmless mirth and
maidenly pursuits we passed those hours together, they would prove the happiest
and most peaceful of our lives, and that if, in later times, we went forth into
the world, and mingled with its cares and trials--if, allured by its temptations
and dazzled by its glitter, we ever forgot that love and duty which should bind,
in holy ties, the children of one loved parent--a glance at the old work of our
common girlhood would awaken good thoughts of bygone days, and soften our hearts
to affection and love."
`"Alice speaks truly, father," said the elder sister, somewhat proudly. And
so saying she resumed her work, as did the others.
`It was a kind of sampler of large size, that each sister had before her; the
device was of a complex and intricate description, and the pattern and colours
of all five were the same. The sisters bent gracefully over their work; the
monk, resting his chin upon his hands, looked from one to the other in silence.
`"How much better," he said at length, "to shun all such thoughts and
chances, and, in the peaceful shelter of the church, devote your lives to
Heaven! Infancy, childhood, the prime of life, and old age, wither as rapidly as
they crowd upon each other. Think how human dust rolls onward to the tomb, and
turning your faces steadily towards that goal, avoid the cloud which takes its
rise among the pleasures of the world, and cheats the senses of their votaries.
The veil, daughters, the veil!"
`"Never, sisters," cried Alice. "Barter not the light and air of heaven, and
the freshness of earth and all the beautiful things which breathe upon it, for
the cold cloister and the cell. Nature's own blessings are the proper goods of
life, and we may share them sinlessly together. To die is our heavy portion,
but, oh, let us die with life about us; when our cold hearts cease to beat, let
warm hearts be beating near; let our last look be upon the bounds which God has
set to his own bright skies, and not on stone walls and bars of iron! Dear
sisters, let us live and die, if you list, in this green garden's compass; only
shun the gloom and sadness of a cloister, and we shall be happy."
`The tears fell fast from the maiden's eyes as she closed her impassioned
appeal, and hid her face in the bosom of her sister.
`"Take comfort, Alice," said the eldest, kissing her fair forehead. "The veil
shall never cast its shadow on thy young brow. How say you, sisters? For
yourselves you speak, and not for Alice, or for me."
`The sisters, as with one accord, cried that their lot was cast together, and
that there were dwellings for peace and virtue beyond the convent's walls.
`"Father," said the eldest lady, rising with dignity, "you hear our final
resolve. The same pious care which enriched the abbey of St Mary, and left us,
orphans, to its holy guardianship, directed that no constraint should be imposed
upon our inclinations, but that we should be free to live according to our
choice. Let us hear no more of this, we pray you. Sisters, it is nearly noon.
Let us take shelter until evening!" With a reverence to the friar, the lady rose
and walked towards the house, hand in hand with Alice; the other sisters
followed.
The holy man, who had often urged the same point before, but had never met
with so direct a repulse, walked some little distance behind, with his eyes bent
upon the earth, and his lips moving as if in prayer. As the sisters reached the
porch, he quickened his pace, and called upon them to stop.
`"Stay!" said the monk, raising his right hand in the air, and directing an
angry glance by turns at Alice and the eldest sister. "Stay, and hear from me
what these recollections are, which you would cherish above eternity, and
awaken--if in mercy they slumbered--by means of idle toys. The memory of earthly
things is charged, in after life, with bitter disappointment, affliction, death;
with dreary change and wasting sorrow. The time will one day come, when a glance
at those unmeaning baubles will tear open deep wounds in the hearts of some
among you, and strike to your inmost souls. When that hour arrives--and, mark
me, come it will--turn from the world to which you clung, to the refuge which
you spurned. Find me the cell which shall be colder than the fire of mortals
grows, when dimmed by calamity and trial, and there weep for the dreams of
youth. These things are Heaven's will, not mine," said the friar, subduing his
voice as he looked round upon the shrinking girls. "The Virgin's blessing be
upon you, daughters!"
`With these words he disappeared through the postern; and the sisters
hastening into the house were seen no more that day.
`But nature will smile though priests may frown, and next day the sum shone
brightly, and on the next, and the next again. And in the morning's glare, and
the evening's soft repose, the five sisters still walked, or worked, or beguiled
the time by cheerful conversation, in their quiet orchard.
`Time passed away as a tale that is told; faster indeed than many tales that
are told, of which number I fear this may be one. The house of the five sisters
stood where it did, and the same trees cast their pleasant shade upon the
orchard grass. The sisters too were there, and lovely as at first, but a change
had come over their dwelling. Sometimes, there was the clash of armour, and the
gleaming of the moon on caps of steel; and, at others, jaded coursers were
spurred up to the gate, and a female form glided hurriedly forth, as if eager to
demand tidings of the weary messenger. A goodly train of knights and ladies
lodged one night within the abbey walls, and next day rode away, with two of the
fair sisters among them. Then, horsemen began to come less frequently, and
seemed to bring bad tidings when they did, and at length they ceased to come at
all, and footsore peasants slunk to the gate after sunset, and did their errand
there, by stealth. Once, a vassal was dispatched in haste to the abbey at dead
of night, and when morning came, there were sounds of woe and wailing in the
sisters' house; and after this, a mournful silence fell upon it, and knight or
lady, horse or armour, was seen about it no more.
`There was a sullen darkness in the sky, and the sun had gone angrily down,
tinting the dull clouds with the last traces of his wrath, when the same black
monk walked slowly on, with folded arms, within a stone's-throw of the abbey. A
blight had fallen on the trees and shrubs; and the wind, at length beginning to
break the unnatural stillness that had prevailed all day, sighed heavily from
time to time, as though foretelling in grief the ravages of the coming storm.
The bat skimmed in fantastic flights through the heavy air, and the ground was
alive with crawling things, whose instinct brought them forth to swell and
fatten in the rain.
`No longer were the friar's eyes directed to the earth; they were cast
abroad, and roamed from point to point, as if the gloom and desolation of the
scene found a quick response in his own bosom. Again he paused near the sisters'
house, and again he entered by the postern.
`But not again did his ear encounter the sound of laughter, or his eyes rest
upon the beautiful figures of the five sisters. All was silent and deserted. The
boughs of the trees were bent and broken, and the grass had grown long and rank.
No light feet had pressed it for many, many a day.
`With the indifference or abstraction of one well accustomed to the change,
the monk glided into the house, and entered a low, dark room. Four sisters sat
there. Their black garments made their pale faces whiter still, and time and
sorrow had worked deep ravages. They were stately yet; but the flush and pride
of beauty were gone.
`And Alice--where was she? In Heaven.
`The monk--even the monk--could bear with some grief here; for it was long
since these sisters had met, and there were furrows in their blanched faces
which years could never plough. He took his seat in silence, and motioned them
to continue their speech.
`"They are here, sisters," said the elder lady in a trembling voice. "I have
never borne to look upon them since, and now I blame myself for my weakness.
What is there in her memory that we should dread? To call up our old days shall
be a solemn pleasure yet."
`She glanced at the monk as she spoke, and, opening a cabinet, brought forth
the five frames of work, completed long before. Her step was firm, but her hand
trembled as she produced the last one; and, when the feelings of the other
sisters gushed forth at sight of it, her pent-up tears made way, and she sobbed
"God bless her!"
`The monk rose and advanced towards them. "It was almost the last thing she
touched in health," he said in a low voice.
`"It was," cried the elder lady, weeping bitterly.
`The monk turned to the second sister.
`"The gallant youth who looked into thine eyes, and hung upon thy very breath
when first he saw thee intent upon this pastime, lies buried on a plain whereof
the turf is red with blood. Rusty fragments of armour, once brightly burnished,
lie rotting on the ground, and are as little distinguishable for his, as are the
bones that crumble in the mould!"
`The lady groaned, and wrung her hands.
`"The policy of courts," he continued, turning to the two other sisters,
"drew ye from your peaceful home to scenes of revelry and splendour. The same
policy, and the restless ambition of--proud and fiery men, have sent ye back,
widowed maidens, and humbled outcasts. Do I speak truly?"
`The sobs of the two sisters were their only reply.
`"There is little need," said the monk, with a meaning look, "to fritter away
the time in gewgaws which shall raise up the pale ghosts of hopes of early
years. Bury them, heap penance and mortification on their heads, keep them down,
and let the convent be their grave!"
`The sisters asked for three days to deliberate; and felt, that night, as
though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for their dead joys. But, morning
came again, and though the boughs of the orchard trees drooped and ran wild upon
the ground, it was the same orchard still. The grass was coarse and high, but
there was yet the spot on which they had so often sat together, when change and
sorrow were but names. There was every walk and nook which Alice had made glad;
and in the minster nave was one flat stone beneath which she slept in peace.
`And could they, remembering how her young heart had sickened at the thought
of cloistered walls, look upon her grave, in garbs which would chill the very
ashes within it? Could they bow down in prayer, and when all Heaven turned to
hear them, bring the dark shade of sadness on one angel's face? No.
`They sent abroad, to artists of great celebrity in those times, and having
obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, caused to be executed, in
five large compartments of richly stained glass, a faithful copy of their old
embroidery work. These were fitted into a large window until that time bare of
ornament; and when the sun shone brightly, as she had so well loved to see it,
the familiar patterns were reflected in their original colours, and throwing a
stream of brilliant light upon the pavement, fell warmly on the name of Alice.
`For many hours in every day, the sisters paced slowly up and down the nave,
or knelt by the side of the flat broad stone. Only three were seen in the
customary place, after many years; then but two, and, for a long time
afterwards, but one solitary female bent with age. At length she came no more,
and the stone bore five plain Christian names.
`That stone has worn away and been replaced by others, and many generations
have come and gone since then. Time has softened down the colours, but the same
stream of light still falls upon the forgotten tomb, of which no trace remains;
and, to this day, the stranger is shown in York Cathedral, an old window called
the Five Sisters.'
`That's a melancholy tale,' said the merry-faced gentleman, emptying his
glass.
`It is a tale of life, and life is made up of such sorrows,' returned the
other, courteously, but in a grave and sad tone of voice.
`There are shades in all good pictures, but there are lights too, if we
choose to contemplate them,' said the gentleman with the merry face. `The
youngest sister in your tale was always light-hearted.'
`And died early,' said the other, gently.
`She would have died earlier, perhaps, had she been less happy,' said the
first speaker, with much feeling. `Do you think the sisters who loved her so
well, would have grieved the less if her life had been one of gloom and sadness?
If anything could soothe the first sharp pain of a heavy loss, it would be--with
me--the reflection, that those I mourned, by being innocently happy here, and
loving all about them, had prepared themselves for a purer and happier world.
The sun does not shine upon this fair earth to meet frowning eyes, depend upon
it.'
`I believe you are right,' said the gentleman who had told the story.
`Believe!' retorted the other, `can anybody doubt it? Take any subject of
sorrowful regret, and see with how much pleasure it is associated. The
recollection of past pleasure may become pain--'
`It does,' interposed the other.
`Well; it does. To remember happiness which cannot be restored, is pain, but
of a softened kind. Our recollections are unfortunately mingled with much that
we deplore, and with many actions which we bitterly repent; still in the most
chequered life I firmly think there are so many little rays of sunshine to look
back upon, that I do not believe any mortal (unless he had put himself without
the pale of hope) would deliberately drain a goblet of the waters of Lethe, if
he had it in his power.'
`Possibly you are correct in that belief,' said the grey-haired gentleman
after a short reflection. `I am inclined to think you are.'
`Why, then,' replied the other, `the good in this state of existence
preponderates over the bad, let miscalled philosophers tell us what they will.
If our affections be tried, our affections are our consolation and comfort; and
memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a
better. But come! I'll tell you a story of another kind.'
After a very brief silence, the merry-faced gentleman sent round the punch,
and glancing slily at the fastidious lady, who seemed desperately apprehensive
that he was going to relate something improper, began
THE BARON OF GROGZWIG `The Baron Von Koeldwethout, of Grogzwig in Germany,
was as likely a young baron as you would wish to see. I needn't say that he
lived in a castle, because that's of course; neither need I say that he lived in
an old castle; for what German baron ever lived in a new one? There were many
strange circumstances connected with this venerable building, among which, not
the least startling and mysterious were, that when the wind blew, it rumbled in
the chimneys, or even howled among the trees in the neighbouring forest; and
that when the moon shone, she found her way through certain small loopholes in
the wall, and actually made some parts of the wide halls and galleries quite
light, while she left others in gloomy shadow. I believe that one of the baron's
ancestors, being short of money, had inserted a dagger in a gentleman who called
one night to ask his way, and it was supposed that these miraculous occurrences
took place in consequence. And yet I hardly know how that could have been,
either, because the baron's ancestor, who was an amiable man, felt very sorry
afterwards for having been so rash, and laying violent hands upon a quantity of
stone and timber which belonged to a weaker baron, built a chapel as an apology,
and so took a receipt from Heaven, in full of all demands.
`Talking of the baron's ancestor puts me in mind of the baron's great claims
to respect, on the score of his pedigree. I am afraid to say, I am sure, how
many ancestors the baron had; but I know that he had a great many more than any
other man of his time; and I only wish that he had lived in these latter days,
that he might have had more. It is a very hard thing upon the great men of past
centuries, that they should have come into the world so soon, because a man who
was born three or four hundred years ago, cannot reasonably be expected to have
had as many relations before him, as a man who is born now. The last man,
whoever he is--and he may be a cobbler or some low vulgar dog for aught we
know--will have a longer pedigree than the greatest nobleman now alive; and I
contend that this is not fair.
`Well, but the Baron Von Koeldwethout of Grogzwig! He was a fine swarthy
fellow, with dark hair and large moustaches, who rode a--hunting in clothes of
Lincoln green, with russet boots on his feet, and a bugle slung over his
shoulder like the guard of a long stage. When he blew this bugle,
four-and-twenty other gentlemen of inferior rank, in Lincoln green a little
coarser, and russet boots with a little thicker soles, turned out directly: and
away galloped the whole train, with spears in their hands like lacquered area
railings, to hunt down the boars, or perhaps encounter a bear: in which latter
case the baron killed him first, and greased his whiskers with him afterwards.
`This was a merry life for the Baron of Grogzwig, and a merrier still for the
baron's retainers, who drank Rhine wine every night till they fell under the
table, and then had the bottles on the floor, and called for pipes. Never were
such jolly, roystering, rollicking, merry-making blades, as the jovial crew of
Grogzwig.
`But the pleasures of the table, or the pleasures of under the table, require
a little variety; especially when the same five-and-twenty people sit daily down
to the same board, to discuss the same subjects, and tell the same stories. The
baron grew weary, and wanted excitement. He took to quarrelling with his
gentlemen, and tried kicking two or three of them every day after dinner. This
was a pleasant change at first; but it became monotonous after a week or so, and
the baron felt quite out of sorts, and cast about, in despair, for some new
amusement.
`One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod or
Gillingwater, and slaughtered "another fine bear," and brought him home in
triumph, the Baron Von Koeldwethout sat moodily at the head of his table, eyeing
the smoky roof of the hall with a discontended aspect. He swallowed huge bumpers
of wine, but the more he swallowed, the more he frowned. The gentlemen who had
been honoured with the dangerous distinction of sitting on his right and left,
imitated him to a miracle in the drinking, and frowned at each other.
`"I will!" cried the baron suddenly, smiting the table with his right hand,
and twirling his moustache with his left. "Fill to the Lady of Grogzwig!"
`The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens turned pale, with the exception of their
four-and-twenty noses, which were unchangeable.
`"I said to the Lady of Grogzwig," repeated the baron, looking round the
board.
`"To the Lady of Grogzwig!" shouted the Lincoln greens; and down their
four-and-twenty throats went four-and-twenty imperial pints of such rare old
hock, that they smacked their eight-and-forty lips, and winked again.
`"The fair daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen," said Koeldwethout,
condescending to explain. "We will demand her in marriage of her father, ere the
sun goes down tomorrow. If he refuse our suit, we will cut off his nose."
`A hoarse murmur arose from the company; every man touched, first the hilt of
his sword, and then the tip of his nose, with appalling significance.
`What a pleasant thing filial piety is to contemplate! If the daughter of the
Baron Von Swillenhausen had pleaded a preoccupied heart, or fallen at her
father's feet and corned them in salt tears, or only fainted away, and
complimented the old gentleman in frantic ejaculations, the odds are a hundred
to one but Swillenhausen Castle would have been turned out at window, or rather
the baron turned out at window, and the castle demolished. The damsel held her
peace, however, when an early messenger bore the request of Von Koeldwethout
next morning, and modestly retired to her chamber, from the casement of which
she watched the coming of the suitor and his retinue. She was no sooner assured
that the horseman with the large moustaches was her proffered husband, than she
hastened to her father's presence, and expressed her readiness to sacrifice
herself to secure his peace. The venerable baron caught his child to his arms,
and shed a wink of joy.
`There was great feasting at the castle, that day. The four-and-twenty
Lincoln greens of Von Koeldwethout exchanged vows of eternal friendship with
twelve Lincoln greens of Von Swillenhausen, and promised the old baron that they
would drink his wine "Till all was blue"--meaning probably until their whole
countenances had acquired the same tint as their noses. Everybody slapped
everybody else's back, when the time for parting came; and the Baron Von
Koeldwethout and his followers rode gaily home.
`For six mortal weeks, the bears and boars had a holiday. The houses of
Koeldwethout and Swillenhausen were united; the spears rusted; and the baron's
bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing.
`Those were great times for the four-and-twenty; but, alas! their high and
palmy days had taken boots to themselves, and were already walking off.
`"My dear," said the baroness.
`"My love," said the baron.
`"Those coarse, noisy men--"
`"Which, ma'am?" said the baron, starting.
`The baroness pointed, from the window at which they stood, to the courtyard
beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln greens were taking a copious stirrup-cup,
preparatory to issuing forth after a boar or two.
`"My hunting train, ma'am," said the baron.
`"Disband them, love," murmured the baroness.
`"Disband them!" cried the baron, in amazement.
`"To please me, love," replied the baroness.
`"To please the devil, ma'am," answered the baron.
`Whereupon the baroness uttered a great cry, and swooned away at the baron's
feet.
`What could the baron do? He called for the lady's maid, and roared for the
doctor; and then, rushing into the yard, kicked the two Lincoln greens who were
the most used to it, and cursing the others all round, bade them go but never
mind where. I don't know the German for it, or I would put it delicately that
way.
`It is not for me to say by what means, or by what degrees, some wives manage
to keep down some husbands as they do, although I may have my private opinion on
the subject, and may think that no Member of Parliament ought to be married,
inasmuch as three married members out of every four, must vote according to
their wives' consciences (if there be such things), and not according to their
own. All I need say, just now, is, that the Baroness Von Koeldwethout somehow or
other acquired great control over the Baron Von Koeldwethout, and that, little
by little, and bit by bit, and day by day, and year by year, the baron got the
worst of some disputed question, or was slily unhorsed from some old hobby; and
that by the time he was a fat hearty fellow of forty-eight or thereabouts, he
had no feasting, no revelry, no hunting train, and no hunting--nothing in short
that he liked, or used to have; and that, although he was as fierce as a lion,
and as bold as brass, he was decidedly snubbed and put down, by his own lady, in
his own castle of Grogzwig.
`Nor was this the whole extent of the baron's misfortunes. About a year after
his nuptials, there came into the world a lusty young baron, in whose honour a
great many fireworks were let off, and a great many dozens of wine drunk; but
next year there came a young baroness, and next year another young baron, and so
on, every year, either a baron or baroness (and one year both together), until
the baron found himself the father of a small family of twelve. Upon every one
of these anniversaries, the venerable Baroness Von Swillenhausen was nervously
sensitive for the well-being of her child the Baroness Von Koeldwethout; and
although it was not found that the good lady ever did anything material towards
contributing to her child's recovery, still she made it a point of duty to be as
nervous as possible at the castle of Grogzwig, and to divide her time between
moral observations on the baron's housekeeping, and bewailing the hard lot of
her unhappy daughter. And if the Baron of Grogzwig, a little hurt and irritated
at this, took heart, and ventured to suggest that his wife was at least no worse
off than the wives of other barons, the Baroness Von Swillenhausen begged all
persons to take notice, that nobody but she, sympathised with her dear
daughter's sufferings; upon which, her relations and friends remarked, that to
be sure she did cry a great deal more than her son-in-law, and that if there
were a hard-hearted brute alive, it was that Baron of Grogzwig.
`The poor baron bore it all as long as he could, and when he could bear it no
longer lost his appetite and his spirits, and sat himself gloomily and
dejectedly down. But there were worse troubles yet in store for him, and as they
came on, his melancholy and sadness increased. Times changed. He got into debt.
The Grogzwig coffers ran low, though the Swillenhausen family had looked upon
them as inexhaustible; and just when the baroness was on the point of making a
thirteenth addition to the family pedigree, Von Koeldwethout discovered that he
had no means of replenishing them.
`"I don't see what is to be done," said the baron. "I think I'll kill
myself."
`This was a bright idea. The baron took an old hunting-knife from a cupboard
hard by, and having sharpened it on his boot, made what boys call "an offer" at
his throat.
`"Hem!" said the baron, stopping short. "Perhaps it's not sharp enough."
`The baron sharpened it again, and made another offer, when his hand was
arrested by a loud screaming among the young barons and baronesses, who had a
nursery in an upstairs tower with iron bars outside the window, to prevent their
tumbling out into the moat.
`"If I had been a bachelor," said the baron sighing, "I might have done it
fifty times over, without being interrupted. Hallo! Put a flask of wine and the
largest pipe in the little vaulted room behind the hall."
`One of the domestics, in a very kind manner, executed the baron's order in
the course of half an hour or so, and Von Koeldwethout being apprised thereof,
strode to the vaulted room, the walls of which, being of dark shining wood,
gleamed in the light of the blazing logs which were piled upon the hearth. The
bottle and pipe were ready, and, upon the whole, the place looked very
comfortable.
`"Leave the lamp," said the baron.
`"Anything else, my lord?" inquired the domestic.
`"The room," replied the baron. The domestic obeyed, and the baron locked the
door.
`"I'll smoke a last pipe," said the baron, "and then I'll be off." So,
putting the knife upon the table till he wanted it, and tossing off a goodly
measure of wine, the Lord of Grogzwig threw himself back in his chair, stretched
his legs out before the fire, and puffed away.
`He thought about a great many things--about his present troubles and past
days of bachelorship, and about the Lincoln greens, long since dispersed up and
down the country, no one knew whither: with the exception of two who had been
unfortunately beheaded, and four who had killed themselves with drinking. His
mind was running upon bears and boars, when, in the process of draining his
glass to the bottom, he raised his eyes, and saw, for the first time and with
unbounded astonishment, that he was not alone.
`No, he was not; for, on the opposite side of the fire, there sat with folded
arms a wrinkled hideous figure, with deeply sunk and bloodshot eyes, and an
immensely long cadaverous face, shadowed by jagged and matted locks of coarse
black hair. He wore a kind of tunic of a dull bluish colour, which, the baron
observed, on regarding it attentively, was clasped or ornamented down the front
with coffin handles. His legs, too, were encased in coffin plates as though in
armour; and over his left shoulder he wore a short dusky cloak, which seemed
made of a remnant of some pall. He took no notice of the baron, but was intently
eyeing the fire.
`"Halloa!" said the baron, stamping his foot to attract attention.
`"Halloa!" replied the stranger, moving his eyes towards the baron, but not
his face or himself "What now?"
`"What now!" replied the baron, nothing daunted by his hollow voice and
lustreless eyes. "I should ask that question. How did you get here?"
`"Through the door," replied the figure.
`"What are you?" says the baron.
`"A man," replied the figure.
`"I don't believe it," says the baron.
`"Disbelieve it then," says the figure.
`"I will," rejoined the baron.
`The figure looked at the bold Baron of Grogzwig for some time, and then said
familiarly,
`"There's no coming over you, I see. I'm not a man!"
`"What are you then?" asked the baron.
`"A genius," replied the figure.
`"You don't look much like one," returned the baron scornfully.
`"I am the Genius of Despair and Suicide," said the apparition. "Now you know
me."
`With these words the apparition turned towards the baron, as if composing
himself for a talk--and, what was very remarkable, was, that he threw his cloak
aside, and displaying a stake, which was run through the centre of his body,
pulled it out with a jerk, and laid it on the table, as composedly as if it had
been a walking-stick.
`"Now," said the figure, glancing at the hunting-knife, "are you ready for
me?"
`"Not quite," rejoined the baron; "I must finish this pipe first."
`"Look sharp then," said the figure.
`"You seem in a hurry," said the baron.
`"Why, yes, I am," answered the figure; "they're doing a pretty brisk
business in my way, over in England and France just now, and my time is a good
deal taken up."
`"Do you drink?" said the baron, touching the bottle with the bowl of his
pipe.
`"Nine times out of ten, and then very hard," rejoined the figure, drily.
`"Never in moderation?" asked the baron.
`"Never," replied the figure, with a shudder, "that breeds cheerfulness."
`The baron took another look at his new friend, whom he thought an uncommonly
queer customer, and at length inquired whether he took any active part in such
little proceedings as that which he had in contemplation.
`"No," replied the figure evasively; "but I am always present."
`"Just to see fair, I suppose?" said the baron.
`"Just that," replied the figure, playing with his stake, and examining the
ferule. "Be as quick as you can, will you, for there's a young gentleman who is
afflicted with too much money and leisure wanting me now, I find."
`"Going to kill himself because he has too much money!" exclaimed the baron,
quite tickled. "Ha! ha! that's a good one." (This was the first time the baron
had laughed for many a long day.)
`"I say," expostulated the figure, looking very much scared; "don't do that
again."
`"Why not?" demanded the baron.
`"Because it gives me pain all over," replied the figure. "Sigh as much as
you please: that does me good."
`The baron sighed mechanically at the mention of the word; the figure,
brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with most winning politeness.
`"It's not a bad idea though," said the baron, feeling the edge of the
weapon; "a man killing himself because he has too much money."
`"Pooh!" said the apparition, petulantly, "no better than a man's killing
himself because he has none or little."
`Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in saying this, or
whether he thought the baron's mind was so thoroughly made up that it didn't
matter what he said, I have no means of knowing. I only know that the baron
stopped his hand, all of a sudden, opened his eyes wide, and looked as if quite
a new light had come upon him for the first time.
`"Why, certainly," said Von Koeldwethout, "nothing is too bad to be
retrieved."
`"Except empty coffers," cried the genius.
`"Well; but they may be one day filled again," said the baron.
`"Scolding wives," snarled the genius.
`"Oh! They may be made quiet," said the baron.
`"Thirteen children," shouted the genius.
`"Can't all go wrong, surely," said the baron.
`The genius was evidently growing very savage with the baron, for holding
these opinions all at once; but he tried to laugh it off, and said if he would
let him know when he had left off joking he should feel obliged to him.
`"But I am not joking; I was never farther from it," remonstrated the baron.
`"Well, I am glad to hear that," said the genius, looking very grim, "because
a joke, without any figure of speech, is the death of me. Come! Quit this dreary
world at once."
`"I don't know," said the baron, playing with the knife; "it's a dreary one
certainly, but I don't think yours is much better, for you have not the
appearance of being particularly comfortable. That puts me in mind--what
security have I, that I shall be any the better for going out of the world after
all!" he cried, starting up; "I never thought of that."
`"Dispatch," cried the figure, gnashing his teeth.
`"Keep off!" said the baron. `I'll brood over miseries no longer, but put a
good face on the matter, and try the fresh air and the bears again; and if that
don't do, I'll talk to the baroness soundly, and cut the Von Swillenhausens
dead.' With this the baron fell into his chair, and laughed so loud and
boisterously, that the room rang with it.
`The figure fell back a pace or two, regarding the baron meanwhile with a
look of intense terror, and when he had ceased, caught up the stake, plunged it
violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl, and disappeared.
`Von Koeldwethout never saw it again. Having once made up his mind to action,
he soon brought the baroness and the Von Swillenhausens to reason, and died many
years afterwards: not a rich man that I am aware of, but certainly a happy one:
leaving behind him a numerous family, who had been carefully educated in bear
and boar-hunting under his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is, that
if ever they become hipped and melancholy from similar causes (as very many men
do), they look at both sides of the question, applying a magnifying-glass to the
best one; and if they still feel tempted to retire without leave, that they
smoke a large pipe and drink a full bottle first, and profit by the laudable
example of the Baron of Grogzwig.'
`The fresh coach is ready, ladies and gentlemen, if you please,' said a new
driver, looking in.
This intelligence caused the punch to be finished in a great hurry, and
prevented any discussion relative to the last story. Mr Squeers was observed to
draw the grey-headed gentleman on one side, and to ask a question with great
apparent interest; it bore reference to the Five Sisters of York, and was, in
fact, an inquiry whether he could inform him how much per annum the Yorkshire
convents got in those days with their boarders.
The journey was then resumed. Nicholas fell asleep towards morning, and, when
he awoke, found, with great regret, that, during his nap, both the Baron of
Grogzwig and the grey-haired gentleman had got down and were gone. The day
dragged on uncomfortably enough. At about six o'clock that night, he and Mr
Squeers, and the little boys, and their united luggage, were all put down
together at the George and New Inn, Greta Bridge.
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