Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
acquaintance. ‘Mr Hugh, if I should ride up to the Maypole door, you
will do me the favour only to have seen me once. You must suppress your
gratitude, and endeavour to forget my forbearance in the matter of the
bracelet. It is natural it should break out, and it does you honour; but
when other folks are by, you must, for your own sake and safety, be as
like your usual self as though you owed me no obligation whatever, and
had never stood within these walls. You comprehend me?’
Hugh understood him perfectly. After a pause he muttered that he hoped
his patron would involve him in no trouble about this last letter;
for he had kept it back solely with the view of pleasing him. He was
continuing in this strain, when Mr Chester with a most beneficent and
patronising air cut him short by saying:
‘My good fellow, you have my promise, my word, my sealed bond (for a
verbal pledge with me is quite as good), that I will always protect you
so long as you deserve it. Now, do set your mind at rest. Keep it at
ease, I beg of you. When a man puts himself in my power so thoroughly as
you have done, I really feel as though he had a kind of claim upon me. I
am more disposed to mercy and forbearance under such circumstances
than I can tell you, Hugh. Do look upon me as your protector, and rest
assured, I entreat you, that on the subject of that indiscretion, you
may preserve, as long as you and I are friends, the lightest heart that
ever beat within a human breast. Fill that glass once more to cheer you
on your road homewards--I am really quite ashamed to think how far you
have to go--and then God bless you for the night.’
‘They think,’ said Hugh, when he had tossed the liquor down, ‘that I am
sleeping soundly in the stable. Ha ha ha! The stable door is shut, but
the steed’s gone, master.’
‘You are a most convivial fellow,’ returned his friend, ‘and I love your
humour of all things. Good night! Take the greatest possible care of
yourself, for my sake!’
It was remarkable that during the whole interview, each had endeavoured
to catch stolen glances of the other’s face, and had never looked full
at it. They interchanged one brief and hasty glance as Hugh went out,
averted their eyes directly, and so separated. Hugh closed the double
doors behind him, carefully and without noise; and Mr Chester remained
in his easy-chair, with his gaze intently fixed upon the fire.
‘Well!’ he said, after meditating for a long time--and said with a deep
sigh and an uneasy shifting of his attitude, as though he dismissed some
other subject from his thoughts, and returned to that which had held
possession of them all the day--‘the plot thickens; I have thrown the
shell; it will explode, I think, in eight-and-forty hours, and should
scatter these good folks amazingly. We shall see!’
He went to bed and fell asleep, but had not slept long when he started
up and thought that Hugh was at the outer door, calling in a strange
voice, very different from his own, to be admitted. The delusion was so
strong upon him, and was so full of that vague terror of the night
in which such visions have their being, that he rose, and taking his
sheathed sword in his hand, opened the door, and looked out upon the
staircase, and towards the spot where Hugh had lain asleep; and even
spoke to him by name. But all was dark and quiet, and creeping back
to bed again, he fell, after an hour’s uneasy watching, into a second
sleep, and woke no more till morning.
Chapter 29
The thoughts of worldly men are for ever regulated by a moral law of
gravitation, which, like the physical one, holds them down to earth. The
bright glory of day, and the silent wonders of a starlit night, appeal
to their minds in vain. There are no signs in the sun, or in the moon,
or in the stars, for their reading. They are like some wise men, who,
learning to know each planet by its Latin name, have quite forgotten
such small heavenly constellations as Charity, Forbearance, Universal
Love, and Mercy, although they shine by night and day so brightly that
the blind may see them; and who, looking upward at the spangled sky,
see nothing there but the reflection of their own great wisdom and
book-learning.
It is curious to imagine these people of the world, busy in thought,
turning their eyes towards the countless spheres that shine above us,
and making them reflect the only images their minds contain. The man who
lives but in the breath of princes, has nothing in his sight but stars for
courtiers’ breasts. The envious man beholds his neighbours’ honours
even in the sky; to the money-hoarder, and the mass of worldly folk, the
whole great universe above glitters with sterling coin--fresh from the
mint--stamped with the sovereign’s head--coming always between them and
heaven, turn where they may. So do the shadows of our own desires stand
between us and our better angels, and thus their brightness is eclipsed.
Everything was fresh and gay, as though the world were but that morning
made, when Mr Chester rode at a tranquil pace along the Forest road.
Though early in the season, it was warm and genial weather; the trees
were budding into leaf, the hedges and the grass were green, the air was
musical with songs of birds, and high above them all the lark poured
out her richest melody. In shady spots, the morning dew sparkled on
each young leaf and blade of grass; and where the sun was shining, some
diamond drops yet glistened brightly, as in unwillingness to leave so
fair a world, and have such brief existence. Even the light wind, whose
rustling was as gentle to the ear as softly-falling water, had its hope
and promise; and, leaving a pleasant fragrance in its track as it went
fluttering by, whispered of its intercourse with Summer, and of his
happy coming.
The solitary rider went glancing on among the trees, from sunlight
into shade and back again, at the same even pace--looking about him,
certainly, from time to time, but with no greater thought of the day
or the scene through which he moved, than that he was fortunate (being
choicely dressed) to have such favourable weather. He smiled very
complacently at such times, but rather as if he were satisfied with
himself than with anything else: and so went riding on, upon his
chestnut cob, as pleasant to look upon as his own horse, and probably
far less sensitive to the many cheerful influences by which he was
surrounded.
In the course of time, the Maypole’s massive chimneys rose upon his
view: but he quickened not his pace one jot, and with the same cool
gravity rode up to the tavern porch. John Willet, who was toasting
his red face before a great fire in the bar, and who, with surpassing
foresight and quickness of apprehension, had been thinking, as he looked
at the blue sky, that if that state of things lasted much longer, it
might ultimately become necessary to leave off fires and throw the
windows open, issued forth to hold his stirrup; calling lustily for
Hugh.
‘Oh, you’re here, are you, sir?’ said John, rather surprised by the
quickness with which he appeared. ‘Take this here valuable animal into
the stable, and have more than particular care of him if you want to
keep your place. A mortal lazy fellow, sir; he needs a deal of looking
after.’
‘But you have a son,’ returned Mr Chester, giving his bridle to Hugh as
he dismounted, and acknowledging his salute by a careless motion of his
hand towards his hat. ‘Why don’t you make HIM useful?’
‘Why, the truth is, sir,’ replied John with great importance, ‘that my
son--what, you’re a-listening are you, villain?’
‘Who’s listening?’ returned Hugh angrily. ‘A treat, indeed, to hear YOU
speak! Would you have me take him in till he’s cool?’
‘Walk him up and down further off then, sir,’ cried old John, ‘and when
you see me and a noble gentleman entertaining ourselves with talk, keep
your distance. If you don’t know your distance, sir,’ added Mr Willet,
after an enormously long pause, during which he fixed his great dull
eyes on Hugh, and waited with exemplary patience for any little property
in the way of ideas that might come to him, ‘we’ll find a way to teach
you, pretty soon.’
Hugh shrugged his shoulders scornfully, and in his reckless swaggering
way, crossed to the other side of the little green, and there, with
the bridle slung loosely over his shoulder, led the horse to and fro,
glancing at his master every now and then from under his bushy eyebrows,
with as sinister an aspect as one would desire to see.
Mr Chester, who, without appearing to do so, had eyed him attentively
during this brief dispute, stepped into the porch, and turning abruptly
to Mr Willet, said,
‘You keep strange servants, John.’
‘Strange enough to look at, sir, certainly,’ answered the host; ‘but out
of doors; for horses, dogs, and the likes of that; there an’t a better
man in England than is that Maypole Hugh yonder. He an’t fit for
indoors,’ added Mr Willet, with the confidential air of a man who felt
his own superior nature. ‘I do that; but if that chap had only a little
imagination, sir--’
‘He’s an active fellow now, I dare swear,’ said Mr Chester, in a musing
tone, which seemed to suggest that he would have said the same had there
been nobody to hear him.
‘Active, sir!’ retorted John, with quite an expression in his face;
‘that chap! Hallo there! You, sir! Bring that horse here, and go and
hang my wig on the weathercock, to show this gentleman whether you’re
one of the lively sort or not.’
Hugh made no answer, but throwing the bridle to his master, and
snatching his wig from his head, in a manner so unceremonious and hasty
that the action discomposed Mr Willet not a little, though performed at
his own special desire, climbed nimbly to the very summit of the maypole
before the house, and hanging the wig upon the weathercock, sent it
twirling round like a roasting jack. Having achieved this performance,
he cast it on the ground, and sliding down the pole with inconceivable
rapidity, alighted on his feet almost as soon as it had touched the
earth.
‘There, sir,’ said John, relapsing into his usual stolid state, ‘you
won’t see that at many houses, besides the Maypole, where there’s good
accommodation for man and beast--nor that neither, though that with him
is nothing.’
This last remark bore reference to his vaulting on horseback, as upon Mr
Chester’s first visit, and quickly disappearing by the stable gate.
‘That with him is nothing,’ repeated Mr Willet, brushing his wig with
his wrist, and inwardly resolving to distribute a small charge for dust
and damage to that article of dress, through the various items of his
guest’s bill; ‘he’ll get out of a’most any winder in the house. There
never was such a chap for flinging himself about and never hurting his
bones. It’s my opinion, sir, that it’s pretty nearly allowing to his
not having any imagination; and that if imagination could be (which it
can’t) knocked into him, he’d never be able to do it any more. But we
was a-talking, sir, about my son.’
‘True, Willet, true,’ said his visitor, turning again towards the
landlord with his accustomed serenity of face. ‘My good friend, what
about him?’
It has been reported that Mr Willet, previously to making answer,
winked. But as he was never known to be guilty of such lightness of
conduct either before or afterwards, this may be looked upon as
a malicious invention of his enemies--founded, perhaps, upon the
undisputed circumstance of his taking his guest by the third breast
button of his coat, counting downwards from the chin, and pouring his
reply into his ear:
‘Sir,’ whispered John, with dignity, ‘I know my duty. We want no
love-making here, sir, unbeknown to parents. I respect a certain young
gentleman, taking him in the light of a young gentleman; I respect a