Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “I want to look at the old cambric that you said you had — that would do for making — that you could let me have cheap for artificial flowers,” said the firework-maker to the Jew; and as he spoke, his eye from time to time looked towards Piedro.

  Piedro felt for the leaden image of the saint, which he wore round his neck. The string which held it cracked, and broke with the pull he gave it. This slight circumstance affected his terrified and superstitious mind more than all the rest. He imagined that at this moment his fate was decided; that Saint Januarius deserted him, and that he was undone. He precipitately followed the firework-man the instant he left the shop, and seizing hold of his arm, whispered, “I must speak to you.”

  “Speak, then,” said the man, astonished.

  “Not here; this way,” said he, drawing him towards the dark passage: “what I have to say must not be overheard. You are going to the Count de Flora’s, are not you?”

  “I am,” said the man. He was going there to speak to the countess about some artificial flowers; but Piedro thought he was going to speak to her about the diamond cross.

  “You are going to give information against me? Nay, hear me, I confess that I purloined that diamond cross; but I can do the count a great service, upon condition that he pardons me. His villa is to be attacked this night by four well armed men. They will set out five hours hence. I am compelled, under the threat of assassination, to accompany them; but I shall do no more. I throw myself upon the count’s mercy. Hasten to him — we have no time to lose.”

  The poor man, who heard this confession, escaped from Piedro the moment he loosed his arm. With all possible expedition he ran to the count’s palace in Naples, and related to him all that had been said by Piedro. Some of the count’s servants, on whom he could most depend, were at a distant part of the city attending their mistress, but the English gentleman offered the services of his man Arthur. Arthur no sooner heard the business, and understood that Francisco was in danger, than he armed himself without saying one word, saddled his English horse, and was ready to depart before anyone else had finished their exclamations and conjectures.

  “But we are not to set out yet,” said the servant; “it is but four miles to Torre del Greco; the sbirri (officers of justice) are summoned — they are to go with us — we must wait for them.”

  They waited, much against Arthur’s inclination, a considerable time for these sbirri. At length they set out, and just as they reached the villa, the flash of the pistol was seen from one of the apartments in the house. The robbers were there. This pistol was snapped by their captain at poor Francisco, who had bravely asserted that he would, as long as he had life, defend the property committed to his care. The pistol missed fire, for it was charged with some of the damaged powder which the Jew had bought that evening from the firework maker, and which he had sold as excellent immediately afterwards to his favourite customers — the robbers who met at his house.

  Arthur, as soon as he perceived the flash of the piece, pressed forward through all the apartments, followed by the count’s servants and the officers of justice. At the sudden appearance of so many armed men, the robbers stood dismayed. Arthur eagerly shook Francisco’s hand, congratulating him upon his safety, and did not perceive, till he had given him several rough friendly shakes, that his arm was wounded, and that he was pale with the loss of blood.

  “It is not much — only a slight wound,” said Francisco; “one that I should have escaped, if I had been upon my guard; but the sight of a face that I little expected to see in such company took from me all presence of mind; and one of the ruffians stabbed me here in the arm, whilst I stood in stupid astonishment.”

  “Oh! take me to prison! take me to prison — I am weary of life — I am a wretch not fit to live!” cried Piedro, holding his hands to be tied by the sbirri.

  The next morning Piedro was conveyed to prison; and as he passed through the streets of Naples he was met by several of those who had known him when he was a child. “Ay,” said they, as he went by, “his father encouraged him in cheating when he was BUT A CHILD; and see what he is come to, now he is a man!” He was ordered to remain twelve months in solitary confinement. His captain and his accomplices were sent to the galleys, and the Jew was banished from Naples.

  And now, having got these villains out of the way, let us return to honest Francisco. His wound was soon healed. Arthur was no bad surgeon, for he let his patient get well as fast as he pleased; and Carlo and Rosetta nursed him with so much kindness, that he was almost sorry to find himself perfectly recovered.

  “Now that you are able to go out,” said Francisco’s father to him, “you must come and look at my new house, my dear son.”

  “Your new house, father?”

  “Yes, son, and a charming one it is, and a handsome piece of land near it — all at a safe distance, too, from Mount Vesuvius; and can you guess how I came by it? — it was given to me for having a good son.”

  “Yes,” cried Carlo; “the inhabitants of Resina, and several who had property near Terre del Greco, and whose houses and lives were saved by your intrepidity in carrying the materials for the fireworks and the gunpowder out of this dangerous place, went in a body to the duke, and requested that he would mention your name and these facts to the king, who, amongst the grants he has made to the sufferers by the late eruption of Mount Vesuvius, has been pleased to say that he gives this house and garden to your father, because you have saved the property and lives of many of his subjects.”

  The value of a handsome portion of furniture, plate, etc., in the Count de Flora’s villa, was, according to the count’s promise, given to him; and this money he divided between his own family and that of the good carpenter who first put a pencil into his hands. Arthur would not accept of any present from him. To Mr. Lee, the English gentleman, he offered one of his own drawings — a fruit-piece.

  “I like this very well,” said Arthur, as he examined the drawing, “but I should like this melon better if it was a little bruised. It is now three years ago since I was going to buy that bruised melon from you; you showed me your honest nature then, though you were but a boy; and I have found you the same ever since. A good beginning makes a good ending — an honest boy will make an honest man; and honesty is the best policy, as you have proved to all who wanted the proof, I hope.”

  “Yes,” added Francisco’s father, “I think it is pretty plain that Piedro the Cunning has not managed quite so well as Francisco the Honest.”

  TARLTON.

  Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, —

  To teach the young idea how to shoot, —

  To pour the fresh instruction o’er the mind, —

  To breathe th’ enlivening spirit, — and to fix

  The generous purpose in the glowing breast.

  THOMSON.

  Young Hardy was educated by Mr. Freeman, a very excellent master, at one of our rural Sunday schools. He was honest, obedient, active and good- natured, hence he was esteemed by his master; and being beloved by all his companions who were good, he did not desire to be loved by the bad; nor was he at all vexed or ashamed when idle, mischievous or dishonest boys attempted to plague or ridicule him. His friend Loveit, on the contrary, wished to be universally liked, and his highest ambition was to be thought the best natured boy in the school — and so he was. He usually went by the name of POOR LOVEIT, and everybody pitied him when he got into disgrace, which he frequently did, for though he had a good disposition, he was led to do things which he knew to be wrong merely because he could never have the courage to say “NO,” because he was afraid to offend the ill-natured, and could not bear to be laughed at by fools.

  One fine autumn evening, all the boys were permitted to go out to play in a pleasant green meadow near the school. Loveit and another boy, called Tarlton, began to play a game of battledore and shuttlecock, and a large party stood by to look on, for they were the best players at battledore and shuttlecock in the school, and this was a tr
ial of skill between them. When they had got it up to three hundred and twenty, the game became very interesting. The arms of the combatants tired that they could scarcely wield the battledores. The shuttlecock began to waver in the air; now it almost touched the ground, and now, to the astonishment of the spectators, mounted again high over their heads: yet the strokes became feebler and feebler; and “Now, Loveit!” “Now, Tarlton!” resounded on all sides. For another minute the victory was doubtful; but at length the setting sun, shining full in Loveit’s face, so dazzled his eyes that he could no longer see the shuttlecock, and it fell at his feet.

  After the first shout for Tarlton’s triumph was over, everybody exclaimed, “Poor Loveit! he’s the best natured fellow in the world! What a pity that he did not stand with his back to the sun!”

  “Now, I dare you all to play another game with me,” cried Tarlton, vauntingly; and as he spoke, he tossed the shuttlecock up with all his force — with so much force that it went over the hedge and dropped into a lane, which went close beside the field. “Hey-day!” said Tarlton, “what shall we do now?”

  The boys were strictly forbidden to go into the lane; and it was upon their promise not to break this command, that they were allowed to play in the adjoining field.

  No other shuttlecock was to be had and their play was stopped. They stood on the top of the bank, peeping over the hedge. “I see it yonder,” said Tarlton; “I wish somebody would get it. One could get over the gate at the bottom of the field, and be back again in half a minute,” added he, looking at Loveit. “But you know we must not go into the lane,” said Loveit, hesitatingly. “Pugh!” said Tarlton, “why, now, what harm could it do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Loveit, drumming upon his battledore; “but—”

  “You don’t know, man! why, then, what are you afraid of, I ask you?” Loveit coloured, went on drumming, and again, in a lower voice, said “HE DIDN’T KNOW.” But upon Tarlton’s repeating, in a more insolent tone, “I ask you, man, what you’re afraid of?” he suddenly left off drumming, and looking round, said, “he was not afraid of anything that he knew of.”

  “Yes, but you are,” said Hardy, coming forward.

  “Am I?” said Loveit; “of what, pray, am I afraid?”

  “Of doing wrong!”

  “Afraid OF DOING WRONG!” repeated Tarlton, mimicking him, so that he made everybody laugh. “Now, hadn’t you better say afraid of being flogged?”

  “No,” said Hardy, coolly, after the laugh had somewhat subsided, “I am as little afraid of being flogged as you are, Tarlton; but I meant—”

  “No matter what you meant; why should you interfere with your wisdom and your meanings; nobody thought of asking YOU to stir a step for us; but we asked Loveit, because he’s the best fellow in the world.”

  “And for that very reason you should not ask him, because, you know he can’t refuse you anything.”

  “Indeed, though,” cried Loveit, piqued, “THERE you’re mistaken, for I could refuse if I chose it.”

  Hardy smiled; and Loveit, half afraid of his contempt, and half afraid of Tarlton’s ridicule, stood doubtful, and again had recourse to his battledore, which he balanced most curiously upon his forefinger. “Look at him! — now do look at him!” cried Tarlton; “did you ever in your life see anybody look so silly? — Hardy has him quite under his thumb; he’s so mortally afraid of Parson Prig, that he dare not, for the soul of him, turn either of his eyes from the tip of his nose; look how he squints!”

  “I don’t squint,” said Loveit, looking up, “and nobody has me under his thumb! and what Hardy said was only for fear I should get in disgrace; he’s the best friend I have.”

  Loveit spoke this with more than usual spirit, for both his heart and his pride were touched.

  “Come along, then,” said Hardy, taking him by the arm in an affectionate manner; and he was just going, when Tarlton called after him, “Ay, go along with its best friend, and take care it does not get into a scrape;- -good-bye, Little Panado!”

  “Whom do they call Little Panado?” said Loveit, turning his head hastily back.

  “Never mind,” said Hardy, “what does it signify?”

  “No,” said Loveit, “to be sure it does not signify; but one does not like to be called Little Panado: besides,” added he, after going a few steps farther, “they’ll all think it so ill-natured. I had better go back, and just tell them that I’m very sorry I can’t get their shuttlecock; do come back with me.”

  “No,” said Hardy, “I can’t go back; and you’d better not.”

  “But, I assure you, I won’t stay a minute; wait for me,” added Loveit; and he slunk back again to prove that he was not Little Panado.

  Once returned, the rest followed, of course; for to support his character of good-nature he was obliged to yield to the entreaties of his companions, and to show his spirit, leapt over the gate, amidst the acclamations of the little mob: — he was quickly out of sight.

  “Here,” cried he, returning in about five minutes, quite out of breath, “I’ve got the shuttlecock; and I’ll tell you what I’ve seen,” cried he, panting for breath.

  “What?” cried everybody, eagerly.

  “Why, just at the turn of the corner, at the end of the lane” — panting.

  “Well,” said Tarlton, impatiently, “do go on.”

  “Let me just take breath first.”

  “Pugh — never mind your breath.”

  “Well, then, just at the turn of the corner, at the end of the lane, as I was looking about for the shuttlecock, I heard a great rustling somewhere near me, and so I looked where it could come from; and I saw, in a nice little garden, on the opposite side of the way, a boy, about as big as Tarlton, sitting in a great tree, shaking the branches: so I called to the boy, to beg one; but he said he could not give me one, for that they were his grandfather’s; and just at that minute, from behind a gooseberry bush, up popped the uncle; the grandfather poked his head out of the window; so I ran off as fast as my legs would carry me though I heard him bawling after me all the way.”

  “And let him bawl,” cried Tarlton; “he shan’t bawl for nothing; I’m determined we’ll have some of his fine large rosy apples before I sleep to-night.”

  At this speech a general silence ensued; everybody kept their eyes fixed upon Tarlton, except Loveit, who looked down, apprehensive that he should be drawn on much farther than he intended. “Oh, indeed!” said he to himself, “as Hardy told me, I had better not have come back!”

  Regardless of this confusion, Tarlton continued, “But before I say any more, I hope we have no spies amongst us. If there is any one of you afraid to be flogged, let him march off this instant!”

  Loveit coloured, bit his lips, wished to go, but had not the courage to move first. He waited to see what everybody else would do: nobody stirred; so Loveit stood still.

  “Well, then,” cried Tarlton, giving his hand to the boy next him, then to the next, “your word and honour that you won’t betray me; but stand by me, and I’ll stand by you.” Each boy gave his hand and his promise; repeating, “Stand by me, and I’ll stand by you.”

  Loveit hung back till the last; and had almost twisted off the button of the boy’s coat who screened him, when Tarlton came up, holding out his hand, “Come, Loveit, lad, you’re in for it: stand by me, and I’ll stand by you.”

  “Indeed, Tarlton,” expostulated he, without looking him in the face, “I do wish you’d give up this scheme; I daresay all the apples are gone by this time; I wish you would. Do, pray, give up this scheme.”

  “What scheme, man? you have’n’t heard it yet; you may as well know your text before you begin preaching.”

  The corners of Loveit’s mouth could not refuse to smile, though in his heart he felt not the slightest inclination to laugh.

  “Why, I don’t know you, I declare I don’t know you to-day,” said Tarlton; “you used to be the best natured most agreeable lad in the world, and would do anything one asked you; b
ut you’re quite altered of late, as we were saying just now, when you skulked away with Hardy: come, — do, man, pluck up a little spirit, and be one of us, or you’ll make us all HATE YOU.”

  “HATE me!” repeated Loveit, with terror; “no, surely, you won’t all HATE me!” and he mechanically stretched out his hand which Tarlton shook violently, saying, “Ay, now, that’s right.”

  “Ay, now, that’s wrong!” whispered Loveit’s conscience; but his conscience was of no use to him, for it was always overpowered by the voice of numbers; and though he had the wish, he never had the power, to do right. “Poor Loveit! I knew he would not refuse us,” cried his companions; and even Tarlton, the moment he shook hands with him, despised him. It is certain that weakness of mind is despised both by the good and the bad.

  The league being thus formed, Tarlton assumed all the airs of commander, explained his schemes, and laid the plan of attack upon the poor old man’s apple-tree. It was the only one he had the world. We shall not dwell upon their consultation; for the amusement of contriving such expeditions is often the chief thing which induces idle boys to engage in them.

  There was a small window at the end of the back staircase, through which, between nine and ten o’clock at night, Tarlton, accompanied by Loveit and another boy, crept out. It was a moonlight night, and after crossing the field, and climbing the gate, directed by Loveit, who now resolved to go through the affair with spirit, they proceeded down the lane with rash yet fearful steps.