The London Magazine/1820–1829/Series 1/Volume 8/November/The King of Hayti
THE KING OF HAYTI.
FROM THE GERMAN.
CHAPTER I.
Six weeks after his death stood the bust of the late stamp-distributor Goodchild exposed to public view in the china-manufacture of L. For what purpose? Simply for this—that he might call Heaven and earth to witness, that, allowing for some little difference in the colours, he looked just as he did heretofore in life: a proposition which his brother and heir Mr. Goodchild the merchant flatly denied. For this denial Mr. Goodchild had his private reasons. “It is true,” said he, “my late brother the stamp-distributor, God rest him! did certainly bespeak three dozen copies of his own bust at the china-works:—but surely he bespoke them for his use in this life, and not in the next. His intention doubtless was to send a copy to each of those loose companions of his who helped him to run through his fine estate: natural enough for him to propose as a spendthrift, but highly absurd for me to ratify as executor to so beggarly an inheritance; and therefore assuredly I shall not throw so much money out of the windows.”
This was plausible talking to all persons who did not happen to know that the inheritance amounted to 25 thousand dollars; and that the merchant Goodchild, as was unanimously affirmed by all the Jews both Christian and Jewish, in L, weighed moreover in his own person, independently of that inheritance, one entire ton of gold.
CHAPTER II.
The ostensible Reason.
The china-works would certainly never have been put off with this allegation; and therefore, by the advice of his attorney, he had in reserve a more special argument why he ought not to pay for the six-and-thirty busts. “My brother,” said he, “may have ordered so many copies of his bust. It is possible. I neither affirm nor deny. Busts may be ordered: and my brother may have ordered them. But what then? I suppose all men will grant that he meant the busts to have some resemblance to himself, and by no means to have no resemblance. But now, be it known, they have no resemblance to him. Ergo I refuse to take them. One word’s as good as a thousand.”
CHAPTER III.
“In the second Place”—Dinner is on the Table.
But this one word, no nor a thousand such, would satisfy Mr. Whelp the proprietor of the china-works. So he summoned Mr. Goodchild before the magistracy. Unfortunately Mr. Whelp’s lawyer, in order to show his ingenuity, had filled sixteen folio pages with an introductory argument in which he laboured to prove that the art of catching a likeness was an especial gift of God, bestowed on very few portrait-painters and sculptors—and which therefore it was almost impious and prophane to demand of a mere uninspired baker of porcellain. From this argument he went on to infer à fortiori in the second place that, where the china-baker did hit the likeness, and had done so much more than could lawfully be asked of him, it was an injustice that would cry aloud to heaven for redress if, after all, his works were returned upon his hands; especially where, as in the present instance, so much beauty of art was united with the peculiar merit of a portrait. It was fatal, however, to the effect of this argument, that just as the magistrate arrived at—“In the second place,”—his servant came in and said, “If you please, Sir, dinner is on the table.” Naturally therefore conceiving that the gite of the lawyer’s reasoning was to defend the want of resemblance as an admitted fact, which it would be useless to deny, the worthy magistrate closed the pleadings and gave sentence against Mr. Whelp the plaintiff.
CHAPTER IV.
The professional Verdict.
Mr. Whelp was confounded at this decree: and as the readiest means of obtaining a revision of it, he sent in to the next sitting of the bench a copy of the bust which had previously been omitted. As bad luck would have it however, there happened on this occasion to be present an artist who had a rancorous enmity both to Mr. Whelp and to the modeler of the bust. This person, being asked his opinion, declared without scruple that the bust was as wretched a portrait as it was lamentable in its pretensions as a work of art; and that his youngest pupil would not have had the audacity to produce so infamous a performance unless he had an express wish to be turned neck and heels out of his house.
Upon this award of the conscientious artist,—out of regard to his professional judgment, the magistracy thought fit to impose silence upon their own senses which returned a very opposite award: and thus it happened that the former decision was affirmed. Now certainly Mr. Whelp had his remedy: he might appeal from the magistrate’s sentence. But this he declined—“No, no,” said he, “I know what I’m about: I shall want the magistrate once more; and I mustn’t offend him. I will appeal to public opinion: that shall decide between me and the old rogue of a merchant.”
And precisely in this way it was brought about that the late stamp-distributor Goodchild came to stand exposed to the public view in the centre window of the china-manufactory.
CHAPTER V.
The Sinecurist.
At the corner of this china-manufactory a beggar had his daily station,—which, except for his youth, which was now and then thrown in his teeth, was indeed a right pleasant sinecure. To this man Mr. Whelp promised a handsome present if he would repeat to him in the evening what the passers-by had said of the bust in the day-time. Accordingly at night the beggar brought him the true and comfortable intelligence that young and old had unanimously pronounced the bust a most admirable likeness of the late stamp-distributor Goodchild. This report was regularly brought for eight days: on the eighth Mr. Whelp was satisfied, and paid off his commissioner, the beggar.
The next morning Mr. Whelp presented himself at Mr. Goodchild’s to report the public approbation of his brother’s bust.
CHAPTER VI.
The young Visionary.
But here there was sad commotion. Mr. Goodchild was ill: and his illness arose from a little history which must here be introduced by way of episode.Mr. Goodchild had an only daughter named Ida. Now Miss Ida had begun, like other young ladies of her age, to think of marriage: nature had put it into her head to consider all at once that she was seventeen years of age. And it sometimes occurred to her that Mr. Tempest the young barrister, who occupied the first floor over the way, was just the very man she would like in the character of lover. Thoughts of the same tendency appeared to have occurred also to Mr. Tempest: Ida seemed to him remarkably well fitted to play the part of a wife; and, when he pretended to be reading the pandects at his window, too often (it must be acknowledged) his eyes were settled all the while upon Ida’s blooming face. The glances of these eyes did certainly cause some derangement occasionally in Ida’s sewing and netting. What if they did? Let her drop as many stitches as she would, the next day was long enough to take them up again.
This young man then was clearly pointed out by Providence as the partner of her future life. Ah! that her father would think so too! But he called him always the young visionary. And whenever she took a critical review of all their opposite neighbours, and fell as if by accident upon the domestic habits, respectable practice, and other favourable points about Mr. Tempest, her father never failed to close the conversation by saying,—“Aye, but he’s a mere young visionary.” And why, Mr. Goodchild? Simply for these two reasons: first, because once at a party where they had met, Mr. Tempest had happened to say a few words very displeasing to his prejudices on the “golden age” of German poetry, to which Mr. Goodchild was much attached, and on which he could bear no opposition. Secondly and chiefly, because at the same time he had unfortunately talked of the King of Hayti as a true crowned head—a monarch whom Mr. Goodchild was determined never to acknowledge.
CHAPTER VII.
At last Ida and Mr. Tempest had come to form a regular correspondence together in the following way. The young advocate had conducted a commerce of looks with the lovely girl for a long time and hardly knowing how it began: he had satisfied himself that she looked like an angel: and he grew very anxious to know whether she also talked like one. To ascertain this point, he followed her many a time and up and down many a street: and he bore patiently for her sake all the angry looks of his clients, which seemed to say that he would do more wisely to stay at home and study their causes than to roam about in chace of a pretty girl. Mr. Tempest differed from his clients on this matter: suits at law, said he, have learned to wait: they are used to it: but hearts have not learned to wait, and never will be used to it. However all was in vain. Ida was attended constantly either by her father, or by an old governess: and in either case his scheme was knocked on the head.
At length chance did for him more than he could ever do for himself, and placed him one night at her elbow in the theatre. True it was that her father, whose dislike to him ever since his fatal acknowledgment of the king of Hayti he had not failed to remark, sate on the other side of her: but the devil is in it, thought he, if I cannot steal a march on him the whole night through. As the overture to his scheme therefore he asked in the most respectful manner for the play-bill which Ida held in her hand. On returning it, he said—what a pity that the vanity of the manager should disturb so many excellent parts: the part allotted to himself would have been far better played by several others in the company.
Mr. Tempest was not much delighted on observing that Mr. Goodchild did not receive this remark very propitiously but looked still gloomier than before. The fact was that the manager constantly attended all Mr. Goodchild’s literary parties, professed great deference for his opinions, and was in return pronounced by Mr. Goodchild a man of “exceedingly good taste and accurate judgment.” His first shot, Mr. Tempest saw clearly, had missed fire; and he would have been very glad to have had it back again: for he was thrown into a hideous fright when he saw the deep darkness which was gathering on Mr. Goodchild’s face. Meantime, it was some little support to him under his panic—that in returning the play-bill to Ida, he had ventured to press her hand, and fancied (but it could only be fancy) that she slightly returned the pressure. His enemy, whose thunder now began to break, insisted on giving an importance to his remark which the unfortunate young man himself had never contemplated—having meant it only as an introduction to further conversation, and not at all valuing himself upon it. “A pity! my good Sir?” said Mr. Goodchild: “Why so, my good Sir? On the contrary, my good Sir, on the contrary, I believe it is pretty generally admitted that there is no part whatsoever in which this manager fails to outshine all competitors.”
“Very true, Sir: as you observe, Sir, he outshines all his competitors: and in fact that was just the very remark I wished to make.”
“It was, was it? Well then, upon my word, my good Sir, you took a very odd way to express it. The fact is—young and visionary people of this day are very rash in their judgments. But it is not to be supposed that so admirable a performer as this can be at all injured by such light and capricious opinions.”
Mr. Tempest was confounded by this utter discomfiture of his inaugural effort, and sank dejected into silence. But his victorious foe looked abroad in all directions with a smiling and triumphant expression on his face—as if asking whether any body had witnessed the ability with which he had taken down the conceit of the young rattle-brain.
However Mr. Tempest was not so utterly dejected but he consoled himself with thinking that every dog has his day: his turn would come: and he might yet perhaps succeed in laying the old dragon asleep.
CHAPTER VIII.
With a view to do this as soon as possible, at the end of the first act he begged a friend who stood next to him to take his place by the side of Ida for a few minutes, and then hastened out. Under one of the lamps on the outside of the theatre, he took out from his pocket the envelope of a letter he had lately received, and with a pencil wrote upon it a formal declaration of love. His project was—to ask Ida a second time for the play-bill, and on returning it to crush up the little note and put both together into her hand.—But lord! how the wisest schemes are baffled! On returning to the pit, he found the whole condition of things changed. His faithless representative met him with an apology at the very door. The fact was—that, seeing a pretty young lady standing close by him, the devil of gallantry had led him to cede to her use in perpetuity what had been committed to his own care in trust only for a few moments. Nor was this all: for the lady being much admired and followed, and (like comets or highland chieftains) having her “tail” on for this night, there was no possibility of reaching the neighbourhood of Ida for the pressure of the lady’s tail of followers.
CHAPTER IX.
In his whole life had Mr. Tempest never witnessed a more stupid performance, worse actors, or more disgusting people about him than during the time that he was separated from Ida. With the eye of an experienced tactician, he had calculated to a hair the course he must steer on the termination of the play to rejoin the object of his anxious regard. But alas! when the curtain dropped, he found his road quite blocked up. No remedy was left but to press right on and without respect of persons. But he gained nothing by the indefatigable labour of his elbows except a great number of scowling looks. His attention was just called to this, when Ida who had now reached the door looked back for a moment and then disappeared in company with her father. Two minutes after he had himself reached the door; but, looking round, he exclaimed pretty loudly—“Ah, good lord! it’s of no use;” and then through the moonlight and the crowd of people he shot like an arrow—leaving them all to wonder what madness had seized the young advocate who was usually so rational and composed. However he overtook the object of his pursuit in the street in which he lived. For, upon his turning rapidly round the corner, Mr. Goodchild alarmed at his noise and his speed, turned round upon him suddenly, and said, “Is this a man, or a horse?”
CHAPTER X.
“Mr. Goodchild!” began the breathless barrister, “I am very much indebted to you.”
“Hem!” said the other in a way which seemed to express—“What now, my good Sir?”
“You have this evening directed my attention to the eminent qualifications of our manager. Most assuredly you were in the right: he played the part divinely.”
Here Mr. Tempest stopped to congratulate himself upon the triumphant expression which the moonlight revealed upon the face of his antagonist. On this triumph, if his plans succeeded, he meant to build a triumph of his own.
“Aye, aye: what then you’ve come to reason at last, my good Sir?”
“Your judgment and penetration, Mr. Goodchild, I am bound at all times to bow to as far superior to my own.”
During this compliment to the merchant’s penetration, Mr. Tempest gently touched the hand of Ida with his pencil note: the hand opened, and like an oyster closed upon it in an instant. “In which scene, Mr. Tempest,” said the merchant, “is it your opinion that the manager acquitted himself best?”
“In which scene!” Here was a delightful question! The advocate had attended so exclusively to Ida, that whether there were any scenes at all in the whole performance was more than he could pretend to say: and now he was to endure a critical examination on the merits of each scene in particular. He was in direful perplexity. Considering however that in most plays there is some love, and therefore some love-scenes, he dashed at it and boldly said—“In that scene, I think, where he makes the declaration of love.”
“Declaration of love! why, God bless my soul! in the whole part from the beginning to end there is nothing like a declaration of love.”
“Oh confound your accuracy, you old fiend!” thought Mr. Tempest to himself: but aloud he said—“No declaration of love, do you say?—Is it possible? Why, then, I suppose I must have mistaken for the manager that man who played the lover: surely he played divinely.”
“Divinely! divine stick! what that wretched, stammering, wooden booby? Why he would have been hissed off the stage, if it hadn’t been well known that he was a stranger hired to walk through the part for that night.”
Mr. Tempest, seeing that the more he said the deeper he plunged into the mud, held it advisable to be silent. On the other hand, Mr. Goodchild began to be ashamed of his triumph over what he had supposed the lawyer’s prejudices. He took his leave therefore in these words: “Good night, Mr. Tempest; and, for the future, my good Sir, do not judge so precipitately as you did on that occasion when you complimented a black fellow with the title of king, and called St. Domingo by the absurd name of Hayti. Some little consideration and discretion go to every sound opinion.”
So saying, the old dragon walked off with his treasure—and left the advocate with his ears still tingling from his mortifications.
“Just to see the young people of this day!” said Mr. Goodchild, “what presumption and what ignorance!” The whole evening through he continued to return to this theme; and during supper nearly choaked himself in an ebullition of fiery zeal upon this favourite topic.
CHAPTER XI.
The Letter-box.
To her father’s everlasting question—“Am not I in the right, then?” Ida replied in a sort of pantomime which was intended to represent “Yes.” This was her outward yes: but in her heart she was thinking of no other yes than that which she might one day be called on to pronounce at the altar by the side of Mr. Tempest. And therefore at length, when the eternal question came round again, she nodded in a way which rather seemed to say—“Oh! dear Sir, you are in the right for any thing I have to say against it”—than any thing like a downright yes. On which Mr. Goodchild quitted one favourite theme for another more immediately necessary: viz. the lukewarmness of young people towards good counsel and sound doctrine.
Meantime Ida’s looks were unceasingly directed to her neck handkerchief: the reason of which was this. In order on the one hand to have the love-letter as near as possible to her heart, and on the other to be assured that it was in safe custody, she had converted the beautiful white drapery of her bosom into a letter case; and she felt continually urged to see whether the systole and diastole which went on in other important contents of this letter-case, might not by chance expose it to view. The letter asked for an answer; and late as it was, when all the house were in bed, Ida set about one. On the following morning this answer was conveyed to its destination by the man who delivered the newspapers to her father and Mr. Tempest.
From this day forward there came so many letters to Miss Goodchild by the new established post that the beautiful letter-case was no longer able to contain them. She was now obliged to resort to the help of her writing-desk, which—so long as her father had no suspicions—was fully sufficient.
CHAPTER XII.
The paper intercourse now began to appear too little to Mr. Tempest. For what can be dispatched in a moment by word of mouth, would often linger unaccomplished for a thousand years when conducted in writing. True it was that a great deal of important business had already been dispatched by the letters. For instance Mr. Tempest had through this channel assured himself that Ida was willing to be his for ever. Yet even this was not enough. The contract had been made, but not sealed upon the rosy lips of Ida.
This seemed monstrous to Mr. Tempest. “Grant me patience!” said he to himself, “Grant me patience, when I think of the many disgusting old relations, great raw-boned absurd fellows with dusty snuff-powdered beards, that have reveled in that lip-paradise, hardly knowing—old withered wretches!—what they were about, or what a blessing was conferred upon them; whilst I—yes, I that am destined to call her my bride one of these days, am obliged to content myself with payments of mere paper money.”
This seemed shocking; and indeed, considering the terms on which he now stood with Ida, Mr. Tempest could scarcely believe it himself. He paced up and down his study in anger, flinging glances at every turn upon the opposite house which contained his treasure. All at once he stopped: “What’s all this?” said he, on observing Mr. Goodchild’s servants lighting up the chandeliers in the great saloon:—“what’s in the wind now?” And immediately he went to his writing table for Ida’s last letter: for Ida sometimes communicated any little events in the family that could any ways affect their correspondence: on this occasion however she had given no hint of any thing extraordinary approaching. Yet the preparations and the bustle indicated something very extraordinary. Mr. Tempest’s heart began to beat violently. What was he to think? Great fêtes, in a house where there is an only daughter, usually have some reference to her. “Go, Tyrrel,” said he to his clerk, “go and make inquiries (but cautiously you understand and in a lawyer-like manner) as to the nature and tendency of these arrangements.” Tyrrel came back with the following report: Mr. Goodchild had issued cards for a very great party on that evening; all the seniors were invited to tea; and almost all the young people of condition throughout the town to a masqued ball at night. The suddenness of the invitations, and the consequent hurry of the arrangements, arose in this way: a rich relative who lived in the country had formed a plan for coming by surprise with his whole family upon Mr. Goodchild. But Mr. Goodchild had accidentally received a hint of his intention by some side-wind; and had determined to turn the tables on his rich relation by surprising him with a masquerade.
“Oh! Heavens! what barbarity!” said Mr. Tempest, as towards evening he saw from his windows young and old trooping to the fête. “What barbarity! There’s hardly a scoundrel in the place but is asked: and I,—I, John Tempest, that am to marry the jewel of the house, must be content to witness the preparations and to hear the sound of their festivities from the solitude of my den.”
CHAPTER XIII.
Questions and Commands.
As night drew on, more and more company continued to pour in. The windows being very bright, and the curtains not drawn, no motion of the party could escape our advocate. What pleased him, better than all the splendour which he saw, was the melancholy countenance of the kind-hearted girl as she stood at the centre window and looked over at him. This melancholy countenance and these looks directed at himself were occasioned, as he soon became aware, by a proposal which had been made—to play at questions and commands. This game in fact soon began. “Thunder and lightning!” said Mr. Tempest discovering what it was, “is this to be endured?”
If the mere possibility of such an issue had alarmed him, how much more sensible was his affliction when he saw as a matter of fact laid visibly before his bodily eyes that every fool and coxcomb availed himself of the privilege of the game to give to Ida—his own destined bride—kisses[1] without let or hindrance; “whilst I,” said he, “I—John Tempest—have never yet been blessed with one.”
But if the sight of such liberties taken with his blooming Ida placed him on the brink of desperation, much more desperate did he become when that sight was shut out by that “consummate villain” (as he chose to style him) the footman, who at this moment took it into his head or was ordered to let down the curtains. Behind the curtains,—ah! ye Gods, what scenes might not pass!
“This must be put a stop to,” said Mr. Tempest taking his hat and cane, and walking into the street. Aye: but how? This was a question he could not answer. Wandering, therefore, up and down the streets until it had become quite dark, he returned at length to the point from which he had set out, and found that one nuisance at least—viz. the kissing, had ceased; and had given place to a concert. For Ida’s musical talents and fine voice were well known; and she was generally called the little Catalani. She was now singing; and a crowd of persons had collected under the window to hear her, who seemed by their looks to curse every passer-by for the disturbance he made. Mr. Tempest crept on tip-toe to join the crowd of listeners, and was enraptured by the sweet tones of Ida’s voice. After the conclusion of the air, and when the usual hubbub of enchanting! divine! &c. had rung out its peal, the by-standers outside began to talk of the masquerade. In the crowd were some of those who had been invited: and one amongst them was flattering himself that nobody would recognize him before he should unmask.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Death’s-head Masque.
Thus much information Mr. Tempest drew from this casual conversation that he found it would not be required of the masquers to announce their names to any person on their arrival. Upon this hint he grounded a plan for taking a part in the masqued ball. By good luck he was already provided with a black domino against the winter masquerades, at the public rooms: this domino was so contrived that the head of the wearer was hidden under the cloak, in which an imperceptible opening was made for the eyes: the real head thus became a pair of shoulders; and upon this was placed a false head which, when lifted up, exposed a white skull with eyeless sockets and grinning with a set of brilliantly white teeth at the curious spectator.
Having settled his scheme, Mr. Tempest withdrew to his own lodgings in order to make preparations for its execution.
CHAPTER XV.
It’s only I.
The company at Mr. Goodchild’s consisted of two divisions: No. 1, embracing the elder or more fashionable persons and those who were nearly connected with the family, had been invited to tea, supper, and a masqued ball: No. 2, the younger and less distinguished persons, had been invited to the ball only. This arrangement, which proceeded from the penurious disposition of Mr. Goodchild, had on this occasion the hearty approbation of Mr. Tempest: about eleven o’clock therefore, when a great part of the guests in the second division had already arrived, he ordered a sedan-chair to be fetched; and then, causing himself to be carried up and down through several streets, that nobody might discover from what house the gigantic domino had issued, he repaired to the house of Mr. Goodchild.
His extraordinary stature excited so much the more astonishment amongst the party-coloured mob of masquers, because he kept himself wholly aloof from all the rest and paced up and down with haughty strides. His demeanour and air had in it something terrific to every body except to Ida, to whom he had whispered as he passed her alone in an ante-room—“Don’t be alarmed: its only I:” at the same time giving her a billet, in which he requested a few moments’ conversation with her at any time in the course of the evening.
Some persons however had observed him speaking to Ida: and therefore, on her return to the great saloon, she was pressed on all sides to tell what she knew of the mysterious giant. She! good heavens! how should she know any thing of him? “What had he said then?”—That too she could as little answer. He spoke, she said, in such a low hollow and unintelligible tone that she was quite alarmed and heard nothing of what he uttered.
The company now betrayed more and more anxiety in reference to the unknown masque; so that Ida had no chance for answering his billet or granting the request which it contained. Mr. Tempest now began to regret much that he had not selected an ordinary masque in which he might have conversed at his ease without being so remarkably pointed out to the public attention.
CHAPTER XVI.
Suspicions.
The murmurs about the tall domino grew louder and louder, and gathered more and more about him. He began to hear doubts plainly expressed—whether he was actually invited. The master of the house protested that, so far from having any such giant amongst his acquaintance, he had never seen such a giant except in show-booths. This mention of booths gave a very unfortunate direction to the suspicions already abroad against the poor advocate. For at that time there was a giant in the town who was exhibiting himself for money: and Mr. Goodchild began to surmise that this man, either with a view to the increasing his knowledge of men and manners, or for his recreation after the tædium of standing to be gazed at through a whole day’s length, had possibly smuggled himself as a contraband article into his masqued ball.
CHAPTER XVII.
Difficulties increase.
The worthy host set to work very deliberately to count his guests: and it turned out that there was actually just one masque more than there should be. Upon this he stepped into the middle of the company, and spoke as follows: Most respectable and respected masques! Under existing circumstances, and for certain weighty causes me thereto moving (this phrase Mr. Goodchild had borrowed from his lawyer) I have to request that you will all and several, one after the other, communicate your names to me by whispering them into my ear.
Well did Mr. Tempest perceive what were the existing circumstances, and what the reasons thereto moving, which had led to this measure; and very gladly he would have withdrawn himself from this vexatious examination by marching off: but it did not escape him that a couple of sentinels were already posted at the door.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Panic.
More than one half of the guests had already communicated their names to Mr. Goodchild, and stood waiting in the utmost impatience for the examination of the giant. But the giant, on his part, was so little eager to gratify them by pressing before others—that at length, when all the rest had gone through their probation honourably, he remained the last man; and thus was ipso facto condemned as the supernumerary man—before his trial commenced.
The company was now divided into two great classes—those who had a marriage garment, and the unfortunate giant who had none. So much was clear: but, to make further discoveries, the host now stepped up to him hastily—and said, “Your name, if you please.”
The masque stood as mute, as tall, and as immoveable as the gable end of a house. “Your name,” repeated Mr. Goodchild: “I’ll trouble you for your name.” No answer coming, a cold shivering seized upon Mr. Goodchild. In fact, at this moment a story came across him from his childish years—that, when Dr. Faustus was played, it had sometimes happened that amongst the stage devils there was suddenly observed to be one too many; and the supernumerary one was found to be no spurious devil, but a true—sound—and legitimate devil.
For the third time, while his teeth chattered, he said—“Your name, if you please.”
“I have none,” said Mr. Tempest, in so hollow a voice, that the heart of the worthy merchant sunk down in a moment to his knee-buckles, and an ice-wind of panic began to blow pretty freshly through the whole company.
“Your face then, if you please, sir,” stammered out Mr. Goodchild.
Very slowly and unwillingly the masque, being thus importunately besieged, proceeded to comply: but scarcely had he unmasqued and exposed the death’s head, when every soul ran out of the room with an outcry of horror.
The masque sprang after them, bounding like a grey-hound, and his grinning skull nodding as he moved: this he did under pretence of pursuing them, but in fact to take advantage of the general panic for making his exit.
CHAPTER XIX.
The parting Kiss. Miss Goodchild in the Arms of Death.
In an ante-room, now totally deserted, Death was met by Ida, who said to him,—“Ah! for God’s sake, make your escape. Oh! if you did but know what anxiety I have suffered on account of your strange conceit.” Here she paused; and spite of her anxiety she could not forbear smiling at the thought of the sudden coup-de-théâtre by which Mr. Tempest had turned the tables upon every soul that had previously been enjoying his panic: in the twinkling of an eye he had inflicted a far deeper panic upon them; and she had herself been passed by the whole herd of fugitives—tall and short, corpulent and lanky, halt and lame, young and old—all spinning away with equal energy before the face of the supernumerary guest.
Death in return told Ida how he had been an eye-witness to the game of questions and commands, and to the letting down of the curtains. This spectacle (he acknowledged) had so tortured him, that he could stand it no longer; and he had sworn within himself that he would have a kiss as well as other persons, and further that he would go and fetch it himself from the midst of the masquerade, though not expecting to have been detected as the extra passenger or nip.[2] And surely, when a whole company had tasted the ambrosia of her lips, Miss Goodchild would not be so unkind as to dismiss him alone without that happiness.
No: Miss Goodchild was not so unkind: and Death was just in the act of applying his lips to the rosy mouth of Ida, when old Goodchild came peeping in at the door to see if the coast were clear of the dreadful masque; and behind him was a train of guests—all stepping gently and on tip-toe from an adjoining corridor.
Every soul was petrified with astonishment, on seeing the young warm-breathing Ida on such close and apparently friendly terms with the black gigantic Death, whose skull was grinning just right above the youthful pair and surmounting them like a crest. At this sight, all became plain: and the courage of the company, which had so recently sunk below the freezing point, suddenly rose at once above boiling heat. Mr. Goodchild levelled a blow at the Death’s-head which had caused him so much pain and agitation; and Mr. Tempest, seeing that no better course remained, made off for the front door: and thus the uninvited masque, who had so lately chased and ejected the whole body of the invited ones, was in turn chased and ejected by them.
The festivities had been too violently interrupted to be now resumed: the guests took leave; and the weeping Ida was banished to a close confinement in her own room.
CHAPTER XX.
Here ends our episode. It was on the very morning after this fracas that Mr. Whelp waited upon Mr. Goodchild to report to him the universal opinion of the world upon the bust of the late stamp-distributor his brother; and upon that opinion to ground an appeal to his justice.
A worse season for his visit he could not possibly have chosen. Mr. Goodchild stormed and said—“The case had been tried and disposed of; and he must insist on being troubled with no further explanations.” And so far did his anger make him forget the common courtesies of life, that he never asked the proprietor of the china-works to sit down. Mr. Whelp, on his part no less astonished than irritated at such treatment, inquired of the footman what was the matter with his master; and the footman, who was going away and was reckless of consequences, repeated the whole history of the preceding night with fits of laughter; and added that the sport was not yet over; for that this morning a brisk correspondence had commenced between his master and Mr. Tempest—which, by the effect produced on the manners of both, seemed by no means of the gentlest nature.
CHAPTER XXI.
The King of Hayti.
This account was particularly agreeable to Mr. Whelp. Concluding that under the present circumstances Mr. Tempest would naturally be an excellent counsellor against Mr. Goodchild, he hastened over to his apartments; and said that, his last effort to bring the merchant over the way to any reasonable temper of mind having utterly failed, he had now another scheme. But first of all he wished to have the professional opinion of Mr. Tempest—whether he should lay himself open to an action if he took the following course to reimburse himself the expenses of the three dozen of busts. He had been told by some Englishman, whose name he could not at this moment call to mind, that the bust of the stamp-master was a most striking likeness of Christophe the black king of Hayti: now this being the case, what he proposed to do was to wash over the late stamp-distributor with a black varnish, and to export one dozen and a half of the distributor on speculation to St. Domingo, keeping the rest for home consumption.
When Mr. Tempest heard this plan stated—in spite of his own disturbance of mind at the adventures of the last night, he could not forbear laughing heartily at the conceit: for he well knew what was the real scheme which lurked under this pretended exportation to St. Domingo. Some little time back Mr. Goodchild had addressed to the German people, through the General Advertiser, this question:—“How or whence it came about that in so many newspapers of late days mention had been made of a kingdom of Hayti, when it was notorious to every body that the island in question was properly called St. Domingo?” He therefore exhorted all editors of political journals to return to more correct principles. On the same occasion he had allowed himself many very disrespectful expressions against “a certain black fellow who pretended to be king of Hayti;” so that it might readily be judged that it would not be a matter of indifference to him if his late brother the stamp-master were sold under the name of king of Hayti.
The barrister’s opinion was—that, as the heir of the bespeaker had solemnly deposed to the non-resemblance of the busts, and had on this ground found means to liberate himself from all obligation to take them or to pay for them, those busts had reverted in full property to the china-works. However he advised Mr. Whelp to blacken only one of them for the present, to place it in the same window where one had stood before, and then to await the issue.
CHAPTER XXII.
A week after this, the bust of the stamp-distributor with the hair and face blackened was placed in the window; and below it was written in gilt letters—“His most excellent Majesty, the King of Hayti.”
This manœuvre operated with the very best effect. The passers-by all remembered to have seen the very same face a short time ago as the face of a white man: and they all remembered to whom the face belonged. The laughing therefore never ceased from morning to night before the window of the china-works.
Now Mr. Goodchild received very early intelligence of what was going on, possibly through some persons specially commissioned by Mr. Whelp to trouble him with the news: and straightway he trotted off to the china-works; not, to be sure, with any view of joining the laughers, but on the contrary to attack Mr. Whelp, and to demand the destruction of the bust.—However all his remonstrances were to no purpose; and the more anger he betrayed, so much the more did it encourage his antagonist.
Mr. Goodchild hurried home in a great passion, and wrote a note to the borough-reeve with a pressing request that he would favour him with his company to supper that evening to taste some genuine bottled London porter.
This visit however did not lead to those happy results which Mr. Goodchild had anticipated. True it was that he showed his discretion in not beginning to speak of the busts until the bottled porter had produced its legitimate effects upon the spirits of the borough-reeve: the worshipful man was in a considerable state of elevation; but for all that he would not predict any favourable issue to the action against Mr. Whelp which his host was meditating. He shrugged his shoulders, and said that, on the former occasion, when Mr. Goodchild had urged the bench to pronounce for the non-resemblance of the busts, they had gone farther in order to gratify him than they could altogether answer to their consciences: but really to come now and call upon the same bench to pronounce for the resemblance of the same identical busts was altogether inadmissible.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Mr. Goodchild was on the brink of despair the whole night through: and, when he rose in the morning and put his head out of the window to inhale a little fresh air, what should be the very first thing that met him but a poisonous and mephitic blast from the window of his opposite neighbour which in like manner stood wide open. For his sharp sight easily detected that the young barrister his enemy, instead of the gypsum bust of Ulpian which had hitherto presided over his library, had mounted the black china bust of the king of Hayti.
Without a moment’s delay Mr. Goodchild jumped into his clothes and hastened down to Mr. Whelp. His two principles of vitality, avarice and ambition, had struggled together throughout the night: but, on the sight of his brother the stamp-master, thus posthumously varnished with lamp-black, and occupying so conspicuous a station in the library of his mortal enemy, ambition had gained a complete victory. He bought up therefore the whole thirty-five busts; and, understanding that the only black copy was in the possession of Mr. Tempest, he begged that upon some pretext or other Mr. Whelp would get it back into his hands,—promising to pay all expenses out of his own purse.
Mr. Whelp shook his head: but promised to try what he could do; and went over without delay to the advocate’s rooms. Meantime, the longer he stayed and made it evident that the negociation had met with obstacles, so much the larger were the drops of perspiration which stood upon Mr. Goodchild’s forehead as he paced up and down his room in torment.
At last Mr. Whelp came over; but with bad news: Mr. Tempest was resolute to part with the bust at no price.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Dictation.
Mr. Goodchild, on hearing this intelligence, hastened to his daughter, who was still under close confinement; and, taking her hand, said—“Thoughtless girl, come and behold!” Then, conducting her to his own room and pointing with his finger to Mr. Tempest’s book-case, he said—“See there: behold my poor deceased brother the stamp-distributor, to what a situation is he reduced—that, after death, he must play the part of a black fellow styling himself king of Hayti. And is it with such a man, one who aims such deadly stabs at the honour and peace of our family, that you would form a clandestine connexion? I blush for you, inconsiderate child. However sit down to my writing-desk; and this moment write what I shall dictate—verbatim et literatim; and in that case I shall again consider and treat you as my obedient daughter. Ida seated herself: her father laid a sheet of paper before her, put a pen into her hand, and dictated the following epistle, in which he flattered himself that he had succeeded to a marvel in counterfeiting the natural style of a young lady of seventeen.
The two last words the poor child knew not how to write; and therefore her father wrote them for her, and said—the meaning of these words is, that the letter was written with your own hand; upon which in law a great deal depends. He then folded up the letter, sealed it, caused Ida to direct it, and rang for a servant to carry it over to Mr. Tempest. “But not from me, do you hear, William? Don’t say, it comes from me: and, if Mr. Tempest should cross-examine you, be sure you say that I know nothing of it.”
CHAPTER XXV.
Candor.
“For the rest,” said Mr. Goodchild, “never conceit that I shall lend any the more countenance, for all this, to your connexion with the young visionary. As soon as the bust is once in my hands, from that moment he and I are strangers and shall know each other no more.”
Mr. Goodchild had not for a long time been in such spirits as he was after this most refined tour d’addresse in diplomacy (as he justly conceived it). “The style,” said he, “cannot betray the secret: no, I flatter myself that I have hit that to a hair; I defy any critic the keenest to distinguish it from the genuine light sentimental billet-doux style of young ladies of seventeen. How should he learn then? William dares not tell him for his life. And the fellow can never be such a brute as to refuse the bust to a young lady whom he pretends to admire. Lord! it makes me laugh to think what a long face he’ll show when he asks for permission to visit you upon the strength of this sacrifice; and I, looking at him like a bull, shall say—“No, indeed, my good Sir; as to the bust, what’s that to me, my good Sir? What do I care for the bust, my good Sir? I believe it’s all broken to pieces with a sledge-hammer, or else you might have it back again for anything I care. Eh, Ida, my girl, won’t that be droll? Won’t it be laughable to see what a long face he’ll cut?”—But, but—
CHAPTER XXVI.
Won’t it be laughable to see what a long face the fellow will cut?
If Ida had any particular wish to see how laughable a fellow looked under such circumstances, she had very soon that gratification; for her father’s under jaw dropped enormously on the return of the messenger. It did not perhaps require any great critical penetration to determine from what member of the family the letter proceeded: and independently of that, Mr. Tempest had (as the reader knows) some little acquaintance with the epistolary style of Miss Goodchild. In his answer therefore he declined complying with the request: but, to convince his beloved Ida that his refusal was designed not for her but for her father, he expressed himself as follows:
Madam, my truly respectable young Friend,—It gives me great concern to be under the painful necessity of stating that it is wholly out of my power to make over unto you the bust of his gracious majesty the king of Hayti “in consideration” (as you express it) “of certain monies to be by you paid over unto me.” This, I repeat, is wholly impossible: seeing that I am now on the point of ratifying a treaty with an artist in virtue of which three thousand copies are to be forthwith taken of the said bust on account of its distinguished excellence, and to be dispersed to my friends and others throughout Europe. With the greatest esteem I remain your most obedient and devoted servant,John Tempest.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Unexpected Dénouement.
“Now then,” thought Mr. Goodchild, “the world is come to a pretty pass.” The honour and credit of his name and family seemed to stand on the edge of a razor: and, without staying for any further consideration, he shot over like an arrow to Mr. Tempest.
Scarcely was he out of the house, when in rushed the postman with a second note to Miss Goodchild, apologizing for the former and explaining to her the particular purpose he had in writing it.
How well he succeeded in this, was very soon made evident by the circumstance of her father’s coming back with him arm in arm. Mr. Tempest had so handsomely apologized for any offence he might have given, and with a tone of real feeling had rested his defence so entirely upon the excess of his admiration for Miss Goodchild which had left him no longer master of his own actions or understanding, that her father felt touched and flattered—forgave every thing very frankly—and allowed him to hope from his daughter’s mouth for the final ratification of his hopes.
“But this one stipulation I must make, my good Sir,” said Mr. Goodchild returning to his political anxieties, “that in future you must wholly renounce that black fellow who styles himself (most absurdly!) the king of Hayti.” “With all my heart,” said Mr. Tempest, “Miss Goodchild will be cheaply purchased by renouncing The King of Hayti.”
- ↑ The reader must remember that the scene is laid in Germany. This and other instances of grossiérete have been purposely retained in illustration of German manners.
- ↑ In England, passengers who are taken up on stage coaches by the collusion of the guard and coachman, without the knowledge of the proprietors, are called nips.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
|---|---|
| Translation: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
