“No,” said she, changing her tone, “you want nothing — nothing will you ever want, or I am much mistaken in that FACE.”
In that WATCH-CHAIN, she should have said, for her quick eye had espied Archer’s watch-chain. He was the only person in the company who had a watch, and she therefore judged him to be the richest.
“Had you ever your fortune told, sir, in your life?”
“Not I!” said he, looking at De Grey, as if he was afraid of his ridicule, if he listened to the gipsy.
“Not you! No! for you will make your own fortune, and the fortune of all that belong to you!”
“There’s good news for my friends!” cried Archer.
“And I’m one of them, remember that,” cried Fisher. “And I,” “And I,” joined a number of voices.
“Good luck to them!” cried the gipsy, “good luck to them all!”
Then, as soon as they had acquired sufficient confidence in her good will, they pressed up to the window. “There,” cried Townsend, as he chanced to stumble over the carpenter’s mitre box, which stood in the way, “there’s a good omen for me. I’ve stumbled on the mitre box; I shall certainly be a bishop.”
Happy he who had sixpence, for he bid fair to be a judge upon the bench. And happier he who had a shilling, for he was in the high road to be one day upon the woolsack, Lord High Chancellor of England. No one had half a crown, or no one would surely have kept it in his pocket upon such an occasion, for he might have been an archbishop, a king, or what he pleased.
Fisher, who like all weak people was extremely credulous, kept his post immovable in the front row all the time, his mouth open, and his stupid eyes fixed upon the gipsy, in whom he felt implicit faith.
Those who have least confidence in their own powers, and who have least expectation from the success of their own exertions, are always most disposed to trust in fortune-tellers and fortune. They hope to WIN, when they cannot EARN; and as they can never be convinced by those who speak sense, it is no wonder they are always persuaded by those who talk nonsense.
“I have a question to put,” said Fisher, in a solemn tone.
“Put it, then,” said Archer, “what hinders you?”
“But they will hear me,” said he, looking suspiciously at De Grey.
“I shall not hear you,” said De Grey, “I am going.” Everybody else drew back, and left him to whisper his question in the gipsy’s ear.
“What is become of my Livy?”
“Your SISTER Livy, do you mean?” said the gipsy.
“No, my LATIN Livy.”
The gipsy paused for information. “It had a leaf torn out in the beginning, and I HATE DR. MIDDLETON—”
“Written in it,” interrupted the gipsy.
“Right — the very book!” cried Fisher with joy. “But how COULD you know it was Dr. Middleton’s name? I thought I had scratched it, so that nobody could make it out.”
“Nobody COULD make it out but ME,” replied the gipsy. “But never think to deceive me,” said she, shaking her head at him in a manner that made him tremble.
“I don’t deceive you indeed, I tell you the whole truth. I lost it a week ago.”
“True.”
“And when shall I find it?”
“Meet me here at this hour to-morrow evening, and I will answer you. No more! I must be gone. Not a word more to-night.”
She pulled the shutters towards her, and left the youth in darkness. All his companions were gone. He had been so deeply engaged in this conference, that he had not perceived their departure. He found all the world at supper, but no entreaties could prevail upon him to disclose his secret. Townsend rallied in vain. As for Archer, he was not disposed to destroy by ridicule the effect which he saw that the old woman’s predictions in his favour had had upon the imagination of many of his little partisans. He had privately slipped two good shillings into the gipsy’s hand to secure her; for he was willing to pay any price for ANY means of acquiring power.
The watch-chain had not deceived the gipsy, for Archer was the richest person in the community. His friends had imprudently supplied him with more money than is usually trusted to boys of his age. Dr. Middleton had refused to give him a larger monthly allowance than the rest of his companions; but he brought to school with him secretly the sum of five guineas. This appeared to his friends and to himself an inexhaustible treasure.
Riches and talents would, he flattered himself, secure to him that ascendancy of which he was so ambitious. “Am I your manager, or not?” was now his question. “I scorn to take advantage of a hasty moment; but since last night you have had time to consider. If you desire me to be your manager, you shall see what a theatre I will make for you. In this purse,” said he, showing through the network a glimpse of the shining treasure—”in this purse is Aladdin’s wonderful lamp. Am I your manager? Put it to the vote.”
It was put to the vote. About ten of the most reasonable of the assembly declared their gratitude and high approbation of their old friend, De Grey; but the numbers were in favour of the new friend. And as no metaphysical distinctions relative to the idea of a majority had ever entered their thoughts, the most numerous party considered themselves as now beyond dispute in the right. They drew off on one side in triumph, and their leader, who knew the consequence of a name in party matters, immediately distinguished his partisans by the gallant name of ARCHERS, stigmatizing the friends of De Grey by the odious epithet of Greybeards.
Amongst the Archers was a class not very remarkable for their mental qualifications; but who, by their bodily activity, and by the peculiar advantages annexed to their way of life, rendered themselves of the highest consequence, especially to the rich and enterprising.
The judicious reader will apprehend that I allude to the persons called day scholars. Amongst these, Fisher was distinguished by his knowledge of all the streets and shops in the adjacent town; and, though a dull scholar, he had such reputation as a man of business, that whoever had commissions to execute at the confectioner’s, was sure to apply to him. Some of the youngest of his employers had, it is true, at times complained that he made mistakes of halfpence and pence in their accounts; but as these affairs could never be brought to a public trial, Fisher’s character and consequence were undiminished, till the fatal day when his Aunt Barbara forbade his visits to the confectioner’s; or, rather, till she requested the confectioner, who had his private reasons for obeying her, not TO RECEIVE her nephew’s visits, as he had made himself sick at his house, and Mrs. Barbara’s fears for his health were incessant.
Though his visits to the confectioner’s were thus at an end, there were many other shops open to him; and with officious zeal he offered his services to the new manager, to purchase whatever might be wanting for the theatre.
Since his father’s death Fisher had become a boarder at Dr. Middleton’s, but his frequent visits to his Aunt Barbara afforded him opportunities of going into the town. The carpenter, De Grey’s friend, was discarded by Archer, for having said “LACK-A-DAISY!” when he saw that the old theatre was pulled down. A new carpenter and paper hanger, recommended by Fisher, were appointed to attend, with their tools, for orders, at two o’clock. Archer, impatient to show his ingenuity and his generosity, gave his plan and his orders in a few minutes, in a most decided manner; “These things,” he observed, “should be done with some spirit.”
To which the carpenter readily assented, and added, that “gentlemen of spirit never looked to the EXPENSE, but always to the EFFECT.” Upon this principle Mr. Chip set to work with all possible alacrity. In a few hours’ time he promised to produce a grand effect. High expectations were formed. Nothing was talked of but the new playhouse; and so intent upon it was every head, that no lessons could be got. Archer was obliged, in the midst of his various occupations, to perform the part of grammar and dictionary for twenty different people.
“O ye Athenians!” he exclaimed, “how hard do I work to obtain your praise!”
Impatient to re
turn to the theatre, the moment the hours destined for instruction, or, as they are termed by schoolboys, school-hours, were over, each prisoner started up with a shout of joy.
“Stop one moment, gentlemen, if you please,” said Dr. Middleton, in an awful voice. “Mr. Archer, return to your place. Are you all here?” The names of all the boys were called over, and when each had answered to his name, Dr. Middleton said —
“Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your amusements; but, till you have contrary orders from me, no one, on pain of my serious displeasure, must go into THAT building” (pointing to the place where the theatre was erecting). “Mr. Archer, your carpenter is at the door. You will be so good as to dismiss him. I do not think proper to give my reasons for these orders; but you who KNOW me,” said the doctor, and his eye turned towards De Grey, “will not suspect me of caprice. I depend, gentlemen, upon your obedience.”
To the dead silence with which these orders were received, succeeded in a few minutes a universal groan. “So!” said Townsend, “all our diversion is over.” “So,” whispered Fisher in the manager’s ear, “this is some trick of the Greybeard’s. Did you not observe how he looked at De Grey?”
Fired by this thought, which had never entered his mind before, Archer started from his reverie, and striking his hand upon the table, swore that he “would not be outwitted by any Greybeard in Europe — no, nor by all of them put together. The Archers were surely a match for them. He would stand by them, if they would stand by him,” he declared, with a loud voice, “against the whole world, and Dr. Middleton himself, with ‘LITTLE PREMIUMS’ at his right hand.”
Everybody admired Archer’s spirit, but were a little appalled at the sound of standing against Dr. Middleton.
“Why not?” resumed the indignant manager. “Neither Dr. Middleton nor any doctor upon earth shall treat me with injustice. This, you see, is a stroke at me and my party, and I won’t bear it.”
“Oh, you are mistaken!” said De Grey, who was the only one who dared to oppose reason to the angry orator. “It cannot be a stroke aimed at ‘you and your party,’ for he does not know that you HAVE a party.”
“I’ll make him know it, and I’ll make YOU know it, too,” said Archer.
“Before I came here you reigned alone, now your reign is over, Mr. De
Grey. Remember my majority this morning, and your theatre last night.”
“He has remembered it,” said Fisher. “You see, the moment he was not to be our manager, we were to have no theatre, no playhouse, no plays. We must all sit down with our hands before us — all for ‘GOOD REASONS’ of Dr. Middleton’s, which he does not vouchsafe to tell us.”
“I won’t be governed by any man’s reasons that he won’t tell me,” cried
Archer. “He cannot have good reasons, or why not tell them?”
“Nonsense!” said De Grey. “WE SHALL NOT SUSPECT HIM OF CAPRICE!”
“Why not?”
“Because we who know him, have never known him capricious.”
“Perhaps not. I know nothing about him,” said Archer.
“No,” said De Grey; “for that very reason I speak who do know him.
Don’t be in a passion, Archer.”
“I will be in a passion. I won’t submit to tyranny. I won’t be made a fool of by a few soft words. You don’t know me, De Grey. I’ll go through with what I’ve begun. I am manager, and I will be manager; and you shall see my theatre finished in spite of you, and MY party triumphant.”
“Party,” repeated De Grey. “I cannot imagine what is in the word ‘party’ that seems to drive you mad. We never heard of parties till you came amongst us.”
“No; before I came, I say, nobody dared oppose you; but I dare; and I tell you to your face, take care of me — a warm friend and a bitter enemy is my motto.”
“I am not your enemy! I believe you are out of your senses, Archer!” said he, laughing.
“Out of my senses! No; you are my enemy! Are you not my rival? Did not you win the premium? Did not you want to be manager? Answer me, are not you, in one word, a Greybeard?”
“You called me a Greybeard, but my name is De Grey,” said he, still laughing.
“Laugh on!” cried the other, furiously. “Come, ARCHERS, follow me. WE shall laugh by-and-by, I promise you.” At the door Archer was stopped by Mr. Chip. “Oh, Mr. Chip, I am ordered to discharge you.”
“Yes, sir; and here’s a little bill—”
“Bill, Mr. Chip! why, you have not been at work for two hours!”
“Not much over, sir; but if you’ll please to look into it, you’ll see ’tis for a few things you ordered. The stuff is all laid out and delivered. The paper and the festoon-bordering for the drawing room scene is cut out, and left yAnder within.”
“YAnder, within! I wish you had not been in such a confounded hurry — six-and-twenty shillings!” cried he; “but I can’t stay to talk about it now. I’ll tell you, Mr. Chip,” said Archer, lowering his voice, “what you must do for me, my good fellow.”
Then, drawing Mr. Chip aside, he begged him to pull down some of the wood work which had been put up, and to cut it into a certain number of wooden bars, of which he gave him the dimensions, with orders to place them all, when ready, under a haystack, which he pointed out.
Mr. Chip scrupled and hesitated, and began to talk of “THE DOCTOR.” Archer immediately began to talk of the bill, and throwing down a guinea and a half, the conscientious carpenter pocketed the money directly, and made his bow.
“Well, Master Archer,” said he, “there’s no refusing you nothing. You have such a way of talking one out of it. You manage me just like a child.”
“Ay, ay!” said Archer, knowing that he had been cheated, and yet proud of managing a carpenter, “ay, ay! I know the way to manage everybody. Let the things be ready in an hour’s time, and hark’e! leave your tools by mistake behind you, and a thousand of twenty-penny nails. Ask no questions, and keep your own counsel like a wise man. Off with you, and take care of ‘THE DOCTOR.’”
“Archers, Archers, to the Archers’ tree! Follow your leader,” cried he, sounding his well known whistle as a signal. His followers gathered round him, and he, raising himself upon the mount at the foot of the tree, counted his numbers, and then, in a voice lower than usual, addressed them thus:—”My friends, is there a Greybeard amongst us? If there is, let him walk off at once, he has my free leave.” No one stirred. “Then we are all Archers, and we will stand by one another. Join hands, my friends.” They all joined hands. “Promise me not to betray me, and I will go on. I ask no security but your honour.” They all gave their honour to be secret and FAITHFUL, as he called it, and he went on. “Did you ever hear of such a thing as a ‘BARRING OUT,’ my friends?” They had heard of such a thing, but they had only heard of it.
Archer gave the history of a “Barring Out,” in which he had been concerned at his school, in which the boys stood out against the master, and gained their point at last, which was a week’s more holidays at Easter.* “But if WE should not succeed,” said they, “Dr. Middleton is so steady; he never goes back from what he has said.”
“Did you ever try to push him back? Let us be steady and he’ll tremble.
Tyrants always tremble when—”
“Oh,” interrupted a number of voices; “but he is not a tyrant — is he?”
“All schoolmasters are tyrants — are not they?” replied Archer; “and is not he a schoolmaster?”
To this logic there was no answer; but, still reluctant, they asked,
“What they should GET by a Barring Out?”
“Get! — everything! — what we want! — which is everything to lads of spirit- -victory and liberty! Bar him out till he repeals his tyrannical law; till he lets us into our own theatre again, or till he tells us his ‘GOOD REASONS’ against it.”
“But perhaps he has reasons for not telling us.”
“Impossible!” cried Archer, “that’s the way we are always to be governed b
y a man in a wig, who says he has good reasons, and can’t tell them. Are you fools? Go! go back to De Grey! I see you are all Greybeards. Go! Who goes first?” Nobody would go FIRST. “I will have nothing to do with ye, if ye are resolved to be slaves!” “We won’t be slaves!” they all exclaimed at once. “Then,” said Archer, “stand out in the right and be free.”
*[This custom of “BARRING OUT” was very general (especially in the northern parts of England) during the 17th and 18th centuries, and it has been fully described by Brand and other antiquarian writers.
Dr. Johnson mentions that Addison, while under the tuition of Mr. Shaw, master of the Lichfield Grammar School, led, and successfully conducted, “a plan for BARRING OUT his master. A disorderly privilege,” says the doctor, “which, in his time, prevailed in the principal seminaries of education.”
In the Gentleman’s Magazine of 1828, Dr. P. A. Nuttall, under the signature of II. A. N., has given a spirited sketch of a “BARRING OUT” at the Ormskirk Grammar School, which has since been republished at length (though without acknowledgment), by Sir Henry Ellis, in Bohn’s recent edition of Brand’s “Popular Antiquities.” This operation took place early in the present century, and is interesting from its being, perhaps, the last attempt on record, and also from the circumstance of the writer himself having been one of the juvenile leaders in the daring adventure, “quo rum pars magna fuit,” — Ed.]
“THE RIGHT.” It would have taken up too much time to examine what “THE RIGHT” was. Archer was always sure that “THE RIGHT” was what his party chose to do; that is, what he chose to do himself; and such is the influence of numbers upon each other, in conquering the feelings of shame and in confusing the powers of reasoning, that in a few minutes “the right” was forgotten, and each said to himself, “To be sure, Archer is a very clever boy, and he can’t be mistaken”; or, “to be sure, Townsend thinks so, and he would not do anything to get us into a scrape”; or, “to be sure, everybody will agree to this but myself, and I can’t stand out alone, to be pointed at as a Greybeard and a slave. Everybody thinks it is right, and everybody can’t be wrong.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 324