Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes

by Bronte Sisters

  “Sir — Sir — you must restrain this speech — I cannot bear it and beg you as a gentleman to spare me.”

  “Must I not rather Maria — beg you to spare me? She whose heart is resigned to suffering has little to fear but his heart who feels that there is no medium between agony and enjoyment has every thing to dread especially if former time reappears like a ghost in the unattainable yet tantalizing prospects of the present time. Where shall we each be a year hence Maria? Were shall we be to night? Why I — if asleep at all — shall lie dreaming of ideas that

  “Remind me of departed times —

  Departed — never to return”

  and you I am sure will be compelled to fancy that your uncherished cheek might be better nurtured than by comforts which stern crowns and hard usage could give you — Ah — You know not and till you shall have been tried you cannot know the yearnings of a mans heart left alone toward the heart of a woman whom he would wish to be part and parcel with himself.

  “Oh Sir” exclaimed Mrs Thurston earnestly and with a face suddenly overmastered by pain — “Do not try to make me miserable — I have my sorrows and I have hitherto born them patiently. It can do no one good to remind me of lifes path mistaken or of pleasure to which it is impossible to attain”

  “Then” answered Mr Percy while his expressive features beamed with serpent guile only rendered more dangerous from the intermixture of real anxiety — “Does Maria Thurston mean to enact a Suttee? Does she wish to immolate herself on the pile raised for a husband who never existed must she feel bound for ever to a master whom she scarce knows save by his tyranny and repulse the heartfelt sympathy of a friend?”

  “A friend Sir! Do you not mock me by your use of the word?”

  “I do. Maria, if the drowning man clings to a swimmer or a plank for salvation — if one who has had no peace in this life tries to drive despair from his death bed by his hopes of heaven. But I do not if my soul chooses thee as successor to a throne long vacant and a sceptre which no hand save thine can sway — Would that I could make thee believe me! Thou must know that I cannot pass a future existence on the mere memory of love — That one so young as I am will require to support his soul through a probably protracted life some encouragement better than a look backward on a sunny path while clouds and tempests brood over his forward road. But I will not argue — Thou lovest me and thou knowest that thou lovest me — Stop — do not answer or I shall push thee into perjury by asking at once “Dost thou hate me?” and as thy answer would certainly be “Yes” thou wouldest be utterly forsworn. Can I not read thy thoughts on thy pillow to night? and canst thou not read my own? Yes — yes — And if thyself and myself were kneeling together at the parsons altar thou wouldst waste but few moments of hesitation ere saying — however inaudibly with Addison and Haydn

  “Lo my Shepherd is divine

  How shall I want while he is mine”

  The strange character which both adorned and cursed the speaker was exemplified in his last sentence for while absorbed in a subject which engrossed every mental and personal feeling he waywardly sported with a sneering allusion to a few lines of verse and a beautiful snatch of pastoral music. which would have given his eyes the aspect of an angels had he been forced to take his seat at an organ or piano. But here — reclined on a sopha in this quiet ancient apartment and in the company of one who whatever she suffered would never give pain — He let his looks stray scenting the track of pleasure and his mind run hydrophobically biting at those whom his calmer feelings would lead him to cherish.

  The morning sunlight shone through the window of a chamber in the Hotel, upon a head of curly auburn hair, a sad, pale face, and quivering lips laid on a restless pillow and shewing every feature in sickly guise save the wicked blue eyes that — to any one who knew their owner — augered some new ray of mischeivous caprice breaking through the clouds of sickness. Their owner, after a gentle sigh or two rung the bell and the chamber maid appeared.

  “Fanny” said Percy “Whether my old groom be dead or alive — drunk or sober — send him to me forthwith.”

  “Yes Sir — He has been up all night Sir, with some north country jobbers — They’ve been very noisy Sir.”

  “And, Fanny, bring me a tumbler of Hollands with a dash of water in it, and — stop — I have something to say to you — Take a sovereign out of my waistcoat pocket — With ten shillings purchase mob caps, and with the other ten procure yourself a quantity of tracts which you can distribute about the house during the fair and by all means lay one on each tray that the waiters may bring in to company, as well as on every bed in the house.”

  “There are some pretty songs Sir in one of the stalls”

  “Oh Damn my — I mean Religious tracts my girl! Those printed at the Wesleyan Repository in London.”

  Fanny looked at her sovereign as if destining it for another voyage than the one marked in her chart

  “And, Fanny, take down those curls, and comb your hair parted in front — come here and I will shew you the way.”

  Saying “Oh no Sir I can do it myself” Fanny departed on her errand, rather indignant that her favourite ornaments should be censured, and wholly puzzled to know what that strange wild gentleman meant this morning.

  She shortly returned with the morning draught required, and along with her stumbled in the patriarchal form of old Robert, much afflicted with “all overishness” and modelling his face into the expression of a Lord Eldon pronouncing judgement on a chancery suit of a century in duration and a plum in value.

  “Well — you doubly hanged dog! Drunk as an owl I see! What have you been doing all night?”

  “Searching after me truth Maister.”

  “I have heard Truth was to be found at the bottom of a well, but I did not know it was a well of rum and water — But however — Bob, I have turned over a new leaf — I will neither Swear, whore, drink, gamble, rob, or commit manslaughter again — Damn me if I will!”

  “Thank Him that Saves! O Maister yaw’re in a fearful gooid way!” and the old Saint clasping his hands together uttered a rapturous groan.

  “Are you sober enough Bob to rattle through a healing prayer for me? Anything that has enough grace in it will come in nicely — Stay, Fanny, give me the tumbler — and halt Bob — have you never such an article as a Hymn book about you?”

  “Aw’ve getten the varry best” replied Robert, lugging out an old black greasy volume — “Its the Selection used amang the Primitive Methodists — commomly termed Ranters — Owd John Wesla’s nought to it — It warms folk till the divil could’nt tak’ ’em.”

  “Damn it! That’s the true Nightingale! But Fanny my girl fetch me another glass — and then we’ll silence the Angels. Bob — This life will never do — I have a Soul to be saved — ”

  “Sure — sure Maister”

  “And — Damn me if I won’t save it’”

  “The Lord be praised — Yaw’re in a gooid way Maister!”

  “Well then — pitch the Key note — thats it — I’ll take the tenor —

  “Will you go to Glory with me &c &c”

  The effect of the ensuing duet was most farcical were it not blasphemous. The beautiful tenor of Mr Percy united in all possible earnestness with a voice that tortured ones ears like that of a mad Jack ass, and, as is usual with the sect from whose book the words were selected, to a tune which might be fitly accompanied by the dance of a ‘hen on a het girdle[sic]’.

  The poor young chambermaid stood sincerely pitying ‘the nice mad gentleman’ but utterly unable to repress a feminine titter. But a much deeper and more masculine chuckle could be heard ere the door opened to introduce Hector Matthias Mireabeau Montmorency, Esqre — whose perfect knowledge of his friends character had made him — on hearing from his bedroom the melodious twang — arise, don his garments, and straight proceed to perfect the work of godliness —

  “Now then my heroes!” thundered the Barrister “Which is to fly fastest toward Heaven — Master or man
? You want a good bass and as I flatter myself I possess such an article, while I am sure, from your chambermaids pretty mouth she has a sweet treble — we’ll make up four parts, and walk up faster than Enoch or Elijah — I am a Calvinist and believe Jerry and Quashia and O’ Connor and Gordon were predestined to the fire grate so I wont call them in to join us.”

  “Oh, but Hector, I am not a Calvinist I am as good a Wesleyan as was ever hatched — and I insist that all shall be saved — Storming heavens gate is the duty of a Christian soldier — I am a new born child Hector — Fanny just reach me the tumbler — and I’ll be — ” Here the speakers voice was drowned by a violent fit of coughing in consequence of too strong a draught of the spirits — at last he gained his breath to ask —

  “Fanny — have they never a room in the house into which one could put a few forms and a pulpit during the fair time?”

  “Yes Sir — Master has a large room up stairs, but the players are using it now”

  “The players be damned — stop. damn me if I will swear again — I’ll rent it and fit up a pulpit by G — d.”

  “The loard be praised said Robert, who was steadying himself against the bed post — and “Amen” groaned Hector — who was taking the sweetest pinch of snuff he had ever enjoyed. The groom, by virtue of his superior age and the advanced state of his religious experience thought proper to break in on the conversation of his Master and the Barrister by recommending that they should go to prayer.

  “And donnot pray like frightened folk” said Bob “pray wi’ a real thundering roar — pray till ye’re legs kick aat like a stallion’s — There’s nought but muckment in ye’re church prayers — Aw wad not dry my nose wi’ ’em! If Heaven’s grace will not come yaw mun mak’ it come!”

  I shall not give the report of Mr Robert Patrick King’s prayer as though too true to nature, and to what I have often heard in Yorkshire and Lancashire — it would be very justly pronounced impious by all not intimately aquainted with the lengths to which a brutal character and an impudent hypocrisy like that which the excellent groom possessed, can carry the most notorious scoundrels through all the deliria of ‘revivals’ and ‘experiences’.

  Mr Percy lay, ejaculating between the pauses of his spiritual physician — such sentences as “Holy Melchizedec, Nebuchadnezzar and Batholomew look down upon us!” “Belshazzar, Jeroboam and Abihu, save us!” and when Hector remarked mildly “My Lad such invocations are neither Jew or Gentile — Catholic or protestant” He replied “Well I mean all for the best — Sweet Saint Bathsheba — dear Jezebel — divine Herodias have mercy on us!” — There Mr King fairly stopped in horror and amazement —

  “Oh Loard! Maister — yaw’re noan calling on them whores are ye? — Nay naw aw mun strip me coil to me wark and link at it in me shirt sleeves!”

  “Well Bob it is not a sin to pray to Angels then — so — Merciful Moloch — blessed Belial — beneficent Beelzebub do have — ”

  “Stop Maister — They war angels once, but they’ve fallen like cracked pots, or a brocken kneed horse — Yaw mun look aboon Maister; same as aw do!”

  The morning service had not proceeded much further, and Hector was just preparing to administer pedestrian admonition to the hinder man of the kneeling groom, when in burst Simpson Quamina and O’ Connor —

  “By Gom!” thundered Jeremiah in his deepest voice “Are we going to have a case of Delirium tremens here? By Gom — rise you fool”

  “This” remarked Arthur “This is just the practical part of what I went through after my famous Fortnight where in I killed young Phillpot — He went off with a red hot poker in his bowels one Friday, after his thirty ninth tumbler — I had three Methodist missionaries at Kingston to pray for me that week — and it was all owing to new rum. It could be nothing else, for if it had been real old Jamaica he would have yet been sweet as a daisy.”

  “Well” said Quamina “You Christian dogs do pay dearly for your whistle — who ever heard any of the faithful ranting and raving thus? Allah be praised — I am a Moslem skin and bone, and I’d be damned before I’d taste one drop of your infidel wine! Praised be the name of the prophet! I’m glad he knew nothing of Brandy and Whiskey! If He had done I doubt I should have found Houri’s rather scarce hereafter!”

  “Quashia Quamina” said Percy sternly “If you do not put off the old man I’ll make you as much a cinder as you seem to be! That Bull baiting stake shall not have been standing so long in the towngate for nothing! Fanny my lass — tell the waiter to order — Coffee, Ham, Eggs — and Brandy for one — and lay a Bible beside the tray open at the Xth chapter of Nehemiah — you may as well also double it down at the Ist chapter of Ist Chronicles — I’ll have prayers this morning or else I’ll be — “I’ll comment on Nehemiah from the Ist to the th verses — I’ll let you know the word!”

  All the bed chamber audience now left the room except the devout groom and the faithful friend, Hector, who said

  “Now — Percy how long is this blasted foolery to continue — for I fancy you have other fish to fry?”

  “Hector, if you do not leave this room and let me find you on my descent into the breakfast room, prone on your knees may you get ere night what you will be sure to get ere the Lords last day!”

  Mr Montmorency shut the door, saying, ere he left that he hoped there was plenty of Hollands distributed at Love feasts, and Mr Percy with the aid of his devout groom and a snatch now and then from one of the songs of Zion managed to complete his morning toilette — which was not this morning the garb of a grouse shooting Squire — but very unexceptionable and clerical black. He sported a white cravat with a precise tie, and as his groom said on adjusting his masters crock coat — he “at last looked dacent and menseful — ”

  When the “Rev” Alexander Percy entered the breakfast room in his hotel he was greeted by the irrepressible laughter of his companions, but not all their mirth or raillery could disturb the rapt inspiration of his divine countenance. Addressing himself to the waiter, who, owing to confusion of mind consequent on the metamorphosis of the strange gentleman, was only prevented by Hector from misplacing everything. He said —

  “Have you here any resident teachers of the Gospel?”

  “No Sir — Yes Sir — Theres Mr Scarlet the Curate — a capital judge of horse flesh Sir — and the Rev Matthew Rasper — poor old Gentleman — he weighs st now and can scarce go to cover — but he loves to see a throw off. Boots will take you there Sir, any time. He has as good a drop of wine in his cellars Sir as we have — and the Dean says ours is not to be beaten at the Bishops — and I am sure the Dean is a judge Sir”

  The company pricked up their ears at this intelligence — Quashia swore he loved the cloth for it was his own colour — O’ Connor asked had Mr Rasper never a pretty daughter or so, for his soul warmed toward the family — but Mr Percy sternly ordered silence and continued —

  “Waiter jest not on things pertaining to Salvation — Are there here any of the Lords labourers in the Wesleyan or Primitive Methodist vineyards”

  “The Waiter looked at his napkin — settled his stock and timidly answered

  “Lord Reynard has some gardeners Sir, but I believe they are not methodists, for the head gardener broke anothers head last week for selling off peaches — besides his lordship lives eight miles off Sir.”

  “Unrepentant Sinner — send for your Wesleyan preacher — and tell him to bring a brace of class leaders along with him”

  As the waiter left the room scratching his head and sighing deeply Mr Percy took his place at the head of the table and intimated to the company that he should expect every man to off the moor and down at the Hotel by five in the afternoon, for the lord had work for them — For himself he should not touch a trigger as his vocation was to save souls.

  “I always thought” said Hector who alone seemed thouroughly to comprehend his dear friends humour — “I always had an idea that the black coat carries it with the lasses over the red or green — Well I’ll make
one — and now you dogs when your luncheon is ready on the heather see if I don’ t treat you to a grace as long as O’ Connors face has become at the mention of it”

  “Well” Sighed Arthur — turning to Quamina “There is nothing for it but to get drunk to day — trouble is pressing hard on us!”

  “I am for a row and a fight in the fair this evening Arthur — nothing else will unburthen my mind.”

  “Gentlemen” said Percy — “You will do no such thing — The lord hath need of you. Hector I rely on you to follow out the good work.”

  As the Waiter, on reaching the preacher door had said that the famous “RICH” gentleman staying at their house wished to see him my readers will not wonder that the saintly man knocked over his breakfast table — forgot the ham and eggs that were trembling under his ruthless knife, and in a whirl of calculations about the Chapel debt — quarterly subscriptions — Donations to a dozen different funds — visions of a new school such as should cut the national one to ribbons. The founders name “A. PERCY. ESQr” — on a vast marble tablet with the “Revd Simon Slugg Preacher of the Gospel” and all the Chapel trustees sheltering modestly under the aristocratic wing, beneath — that in such a state of unworldly extasy he broke both shins over the sheep pens and recieved martyrdom from three horse Jobbers whips ere he had roused up his two principal class leaders Messrs Apollos Fleshbotham, and Timothy Bottomley.