CHAPTER XXXVIII. Sampson and the Philistines
My happy chance in early life led me to become intimate with arespectable person who was born in a certain island, which is pronouncedto be the first gem of the ocean by, no doubt, impartial judges ofmaritime jewellery. The stories which that person imparted to meregarding his relatives who inhabited the gem above-mentioned, were suchas used to make my young blood curdle with horror to think there shouldbe so much wickedness in the world. Every crime which you can think of;the entire Ten Commandments broken in a general smash; such rogueriesand knaveries as no storyteller could invent; such murders and robberiesas Thurtell or Turpin scarce ever perpetrated;--were by my informantaccurately remembered, and freely related, respecting his nearestkindred, to any one who chose to hear him. It was a wonder how any ofthe family still lived out of the hulks. Me brother Tim had broughthis fawther's gree hairs with sorrow to the greeve; me brother Mick hadrobbed the par'sh church repaytedly; me sisther Annamaroia had jiltedthe Captain and run off with the Ensign, forged her grandmother's will,and stole the spoons, which Larry the knife-boy was hanged for.The family of Atreus was as nothing compared to the race ofO'What-d'ye-call-'em, from which my friend sprung; but no power on earthwould, of course, induce me to name the country whence he came.
How great then used to be my naif astonishment to find these murderers,rogues, parricides, habitual forgers of bills of exchange, and so forth,every now and then writing to each other as "my dearest brother," "mydearest sister," and for months at a time living on the most amicableterms! With hands reeking with the blood of his murdered parents, Timwould mix a screeching tumbler, and give Maria a glass from it. Withlips black with the perjuries he had sworn in court respecting hisgrandmother's abstracted testament, or the murder of his poor brotherThady's helpless orphans, Mick would kiss his sister Julia's bonnycheek, and they would have a jolly night, and cry as they talked aboutold times, and the dear old Castle What-d'ye-call-'em, where they wereborn, and the fighting Onetyoneth being quarthered there, and the Majorproposing for Cyaroloine, and the tomb of their seented mother (who hadchayted them out of the propertee). Heaven bless her soul! They used toweep and kiss so profusely at meeting and parting, that it was touchingto behold them. At the sight of their embraces one forgot those painfullittle stories, and those repeated previous assurances that, did theytell all, they could hang each other all round.
What can there be finer than forgiveness? What more rational than, aftercalling a man by every bad name under the sun, to apologise, regrethasty expressions, and so forth, withdraw the decanter (say) which youhave flung at your enemy's head, and be friends as before? Some folkspossess this admirable, this angellike gift of forgiveness. It wasbeautiful, for instance, to see our two ladies at Tunbridge Wellsforgiving one another, smiling, joking, fondling almost in spite ofthe hard words of yesterday--yes, and forgetting bygones, though theycouldn't help remembering them perfectly well. I wonder, can you and Ido as much? Let us strive, my friend, to acquire this pacable, Christianspirit. My belief is that you may learn to forgive bad language employedto you; but, then, you must have a deal of practice, and be accustomedto hear and use it. You embrace after a quarrel and mutual bad language.Heaven bless us! Bad words are nothing when one is accustomed to them,and scarce need ruffle the temper on either side.
So the aunt and niece played cards very amicably together, and drank toeach other's health, and each took a wing of the chicken, and pulleda bone of the merry-thought, and (in conversation) scratched theirneighbours', not each other's, eyes out. Thus we have read how thePeninsular warriors, when the bugles sang truce, fraternised andexchanged tobacco-pouches and wine, ready to seize their firelocks andknock each other's heads off when the truce was over; and thus our oldsoldiers, skilful in war, but knowing the charms of a quiet life, laidtheir weapons down for the nonce, and hob-and-nobbed gaily together. Ofcourse, whilst drinking with Jack Frenchman, you have your piece handyto blow his brains out if he makes a hostile move: but, meanwhile, it isA votre sante, mon camarade! Here's to you, mounseer! and everything isas pleasant as possible. Regarding Aunt Bernstein's threatened gout? Thetwinges had gone off. Maria was so glad! Maria's fainting fits? She hadno return of them. A slight recurrence last night. The Baroness was sosorry! Her niece must see the best doctor, take everything to fortifyher, continue to take the steel, even after she left Tunbridge. How kindof Aunt Bernstein to offer to send some of the bottled waters after her!Suppose Madame Bernstein says in confidence to her own woman, "Faintingfits!--pooh!--epilepsy! inherited from that horrible scrofulous Germanmother!" What means have we of knowing the private conversation of theold lady and her attendant? Suppose Lady Maria orders Mrs. Betty,her ladyship's maid, to taste every glass of medicinal water, firstdeclaring that her aunt is capable of poisoning her? Very likely suchconversations take place. These are but precautions--these are thefirelocks which our old soldiers have at their sides, loaded and cocked,but at present lying quiet on the grass.
Having Harry's bond in her pocket, the veteran Maria did not choose topress for payment. She knew the world too well for that. He was boundto her, but she gave him plenty of day-rule, and leave of absence onparole. It was not her object needlessly to chafe and anger her youngslave. She knew the difference of ages, and that Harry must have hispleasures and diversions. "Take your ease and amusement, cousin," saysLady Maria. "Frisk about, pretty little mousekin," says grey Grimalkin,purring in the corner, and keeping watch with her green eyes. About allthat Harry was to see and do on his first visit to London, his femalerelatives had of course talked and joked. Both of the ladies knewperfectly what were a young gentleman's ordinary amusements in thosedays, and spoke of them with the frankness which characterised thoseeasy times.
Our wily Calypso consoled herself, then, perfectly, in the absence ofher young wanderer, and took any diversion which came to hand. Mr. JackMorris, the gentleman whom we have mentioned as rejoicing in the companyof Lord March and Mr. Warrington, was one of these diversions. To livewith titled personages was the delight of Jack Morris's life; and tolose money at cards to an earl's daughter was almost a pleasure to him.Now, the Lady Maria Esmond was an earl's daughter who was very glad towin money. She obtained permission to take Mr. Morris to the Countessof Yarmouth's assembly, and played cards with him--and so everybody waspleased.
Thus the first eight-and-forty hours after Mr. Warrington's departurepassed pretty cheerily at Tunbridge Wells, and Friday arrived, when thesermon was to be delivered which we have seen Mr. Sampson preparing. Thecompany at the Wells were ready enough to listen to it. Sampson had areputation for being a most amusing and eloquent preacher; and if therewere no breakfast, conjurer, dancing bears, concert going on, the goodWells folk would put up with a sermon. He knew Lady Yarmouth was coming,and what a power she had in the giving of livings and the dispensing ofbishoprics, the Defender of the Faith of that day having a remarkableconfidence in her ladyship's opinion upon these matters;--and so wemay be sure that Mr. Sampson prepared his very best discourse for herhearing. When the Great Man is at home at the Castle, and walks over tothe little country church, in the park, bringing the Duke, the Marquis,and a couple of Cabinet Ministers with him, has it ever been your lotto sit among the congregation, and watch Mr. Trotter the curate and hissermon? He looks anxiously at the Great Pew; he falters as he gives outhis text, and thinks, "Ah! perhaps his lordship may give me a living!"Mrs. Trotter and the girls look anxiously at the Great Pew too,and watch the effects of papa's discourse--the well-known favouritediscourse--upon the big-wigs assembled. Papa's first nervousness isover: his noble voice clears, warms to his sermon: he kindles: he takeshis pocket-handkerchief out: he is coming to that exquisite passagewhich has made them all cry at the parsonage: he has begun it! Ah! Whatis that humming noise, which fills the edifice, and causes hob-nailedMelibaeus to grin at smock-frocked Tityrus? It is the Right HonourableLord Naseby snoring in the pew by the fire! And poor Trotter's visionarymitre disappears with the music.
Sampson
was the domestic chaplain of Madame Bernstein's nephew. The twoladies of the Esmond family patronised the preacher. On the day of thesermon, the Baroness had a little breakfast in his honour, at whichSampson made his appearance, rosy and handsome, with a fresh-floweredwig, and a smart, rustling, new cassock, which he had on creditfrom some church-admiring mercer at the Wells. By the side of hispatronesses, their ladyships' lacqueys walking behind them with theirgreat gilt prayer-books, Mr. Sampson marched from breakfast to church.Every one remarked how well the Baroness Bernstein looked; she laughed,and was particularly friendly with her niece; she had a bow and astately smile for all, as she moved on, with her tortoiseshell cane. Atthe door there was a dazzling conflux of rank and fashion--all thefine company of the Wells trooping in; and her ladyship of Yarmouth,conspicuous with vermilion cheeks, and a robe of flame-coloured taffeta.There were shabby people present, besides the fine company, though theselatter were by far the most numerous. What an odd-looking pair, forinstance, were those in ragged coats, one of them with his carroty hairappearing under his scratch-wig, and who entered the church just asthe organ stopped! Nay, he could not have been a Protestant, for hemechanically crossed himself as he entered the place, saying tohis comrade, "Bedad, Tim, I forgawt!" by which I conclude thatthe individual came from an island which has been mentioned at thecommencement of this chapter. Wherever they go a rich fragrance ofwhisky spreads itself. A man may be a heretic, but possess genius: theseCatholic gentlemen have come to pay homage to Mr. Sampson.
Nay, there are not only members of the old religion present, butdisciples of a creed still older. Who are those two individuals withhooked noses and sallow countenances, who worked into the church inspite of some little opposition on the part of the beadle? Seeing thegreasy appearance of these Hebrew strangers, Mr. Beadle was fordenying them admission. But one whispered into his ear, "We wants tobe conwerted, gov'nor!" another slips money into his hand,--Mr. Beadlelifts up the mace with which he was barring the doorway, and the Hebrewgentlemen enter. There goes the organ! the doors have closed. Shall wego in, and listen to Mr. Sampson's sermon, or lie on the grass without?
Preceded by that beadle in gold lace, Sampson walked up to the pulpit,as rosy and jolly a man as you could wish to see. Presently, when hesurged up out of his plump pulpit cushion, why did his Reverence turn aspale as death? He looked to the western church-door--there, on eachside of it, were those horrible Hebrew caryatides. He then looked to thevestry-door, which was hard by the rector's pew, in which Sampsonhad been sitting during the service, alongside of their ladyships hispatronesses. Suddenly a couple of perfumed Hibernian gentlemen slippedout of an adjacent seat, and placed themselves on a bench close by thatvestry-door and rector's pew, and so sate till the conclusion of thesermon, with eyes meekly cast down to the ground. How can we describethat sermon, if the preacher himself never knew how it came to an end?
Nevertheless, it was considered an excellent sermon. When it was over,the fine ladies buzzed into one another's ears over their pews, anduttered their praise and comments. Madame Walmoden, who was in the nextpew to our friends, said it was bewdiful, and made her dremble all over.Madame Bernstein said it was excellent. Lady Maria was pleased to thinkthat the family chaplain should so distinguish himself. She looked upat him, and strove to catch his reverence's eye, as he still sate in hispulpit; she greeted him with a little wave of the hand and flutter ofher handkerchief. He scarcely seemed to note the compliment; his facewas pale, his eyes were looking yonder, towards the font, where thoseHebrews still remained. The stream of people passed by them--in a rush,when they were lost to sight,--in a throng--in a march of twos andthrees--in a dribble of one at a time. Everybody was gone. The twoHebrews were still there by the door.
The Baroness de Bernstein and her niece still lingered in the rector'spew, where the old lady was deep in conversation with that gentleman.
"Who are those horrible men at the door? and what a smell of spiritsthere is!" cries Lady Maria, to Mrs. Brett, her aunt's woman, who hadattended the two ladies.
"Farewell, doctor; you have a darling little boy: is he to be aclergyman, too?" asks Madame de Bernstein. "Are you ready, my dear?" Andthe pew is thrown open, and Madame Bernstein, whose father was onlya viscount, insists that her niece, Lady Maria, who was an earl'sdaughter, should go first out of the pew.
As she steps forward, those individuals whom her ladyship designated astwo horrible men, advance. One of them pulls a long strip of paper outof his pocket, and her ladyship starts and turns pale. She makes for thevestry, in a vague hope that she can clear the door and close it behindher. The two whiskified gentlemen are up with her, however; one of themactually lays his hand on her shoulder, and says:
"At the shuit of Misthress Pincott, of Kinsington, mercer, I have thehonour of arresting your leedyship. Me neem is Costigan, madam, a poorgentleman of Oireland, binding to circumstances and forced to follow adisagrayable profession. Will your leedyship walk, or shall me man gofetch a cheer?"
For reply Lady Maria Esmond gives three shrieks, and falls swooning tothe ground. "Keep the door, Mick!" shouts Mr. Costigan. "Best let in noone else, madam," he says, very politely, to Madame de Bernstein. "Herladyship has fallen in a feenting fit, and will recover here, at heraise."
"Unlace her, Brett!" cries the old lady, whose eyes twinkle oddly; andas soon as that operation is performed, Madame Bernstein seizes a littlebag suspended by a hair chain, which Lady Maria wears round her neck,and snips the necklace in twain. "Dash some cold water over her face, italways recovers her!" says the Baroness. "You stay with her, Brett. Howmuch is your suit gentlemen?"
Mr. Costigan says, "The deem we have against her leedyship for onehundred and thirty-two pounds, in which she is indebted to MisthressEliza Pincott"
Meanwhile, where is the Reverend Mr. Sampson? Like the fabled opossum wehave read of, who, when he spied the unerring gunner from his gum-tree,said: "It's no use Major, I will come down," so Sampson gave himself upto his pursuers. "At whose suit, Simons?" he sadly asked. Sampson knewSimons: they had met many a time before.
"Buckleby Cordwainer," says Mr. Simons.
"Forty-eight pound and charges, I know," says Mr. Sampson, with a sigh."I haven't got the money. What officer is there here?" Mr. Simons'scompanion, Mr. Lyons, here stepped forward, and said his house was mostconvenient, and often used by gentlemen, and he should be most happy andproud to accommodate his reverence.
Two chairs happened to be in waiting outside the chapel. In those twochairs my Lady Maria Esmond and Mr. Sampson placed themselves, and wentto Mr. Lyons's residence, escorted by the gentlemen to whom we have justbeen introduced.
Very soon after the capture the Baroness Bernstein sent Mr. Case, herconfidential servant, with a note to her niece, full of expressions ofthe most ardent affection: but regretting that her heavy losses at cardsrendered the payment of such a sum as that in which Lady Maria stoodindebted quite impossible. She had written off to Mrs. Pincott, by thatvery post, however, to entreat her to grant time, and as soon as evershe had an answer, would not fail to acquaint her dear unhappy niece.
Mrs. Betty came over to console her mistress: and the two poor womencast about for money enough to provide a horse and chaise for Mrs.Betty, who had very nearly come to misfortune, too. Both my Lady Mariaand her maid had been unlucky at cards, and could not muster more thaneighteen shillings between them: so it was agreed that Betty should sella gold chain belonging to her lady, and with the money travel to London.Now, Betty took the chain to the very toy-shop man who had sold it toMr. Warrington, who had given it to his cousin; and the toy-shop man,supposing that she had stolen the chain, was for bringing in a constableto Betty. Hence, she had to make explanations, and to say how hermistress was in durance; and, ere the night closed, all Tunbridge Wellsknew that my Lady Maria Esmond was in the hands of bailiffs. Meanwhile,however, the money was found, and Mrs. Betty whisked up to London insearch of the champion in whom the poor prisoner confided.
"Don't say anything about that
paper being gone! Oh, the wretch, thewretch! She shall pay it me!" I presume that Lady Maria meant her auntby the word "wretch." Mr. Sampson read a sermon to her ladyship, andthey passed the evening over revenge and backgammon; with well-groundedhopes that Harry Warrington would rush to their rescue as soon as everhe heard of their mishap.
Though, ere the evening was over, every soul at the Wells knew what hadhappened to Lady Maria, and a great deal more; though they knew she wastaken in execution, the house where she lay, the amount--nay, ten timesthe amount--for which she was captured, and that she was obliged to pawnher trinkets to get a little money to keep her in jail; though everybodysaid that old fiend of a Bernstein was at the bottom of the business,of course they were all civil and bland in society; and, at my LadyTrumpington's cards that night, where Madame Bernstein appeared, andas long as she was within hearing, not a word was said regarding themorning's transactions. Lady Yarmouth asked the Baroness news of herbreddy nephew, and heard Mr. Warrington was in London. My Lady Mariawas not coming to Lady Trumpington's that evening? My Lady Maria wasindisposed, had fainted at church that morning, and was obliged to keepher room. The cards were dealt, the fiddles sang, the wine went round,the gentlefolks talked, laughed, yawned, chattered, the footmen waylaidthe supper, the chairmen drank and swore, the stars climbed the sky,just as though no Lady Maria was imprisoned, and no poor Sampsonarrested. 'Tis certain, dearly beloved brethren, that the little griefs,stings, annoyances, which you and I feel acutely in our own persons,don't prevent our neighbours from sleeping; and that when we slip out ofthe world the world does not miss us. Is this humiliating to our vanity?So much the better. But, on the other hand, is it not a comfortable andconsoling truth? And mayn't we be thankful for our humble condition? Ifwe were not selfish--passez-moi le mot, s.v.p.--and if we had to carefor other people's griefs as much as our own, how intolerable human lifewould be! If my neighbour's tight boot pinched my corn; if the calumnyuttered against Jones set Brown into fury; if Mrs. A's death plungedMessrs. B, C, D, E, F, into distraction, would there be any bearing ofthe world's burthen? Do not let us be in the least angry or surprised ifall the company played on, and were happy, although Lady Maria had cometo grief. Countess, the deal is with you! Are you going to Stubblefieldto shoot as usual, Sir John? Captain, we shall have you running off tothe Bath after the widow! So the clatter goes on; the lights burns; thebeaux and the ladies flirt, laugh, ogle; the prisoner rages in his cell;the sick man tosses on his bed.
Perhaps Madame de Bernstein stayed at the assembly until the very last,not willing to allow the company the chance of speaking of her as soonas her back should be turned. Ah, what a comfort it is, I say again,that we have backs, and that our ears don't grow on them! He that hasears to hear, let him stuff them with cotton. Madame Bernstein mighthave heard folks say it was heartless of her to come abroad, and playat cards, and make merry when her niece was in trouble. As if she couldhelp Maria by staying at home, indeed! At her age, it is dangerous todisturb an old lady's tranquillity. "Don't tell me!" says Lady Yarmouth."The Bernstein would play at cards over her niece's coffin. Talk abouther heart! who ever said she had one? That old spy lost it to theChevalier a thousand years ago, and has lived ever since perfectly wellwithout one. For how much is the Maria put in prison? If it were only asmall sum we would pay it, it would vex her aunt so. Find out, Fuchs, inthe morning, for how much Lady Maria Esmond is put in prison." And thefaithful Fuchs bowed, and promised to do her Excellency's will.
Meanwhile, about midnight, Madame de Bernstein went home, and presentlyfell into a sound sleep, from which she did not wake up until a latehour of the morning, when she summoned her usual attendant, who arrivedwith her ladyship's morning dish of tea. If I told you she took a dramwith it, you would be shocked. Some of our great-grandmothers used tohave cordials in their "closets." Have you not read of the fine lady inWalpole, who said, "If I drink more, I shall be 'muckibus!'?" As surelyas Mr. Gough is alive now, our ancestresses were accustomed to partakepretty freely of strong waters.
So, having tipped off the cordial, Madame Bernstein rouses and asks Mrs.Brett the news.
"He can give it you," says the waiting-woman, sulkily.
"He? Who?"
Mrs. Brett names Harry, and says Mr. Warrington arrived about midnightyesterday--and Betty, my Lady Maria's maid, was with him. "And my LadyMaria sends your ladyship her love and duty, and hopes you slept well,"says Brett.
"Excellently, poor thing! Is Betty gone to her?"
"No; she is here," says Mrs. Brett.
"Let me see her directly," cries the old lady.
"I'll tell her," replies the obsequious Brett, and goes away uponher mistress's errand, leaving the old lady placidly reposing on herpillows. Presently, two pairs of high-heeled shoes are heard patteringover the deal floor of the bedchamber. Carpets were luxuries scarcelyknown in bedrooms of those days.
"So, Mrs. Betty, you were in London yesterday?" calls Bernstein from hercurtains.
"It is not Betty--it is I! Good morning, dear aunt! I hope you sleptwell?" cries a voice which made old Bernstein start on her pillow. Itwas the voice of Lady Maria, who drew the curtains aside, and droppedher aunt a low curtsey. Lady Maria looked very pretty, rosy, and happy.And with the little surprise incident at her appearance through MadameBernstein's curtains, I think we may bring this chapter to a close.