Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  SCENE — An apartment in Count HELMAAR’S Castle. — ELEONORA. — CHRISTINA. — Little KATE and ULRIC asleep on the floor.

  Eleon. Poor creatures! they were quite tired by sitting up so late: is their mother come yet?

  Christina. Not yet; but she will soon be here, for my brother told Aleftson to make all possible haste. Do you know where my brother is? — he is not among the dancers. I expected to have found him sighing at the Lady Eleonora’s feet.

  Eleon. He is much better employed than in sighing at any body’s feet; he is gone down into the great hall, to see and reward some poor peasants who have brought home the knapsacks of those unfortunate soldiers who fell in the last battle: — your good Mrs. Ulrica found out that these peasants were in the village near us — she sent for them, got a plentiful supper ready, and the count is now speaking to them.

  Christina. And can you forgive my ungallant brother for thinking of vulgar boors, when he ought to be intent on nothing but your bright eyes? — then all I can say is, you are both of you just fit for one another: every fool, indeed, saw that long ago.

  {A cry behind the scenes of “Long line Count Helmaar! Long live the good count! long live the poor man’s friend!”}

  Christina (joins the cry). Long live Count Helmaar! — join me, Eleonora — long live the good count! long live the poor man’s friend!

  {The little children waken, start up, and stretch themselves.}

  Eleon. There, you have wakened these poor children.

  Ulric. What’s the matter? I dreamed father was shaking hands with me.

  Enter Mrs. ULRICA.

  Little Kate. Mrs. Ulrica! where am I? I thought I was in my little bed at home — I was dreaming about a purse, I believe.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Was it about this purse you were dreaming? — (shows the purse which the children found in the wood) — Come, take it into your little hands, and waken and rouse yourselves, for you must come and give this purse back to the rightful owner; I’ve found him out for you — (Aside to Christina and Eleonora). And now, ladies, if you please to go up into the gallery, you’ll see something worth looking at.

  {Exeunt.}

  SCENE — A hall in Count HELMAAR’S Castle. — Peasants rising from supper in the back scene.

  1st Peasant. Here’s a health to the poor man’s friend; and may every poor man, every poor honest man — and there are none other in Sweden — find as good a friend as Count Helmaar.

  Enter CHARLES, eagerly.

  Charles. Count Helmaar! is he here?

  Omnes. Heyday! Charles, the sleeper, broad awake! or is he walking in his sleep?

  Charles. Where’s Count Helmaar, I say? — I’d walk in my sleep, or any way, to get a sight of him.

  1st Peasant. Hush! stand back! — here’s some of the quality coming, who are not thinking of you.

  {The peasants all retire to the back scene. Count HELMAAR, CHRISTINA, and ELEONORA, appear, looking from a gallery. Enter ALEFTSON and CATHERINE at one door, Mrs. ULRICA at the opposite door, with CHRISTIERN, followed by the two children.}

  Cath. (springs forward.) Christiern! my husband! alive! — is it a dream?

  Christiern (embracing her). Your own Christiern, dearest Catherine.

  {The children clap their hands, and run to their father.}

  Ulric. Why, I thought he was my father; only he did not shake hands with me.

  Kate. And Mrs. Ulrica hid me hold my tongue.

  Christiern. My Ulric! my little Kate!

  Mrs. Ulrica. Ay, my little Kate, you may speak now as much as you will. — (Their father kisses them eagerly.) — Ay, kiss them, kiss them; they are as good children as ever were born — and as honest: Kate, show him the purse, and ask him if it be his.

  Kate. Is it yours, father? — (holds up the purse).

  Christiern. ’Tis mine; ’twas in my knapsack; but how it came here, Heaven knows.

  Ulric. We found it in the wood, father, as we were going home, just at the foot of a tree.

  Charles (comes forward). Why, mayhap, now I recollect, I might have dropped it there — more shame for me, or rather more shame for them — (looking back at his companions) — that were playing the fool with me, and tumbled out all the things on the ground. Master, I hope there’s no harm done: we poor peasant fellows have brought home all the other knapsacks safe and sound to the relations of them that died; and yours came by mistake, it seems.

  Christiern. It’s a very lucky mistake; for I wouldn’t have lost a waistcoat which there is in that knapsack for all the waistcoats in Sweden. My Catherine, ’twas that which you gave me the day before I went abroad — do you remember it?

  Charles. Ay, that she does; it had like to have been the death of her — for she thought you must be dead for certain when he saw it brought home without you — but I knew he was not ead, mistress — did not I tell you, mistress, not to give way to sorrow while there was hope left?

  Cath. O joy! joy! — too much joy!

  Aleft. Now are you sorry you came with me when I bade you? — but I’m a fool! — I’m a fool!

  Ulric. But where’s the cap and coat you used to wear?

  Kate. You are quite another man, uncle.

  Aleft. The same man, niece, only in another coat.

  Mrs. Ulrica (laughing). How they stare! —— Well, Christiern, you are not angry with my master and me for keeping you now? — but angry or not, I don’t care, for I wouldn’t have missed seeing this meeting for any thing in the whole world.

  Enter Count HELMAAR, ELEONOKA, and CHRISTINA.

  Christina. Nor I.

  Eleon. Nor I.

  Helmaar. Nor I.

  The Peasants. Nor any of us

  Helmaar (to little Ulric). My honest little boy, is that the purse which you found in the wood?

  Ulric. Yes, and it’s my own father’s.

  Helmaar. And how much money is there in it?

  {The child opens the purse, and spreads the money on the floor.}

  Ulric (to Mrs. Ulrica). Count you, for I can’t count so much.

  Mrs. Ulrica (counts). Eight ducats, five rixdollars, and let me see how many — sixteen carolines:—’twould have been pity, Catherine, to have lost all this treasure, which Christiern has saved for you.

  Helmaar. Catherine, I beg that all the money in this purse may be given to these honest peasants. (To Kate) Here, take it to them, my little modest girl. As for you and your children, Catherine, you may depend upon it that I will not neglect to make you easy in the world: your own good conduct, and the excellent manner in which you have brought up these children, would incline me to serve you, even if your husband had not saved my life.

  Cath. Christiern, my dear husband, and did you save Count Helmaar’s life?

  Mrs. Ulrica. Ay, that he did.

  Cath. (embracing him.) I am the happiest wife, and — (turning to kiss her children) — the happiest mother upon earth.

  Charles (staring up in Count Helmaar’s face). God bless him! I’ve seen him face to face at last; and now I wish in my heart I could see his wife.

  Christina. And so do I most sincerely: my dear brother, who has been all his life labouring for the happiness of others, should now surely think of making himself happy.

  Eleonora (giving her hand to Helmaar). No, leave that to me, for I shall think of nothing else all my life.

  POPULAR TALES

  CONTENTS

  LAME JERVAS

  THE WILL

  THE LIMERICK GLOVES.

  OUT OF THE DEBT OUT OF DANGER

  THE LOTTERY

  ROSANNA.

  MURAD THE UNLUCKY

  THE MANUFACTURERS

  THE CONTRAST

  THE GRATEFUL NEGRO.

  TO-MORROW

  PREFACE.

  Some author says, that a good book needs no apology; and, as a preface is usually an apology, a book enters into the world with a better grace without one. I, however, appeal to those readers who are not gluttons, but epicures, in literature, whether they do not wish t
o see the bill of fare? I appeal to monthly critics, whether a preface that gives a view of the pretensions of the writer is not a good thing? The author may overvalue his subject, and very naturally may overrate the manner in which it is treated; but still he will explain his views, and facilitate the useful and necessary art which the French call reading with the thumb. We call this hunting a book, a term certainly invented by a sportsman. I leave the reader to choose which he pleases, whilst I lay before him the contents and design of these volumes.

  Burke supposes that there are eighty thousand readers in Great Britain, nearly one hundredth part of its inhabitants! Out of these we may calculate that ten thousand are nobility, clergy, or gentlemen of the learned professions. Of seventy thousand readers which remain, there are many who might be amused and instructed by books which were not professedly adapted to the classes that have been enumerated. With this view the following volumes have been composed. The title of POPULAR TALES has been chosen, not as a presumptuous and premature claim to popularity, but from the wish that they may be current beyond circles which are sometimes exclusively considered as polite.

  The art of printing has opened to all classes of people various new channels of entertainment and information. — Amongst the ancients, wisdom required austere manners and a length of beard to command attention; but in our days, instruction, in the dress of innocent amusement, is not denied admittance amongst the wise and good of all ranks. It is therefore hoped that a succession of stories, adapted to different ages, sexes, and situations in life, will not be rejected by the public, unless they offend against morality, tire by their sameness, or disgust by their imitation of other writers.

  RICHARD LOVELL EDGEWORTH.

  LAME JERVAS

  CHAPTER I.

  Some years ago, a lad of the name of William Jervas, or, as he was called from his lameness, Lame Jervas, whose business it was to tend the horses in one of the Cornwall tin-mines, was missing. He was left one night in a little hut, at one end of the mine, where he always slept; but in the morning, he could no where be found; and this his sudden disappearance gave rise to a number of strange and ridiculous stories among the miners. The most rational, however, concluded that the lad, tired of his situation, had made his escape during the night. It was certainly rather surprising that he could no where be traced; but after the neighbours had wondered and talked for some time about it, the circumstance was by degrees forgotten. The name of William Jervas was scarcely remembered by any, except two or three of the oldest miners, when, twenty years afterward, there came a party of gentlemen and ladies to see the mines! and, as the guide was showing the curiosities of the place, one among the company, a gentleman of about six-and-thirty years of age, pointed to some letters that were carved on the rock, and asked, “Whose name was written there?” “Only the name of one William Jervas,” answered the guide; “a poor lad, who ran away from the mines a great long while ago.” “Are you sure that he ran away?” said the gentleman. “Yes,” answered the guide, “sure and certain I am of that.” “Not at all sure and certain of any such thing,” cried one of the oldest of the miners, who interrupted the guide, and then related all that he knew, all that he had heard, and all that he imagined and believed concerning the sudden disappearance of Jervas; concluding by positively assuring the stranger that the ghost of the said Jervas was often seen to walk, slowly, in the long west gallery of the mine, with a blue taper in his hand.—”I will take my Bible oath,” added the man, “that about a month after he was missing, I saw the ghost just as the clock struck twelve, walking slowly, with the light in one hand, and a chain dragging after him in t’other; and he was coming straight towards me, and I ran away into the stables to the horses; and from that time forth I’ve taken special good care never to go late in the evening to that there gallery, or near it: for I never was so frightened, above or under ground, in all my born days.”

  The stranger, upon hearing this story, burst into a loud fit of laughter; and, on recovering himself, he desired the ghost-seer to look stedfastly in his face, and to tell whether he bore any resemblance to the ghost that walked with the blue taper in the west gallery. The miner stared for some minutes, and answered, “No; he that walks in the gallery is clear another guess sort of a person; in a white jacket, a leather apron, and ragged cap, like what Jervas used to wear in his lifetime; and, moreover, he limps in his gait, as Lame Jervas always did, I remember well.” The gentleman walked on, and the miners observed, what had before escaped their notice, that he limped a little; and, when he came again to the light, the guide, after considering him very attentively, said, “If I was not afraid of affronting the like of a gentleman such as your honour, I should make bold for to say that you be very much — only a deal darker complexioned — you be very much of the same sort of person as our Lame Jervas used for to be.” “Not at all like our Lame Jervas,” cried the old miner, who professed to have seen the ghost; “no more like to him than Black Jack to Blue John.” The by-standers laughed at this comparison; and the guide, provoked at being laughed at, sturdily maintained that not a man that wore a head in Cornwall should laugh him out of his senses. Each party now growing violent in support of his opinion, from words they were just coming to blows, when the stranger at once put an end to the dispute, by declaring that he was the very man. “Jervas!” exclaimed they all at once, “Jervas alive! — our Lame Jervas turned gentleman!”

  The miners could scarcely believe their eyes, or their ears, especially when, upon following him out of the mine, they saw him get into a handsome coach, and drive toward the mansion of one of the principal gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who was a proprietor of the mine.

  The next day, all the head miners were invited to dine in tents, pitched in a field near this gentleman’s house. It was fine weather, and harvest time; the guests assembled, and in the tents found abundance of good cheer provided for them.

  After dinner, Mr. R —— , the master of the house, appeared, accompanied by Lame Jervas, dressed in his miner’s old jacket and cap. Even the ghost-seer acknowledged that he now looked wonderful like himself. Mr. R —— , the master of the house, filled a glass, and drank—”Welcome home to our friend, Mr. Jervas; and may good faith always meet with good fortune.” The toast went round, each drank, and repeated, “Welcome home to our friend Mr. Jervas; and may good faith always meet good fortune.” Indeed, what was meant by the good faith, or the good fortune, none could guess; and many in whispers, and some aloud, made bold to ask for an explanation of the toast.

  Mr. Jervas, on whom all eyes were fixed, after thanking the company for their welcome home, took his seat at the table; and in compliance with Mr. R — —’s request, and the wishes of all present, related to them his story nearly in the following manner:

  “Where I was born, or who were my parents, I do not well know myself; nor can I recollect who was my nurse, or whether I was ever nursed at all: but, luckily, these circumstances are not of much importance to the world. The first thing which I can distinctly remember is the being set, along with a number of children of my own age, to pick and wash loose ore of tin mixed with the earth, which in those days we used to call shoad, or squad — I don’t know what you call it now.”

  “We call it squad to this day, master,” interrupted one of the miners.

  “I might be at this time, I suppose,” continued the gentleman, “about five or six years old; and from that time till I was thirteen I worked in the mine where we were yesterday. From the bottom of my heart I rejoice that the times are bettered for youngsters since then; for I know I had a hard life of it.

  “My good master, here, never knew any thing of the matter but I was cruelly used by those under him. First, the oldwoman — Betty Morgan, I think, was her name — who set us our tasks of picking and washing the squad, was as cross as the rheumatism could make her. She never picked an ounce herself, but made us do her heap for her among us; and I being the youngest, it was shoved down to me. Often and often my day’s wages were k
ept back, not having done this woman’s task; and I did not dare to tell my master the truth, lest she should beat me. But, God rest her soul! she was an angel of light in comparison with the trap-door keeper, who was my next tyrant.

  “It was our business to open and shut certain doors, that were placed in the mine for letting in air to the different galleries: but my young tyrant left them every one to me to take care of; and I was made to run to and fro, till I had scarcely breath in my body, while every miner in turn was swearing at me for the idlest little fellow upon the surface of the earth; though the surface of the earth, alas! was a place on which I had never yet, to my knowledge, set my foot.

  “In my own defence, I made all the excuses I could think of; and, from excuses, I went on to all kinds of deceit: for tyranny and injustice always produce cunning and falsehood.

  “One day, having shut all the doors on my side of the mine, I left three open on my companion’s side. The men, I thought, would not go to work on that side of the mine for a day or two: but in this I was mistaken; and about noon I was alarmed by the report of a man having been killed in one of the galleries for want of fresh air.

  “The door-keepers were summoned before the overseer; or, as you call him, the viewer. I was the youngest, and the blame was all laid upon me. The man, who had only swooned, recovered; but I was thrashed and thrashed for the neglect of another person, till the viewer was tired.

  “A weary life I led afterwards with my friend the door-keeper, who was enraged against me for having told the truth.

  “In process of time, as I grew stronger and bigger, I was set to other work. First, I was employed at the barrow; and then a pick-axe and a gad{Footnote: A gad is a tool used in mines; it resembles a smith’s punch.} were put into my hands; and I thought myself a great man. — It was my fate to fall among the idlest set in the mine. I observed that those men who worked by task, and who had the luck to hit upon easy beds of the rock, were not obliged to work more than three or four hours a day: they got high wages with little labour; and they spent their money jollily above-ground in the ale-houses, as I heard. I did not know that these jolly fellows often left their wives and families starving while they were getting drunk.