Part 8
“Dear, dear uncle,” exclaimed the delighted youth, as he clasped his relative’s knees with his hands.
“Nay, nay,” the parson interrupted, “put your arms around that blushing neck. I have long watched you. When you read for the old man, William, she sat beside you, gazing upon the same book, and when your locks and cheeks were together, your voice became agitated, and then she looked innocently into your face. You always preferred a large folio, and she slipped her little hand in one side, beneath it, and then you put yours through, to meet hers; and for hours, the happy father has been delighted with your loves. Ah! one other remembrance comes upon me. In our evening walk I was strolling behind you, when a beautiful child left his sister’s hand, and ran to you, Mary, and climbing up, kissed you once and again. I was near enough to hear William say, ‘now, cousin, give me one likewise.’ Ah! rogues, rogues,” and he took them both in his arms, and hugged them together, when a knocking was heard at the gate. The vicar started, but the lovers were so happy in each other, that they had not even heard the noise.
“Some poor traveller seeking shelter from the storm. How the storm blows without. Hark to that awful howl,” and the good man arose from the table. He heard the servant open the door, and instantly a form bounced into the room, all drifted and covered with snow. A single shake served to discover Mrs. Gideon Chiselwig.
“Oh! doctor,” she exclaimed, in a tone altogether foreign to her usual voice, “what a dream I have been visited with. The devil has appeared to me, and shewed my dear husband’s name, affixed to a contract, that he shall be a slave in hell, from to-morrow night, henceforth, and for ever. He is then to come and take him from me. Oh! I have shamefully treated Gideon, and now I love him so much, that I could die for him. ’Twas but this evening, that I struck him with these heavy hands. Oh! doctor, what can I do? Is there no hope?”
Dr. Mauncel was altogether astonished and confounded. The woman now before him had the repute of a termagent; and yet she spoke so affectionately, and bitterly upbraided herself, for her former cruel treatment of her husband. Nor did she appear at all under the influence of strong drink. “Good woman,” he at length inquired, “where is your husband?”
“He has gone and sold himself to the devil, for my conduct towards him. I have made earth miserable, and he would rather live in hell, than dwell with me any longer. Oh! how I could now love him! My heart is changed, but it is too late! Yes, yes, it is too late!” and she wrung her hands in wild agony, tore her hair, and shed more tears than Jeremiah could have done.
“Mrs. Chiselwig,” returned the vicar, “you have, indeed, been anything but a dutiful and affectionate wife to your spouse, but now begin a thorough reformation. It is only a dream of evil with which you have been visited, and Gideon shall, doubtless, be spared to you for many a long year yet.”
“It cannot be! Although the storm rages, he is not in the house; he has gone and sold himself for my shameful conduct. In the afternoon I forbade him to go to bed, until I should have arisen; nay, more, I planted these nails in his face and head, as a tender good night for a dear husband. Ah! wretch that I am, and yet, he patiently submitted, took the hand which had struck him, so affectionately, and was making gaiters for the feet which had kicked him.”
“Ah! Mrs. Chiselwig, you were a sad wife,” chimed in the parson.
“What tempted you,” asked Mary Mauncel, “to be cruel to Gideon? He was always so kind and attentive to you.”
Her cousin William approached, and whispered something which was inaudible to all others, save Mary herself. She smiled so prettily, and with such an affectation of malice, as she tossed her head, and said, “Try me, you are free at present, but have given me the chain. I’ll rule you, and beat you into the sober obedience of a husband. You have told me frequently that you were my slave: I shall shortly prove it.”
“Dear Mary, go on, go on, and tell me what a good little wife you will make.”
Nelly once more appealed to the vicar, with great earnestness. “Oh! sir, have you not a charm to be obtained from all those books, from all your sermons, from all your robes, by which you can break the contract with the devil. Laugh not; he appeared to me, in such a form, and uttering such words, that to my dying day I dare not rehearse them. To-morrow night he comes to claim Gideon! Your profession is to tame and conquer the enemy. Oh! now exert that power!”
“To-morrow night; well then, go home, and I will come at noon, and see what is to be done. Good woman, you have (innocently I grant) spoiled my supper, for who can eat with the smell of brimstone. I declare that that goose now appears to me to have hoofs, instead of claws. Mary, give Mrs. Chiselwig a compliment from Rehoboam, to cheer her on her way home, through the storm. You’ll find Gideon, I hope, there before you, and prove that all your fears have been the baby thoughts of a horrid dream. May you long live for each other,--and, Nelly, you will shew, by your future course of conduct, I trust, that you are willing to atone for all the domestic misery which you confess to have brought upon honest Gideon. Nay, drink it off, Mrs. Chiselwig; it is warmer than snow, eh?”
Nelly, after many thanks to the vicar, emptied the glass, and once more braved the storm.
The walls of the houses were now completely drifted, and not a footstep had left its trace on the snow-covered streets. What a lonely feeling is over the soul, when nothing is heard but the deep gust of the wind, driving the storm before, around, and against us, and when all objects are being wrapped in winter’s white raiment. For us, in youth, there never was a greater luxury, than to wander over the dreary mountain and vale, with the snow pelting on our face, as it was turned upwards, when not a glimpse of the sky could meet it; and then, after having become thoroughly exhausted, to enter some natural cave, or sheepfold, on the waste, and there seated, gaze around upon bush, bank, and hill, cottages, and woods, all thatched with white: and even yet, by night, has the old man taken his staff, and tottered to the hall door, to stand without the threshold, devoutly uncovering his head, white as winter’s after December has smoothed it, and looked up, while the snow fell, sweet and grateful as the kisses of his only child, upon his dim eyes, and feverish forehead,--and as he entered the room, has forbidden Jane to wipe away the flakes, for he wished them gently to weep themselves to death, on his face, in all their virgin sorrow. Rain, we love thee not, even in thy spring showers, and must canopy our head to protect it from thy salutations: but Snow, we uncover it for thy kisses, so pure and soothing. How beautiful art thou, when the messenger of death; and a holier and a whiter bed dost thou afford the poor traveller, than could be smoothed and softened by the hand of his young and beloved wife, in his own happy abode, where, true as her love in difficulty and trial, burns the signal of her expectations, through the small lattice, during the long night, and often trimmed in vain! How gently is he hushed to sleep, amidst the wreathes of thy purity, unconscious of the blast. Not a limb aches, and heaven, likewise, bids thee be thy lover’s shroud and tomb!
Had Mrs. Chiselwig, however, been disposed to apostrophize the snow, it would have been in very different language; and, perhaps, the good woman had reason, as she arrived, almost blinded and senseless, at the door, where stood two figures, whom she instantly recognized as Gideon and Jeremiah.
“Dear, dear husband!” she exclaimed in raptures, and flung her arms fondly around his neck, for the first time since marriage, and then she sobbed. Gideon had started back instinctively, when he beheld the arms raised, but now he was convinced of Nelly’s affection, and joined her sobbing. It may be superfluous to add, that Jeremiah’s sympathetic sluices were not closed on this occasion, and that they threatened to deluge his person.
“Oh! Gideon, you shudder in my embrace.”
“Aye, aye, I am a lost man, yet now, I feel so happy in your love, dear Nelly. But I am very, very cold.”
The door was opened, and after entering the house, Nelly was informed of the exploit in the Rough Wood. She upbraided not, she only kissed her husband, wept, and looked heart-broken. Gideon conjured her not to be changed in temper for one day at least, and still to treat him harshly.
“I could not,” was the affecting reply, “though such conduct were to save your life. Oh! I feel ashamed of myself. You must, if you wish me to be happy hereafter, give me as many scratches, kicks, and angry words, as I have ever given you. Promise me, Gideon.”
Gideon did promise, and as the first-fruits of the vow, kissed her. They retired not to rest, for, as the husband piteously remarked--
“Dear wife, I cannot, and I should not sleep. I must gaze upon you as long as I am permitted. I must speak with you as long as my language is of earth. I must embrace you as long as I am not called upon to embrace clods, dust, and worms. Ha!” he cried in a frantic voice, “not that! not that! I am denied burial, and must go, body and soul, to the dark pit! I shall be mangled, and Jeremiah will not be allowed to sew me together, into a decent corpse. Oh! oh!”
At length, punctual to his appointment, the vicar came, attended by his nephew. What was the astonishment of the worthy man, when he learned that Gideon had fulfilled verbatim his wife’s dream, and actually sold himself, for better, for worse, to the devil! He gravely shook his head, and the motion was also communicated to his paunch, as he remarked--
“I am afraid that the present is a case far beyond my poor skill. I once, indeed, had the honour of casting out a devil, but he was a blue devil, and I put his victim into a room by himself, for a month, and removed a large bottle, after which the man was never tormented with him again. But this--”
“And you a doctor of the church,” interrupted Jeremiah--“humph!--with a black coat, professing that you are able and inclined to fight the devil in his own colours. Now, if you could fight a blue devil, in a black coat, would you not have a greater chance of success in fighting a black devil? Had I as many prayers, homilies, and sermons, Dr. Mauncel, I would instantly take and pull him by the nose, very much to the lengthening of his proboscis. Oh! doctor, accompany us to the place of the awful meeting, and I will carry the Book as your weapon!”
“Yes, yes,” added Mrs. Chiselwig with great earnestness and simplicity, “and I will carry--what was the name, sir?--Yes, Rehoboam. I’ll carry Rehoboam for you.”
“He is a dear child, and I could scarcely trust him out of my own hands.”
But we cannot detail the conversation, many episodes of which were long prayers, and spiritual maxims, calculated to do anything or everything, save to overturn and reverse the horrid destiny of Gideon--the doomed of Satan. None gave consolation, until the parson’s nephew suggested that it was quite possible, indeed extremely probable, that the devil would find the building of the wall a task, by no means easy; and that, for his part, he would be most willing to take his uncle’s post, and accompany poor Gideon to the place of rendezvous, and see the wall to be, in mason’s terms, sufficient and proper, before the Devil could claim a hair of the tailor’s head. Still, this was not altogether satisfactory, for the first condition, and that which appeared the most difficult, had been strictly fulfilled.
As the clock struck every hour, Gideon seemed to hear the fiend exclaim, “prepare.” His heart vibrated so much, that had it been skilfully placed in the mechanism, it would have regularly and accurately moved the pendulum. He counted every shade darkening on the sky, until night came on; and melancholy, if not poetical, was his farewell to the glorious sun. He was not altogether ignorant of figure and trope, to eke out his pathos, as will be seen.
“There thou art, about to disappear for ever from these delighted eyes, with thy beautiful chariot! That dark cloud is thy coachman, with a pink-coloured vest. He is now mounting, and in a moment will be ready to drive thee into the ocean, and wet thy garments, making them truly uncomfortable for thy tailor, whoever he be, to repair. He has lighted his pipe of tobacco, and puffs out the smoke to keep away the sea sickness. His drab great coat is now over him, and he is exclaiming, ‘all’s right, all’s right.’ ’Tis false, charioteer, all’s wrong, wrong. Farewell, thou orb of day. I go, where time is not measured by day--the tailor; and clad by night--his journeyman. Yet just one other peep; yes, here is thy ray upon my hand. Oh! Nelly, hast thou a glove to put over my hand, and thus confine the light for ever to be my hope. Farewell! To-morrow thou again appearest, but not for me. Perchance, as thou arisest over the finished wall, thou mayest observe my head as the cope stone. At morn, how anxiously have I removed the nightcap from my eye to behold thy charms, O sun! How beautifully dost thou gleam into the soup, and kindly reveal all the peas and beans which slily lie at the bottom of the dish. How fondly hast thou loved my needle, and even danced, with thy hundred feet, upon the point! Farewell!” and he closed the window and wept.
The speech may contain a little of the ludicrous; not so the feelings. In vain did Nelly, who had been a little consoled by the remarks of the parson’s nephew, and who had, therefore, been able to attend to cookery, set before him food the most savoury, to tempt his appetite, with what one of the signs elegantly terms “the real-original-genuine-best Ormskirk gingerbread.” As her hands spread them on the table, Gideon’s sorrow was renewed, for the thought struck him, that they would move before him no more. It was no easy matter for the good man to be resigned to the loss of his wife, just when she had become so agreeable and affectionate.
Soon Mary Mauncel entered, leaning on the arm of her cousin. She had tried all her arts to dissuade him from the expedition, and had even threatened never to speak to him again. And yet, out of pure love and care for him, and of her own accord, she had come along with him to Gideon’s house. And never had she spoken so much and so tenderly, as she did now, cautioning William, for her sake, not to be rash. Jeremiah shewed them to seats, and because there was a scarcity of chairs, mounted the table himself. Gideon had watched the motion.
“Ah! Jeremiah, I have sat there for the last time. Orders shall be sent, good broad cloth shall be spread out, but no Gideon shall be there to cut, sew, and mend.”
“Reverse the picture,” added his brother, “and change the scene. A horrible pit, at the bottom of which--”
“Nay, Jeremiah; do not make me to anticipate it. Young gentleman, how are your nerves braced for the work? Give me your hand.”
At that moment, however, the lover felt his hand touched, and detained gently by Mary, so he held out the sinister one to the tailor.
“Ready, quite ready, Gideon. I shall return with you safe again. Fear not; you shall not lose Mrs. Chiselwig, nor,” he added in a whisper to his beautiful companion, “shall I lose Mary Mauncel.”
“Is the night calm?” meekly inquired Nelly, who had some thoughts of accompanying her husband.
“Beautiful and clear,” was the reply. “The snow is glistening in the moon’s rays, and not a breath of wind awakes it.”
“Beautiful it is,” added Mary, in a low voice to William, “but for ghosts, devils, and your folly. How much happier should we have been together, in the garden.”
Jeremiah’s very acute ear had distinguished these words. “Ah! my young lady, the open field, where we are to meet the enemy, is much more romantic than a garden; and you must be happier there, as the shelter is better. The devil had fled without a place of meeting being definitely assigned, but I had courage enough to recall him, and then we agreed upon a spot of ground to the right of Aughton Moss, and in the direction of Cleives Hills. Garden? No, no, for were I concealed behind a bush, even in the presence of your father, the enemy might ask him to bestow the little bird that was in such a bush, and his reverence, not knowing, might comply, and I should then be caged. All must be open and exposed.”
“No more,” exclaimed Gideon in agony, after he had returned from the door, where, for the last minute he had been gazing upon the moon, “no more must I see thy light, after a few short hours. Ha! and the candle too. But let me try how I can do without it,” and he immediately extinguished it. “Horrible darkness; and then I must for ever put on and take off my clothes, and shave and wash myself with liquid fire, and eat without a light; yes, eat brimstone and tempest, without having a candle to shew the mouth. Hush, hush, I hear some fiend eating. His lips smack.”
Gideon was not wrong in one part of his conjectures, for Mary’s lover, taking advantage of the light being extinguished, was attempting to console and pacify her by whispers and kisses. The clock now struck the hour of eleven, and Nelly lighted the candle, to prepare the last supper for her husband. Not a word was spoken. Every countenance was fixed upon the miserable pair. Every little noise startled them, and then again they were immovable, as gloomy pictures. The candle flame turned blue. The chimney looked darker and darker. Shadows flitted upon the wall, in formidable guise. At length the parson’s nephew proposed that Miss Mauncel, rather than return to her father, should keep poor Nelly company in their absence.
“Come, Gideon, come; it is the hour.” What terror these words inspired in all, save the speaker, who laughed at superstition, and even at the devil! The tailor’s limbs trembled,--he looked up, and then hid his face in his hands. Jeremiah brought a long cloak, to wrap his brother from the cold. All things were adjusted, as for a criminal on the drop. He was at the door. Nelly gave a shriek;--her husband heard it not. She embraced and hugged him,--he was passive in her arms.
“Oh!--he is dead already!” she exclaimed, “he is,--yes!”
But they observed, by the rolling of his eyes, that although his reason might have fled, his spirit was still in its tabernacle. Jeremiah shook him, but Gideon responded not. He was dragged forth, as the hour had already passed, and yet, no farewell was uttered by him. Nelly’s farewell was a loud, a long, a piercing shriek, as he was moved over the threshold, and then a longer fainting fit.
The snow crisped beneath their feet, a slight breeze passed over their heads, and these were the only sounds heard. The hour of twelve was striking in the town, as they reached the spot assigned.
Gideon now seemed to awake from his insensibility. He attempted to speak, but words and utterance altogether failed him. The magic circle was drawn around, and he looked up to summon the enemy of mankind to fulfil his engagements, when a violent fit of shuddering seized his limbs, and some thing not less gentle passed over his soul. The stars above were fiery, and gleaming with malignant aspect and influence over a mortal’s fate, and around them was a dull haze, which was interpreted into a shroud. Not that the tailor was an astrologer, in faith or practice: but there are moments and circumstances when the orbs of heaven appear as the types of earth’s history,--as the eyes of fate turned upon individuals, likewise, with their revelations. He then gazed around. Not a tree or fence stood near, for a covert; but a desert heath, still more desolate in its appearance from its snowy covering. The ground, with its winter’s carpet, was prevented from echoing to footsteps: and the air seemed, too, as if it were bound up from the vibrations of sound,--for over all was a dead silence.
William Mauncel was the first who spoke. “Gideon, thou tremblest; I will take thy duty. Give me the charm by which thou renderest the devil obedient to thy call. Eh? does he stand upon ceremony? My good uncle assures us that he frequently pays us a visit when he is not invited, and that he makes himself such a pleasant fellow, that we are loth to give him a hint that it is not agreeable for the time to have his company, much less to shew him to the door. Ah! ah! Gideon, you were too polite, you gave him your card, with name and residence, last night. That will make him troublesome. He is a punctual keeper of his appointments. Now, pray, give me the signal. Nay, then,” as Gideon’s voice could not be heard, “Jeremiah will oblige me.”
The substance of the directions was repeated from the old book, where they had, at first, stimulated the tailor’s courage, to make him more than a mortal hero. William laughed at the affectionate terms in which he was to invite the enemy; and began, in as low and gentle a tone, to say, “Come, James, come,” as he had ever employed when he had tapped at the window of his uncle’s study, where his beautiful cousin was, whispering, “come, Mary, come,” in order that she should trip out and enjoy a moonlight scene, seated along with him in the arbour. Still the devil was not pleased most graciously to appear, and William laughed and shouted in full merriment. He, indeed, believed in the devil’s journeyings to and fro, over the earth, and in his exertions and plans to obtain victims by false and almost involuntary contracts; but then he was not frightened, for as he firmly believed that human skill, stratagem, and valour might baffle him. Where was the necessity, he reasoned, of mistaking his black majesty for a gentleman in black; of using blood instead of ink; of receiving slate stones instead of golden coins? He also held as a part of his superstitious creed, the existence of certain old ladies, on whose chins the Lancashire rains have fallen with such a fructifying influence, as to beard them “like the pard;” with hands dark and sickly, from the deadly drugs which they mix over the light of the cauldron, in their cave, and with decrepid and corrupted forms, as if they were spirits of another world, and had come to the charnel house, and there clothed themselves in a body which had begun to be the prey of worms; and with souls, whose every idea was familiar with the dark fates in store for earth, and rejoiced in those which were to blast the happy, and destroy the beautiful. But then, he as firmly held that their spells might be made to fall impotent upon man. He laughed at them, and was prepared to scratch them, in their only vulnerable part,--_above the breath_. In travelling, he cared not though he should have the company of a ghost, provided it only spoke, and recounted some horrible deed, as the avenger of which it walked the earth,--for he hated silence. At home, he would have shook the devil very frankly and cordially by the hand, had he ever paid him a visit, and he would have smoked a pipe, or drunk a cup of tea (had tea then been known) with any witch, in her own abode. Thus William Mauncel was exceedingly merry in prospect of beholding the devil, whom he imagined that he could so easily thwart. In a loud voice, he again exclaimed, “come, James, come,” and instantly a little man, with the tools of a mason-builder, stood opposite to Gideon.
“Gideon Chiselwig, give me the dimensions of the wall which I have contracted to build. You know that it is now an hour from my day break, and I must finish it, and then claim you. You know me?--or shall I disclose my features? and assume some of my former tones, and thus convince you that I am--the devil?”
Gideon trembled still more, and feebly ejaculated, “No, no. I believe in very deed that thou art my enemy, and, I beseech thee, give me no further proof.”