Chapter 6

by Charles Dickens

　　In which the Occurrence of the Accident mentioned in the lastChapter, affords an Opportunity to a couple of Gentlemen to tellStories against each other'Wo ho!' cried the guard, on his legs in a minute, and running tothe leaders' heads. 'Is there ony genelmen there as can len' ahond here? Keep quiet, dang ye! Wo ho!''What's the matter?' demanded Nicholas, looking sleepily up.'Matther mun, matter eneaf for one neight,' replied the guard; 'dangthe wall-eyed bay, he's gane mad wi' glory I think, carse t'coorchis over. Here, can't ye len' a hond? Dom it, I'd ha' dean it ifall my boans were brokken.''Here!' cried Nicholas, staggering to his feet, 'I'm ready. I'monly a little abroad, that's all.''Hoold 'em toight,' cried the guard, 'while ar coot treaces. Hangon tiv'em sumhoo. Well deane, my lod. That's it. Let'em goa noo.Dang 'em, they'll gang whoam fast eneaf!'In truth, the animals were no sooner released than they trottedback, with much deliberation, to the stable they had just left,which was distant not a mile behind.'Can you blo' a harn?' asked the guard, disengaging one of thecoach-lamps.'I dare say I can,' replied Nicholas.'Then just blo' away into that 'un as lies on the grund, fit towakken the deead, will'ee,' said the man, 'while I stop sum o' thishere squealing inside. Cumin', cumin'. Dean't make that noise,wooman.'As the man spoke, he proceeded to wrench open the uppermost door ofthe coach, while Nicholas, seizing the horn, awoke the echoes farand wide with one of the most extraordinary performances on thatinstrument ever heard by mortal ears. It had its effect, however,not only in rousing such of their fall, but in summoning assistanceto their relief; for lights gleamed in the distance, and people werealready astir.In fact, a man on horseback galloped down, before the passengerswere well collected together; and a careful investigation beinginstituted, it appeared that the lady inside had broken her lamp,and the gentleman his head; that the two front outsides had escapedwith black eyes; the box with a bloody nose; the coachman with acontusion on the temple; Mr Squeers with a portmanteau bruise on hisback; and the remaining passengers without any injury at all--thanksto the softness of the snow-drift in which they had been overturned.These facts were no sooner thoroughly ascertained, than the ladygave several indications of fainting, but being forewarned that ifshe did, she must be carried on some gentleman's shoulders to thenearest public-house, she prudently thought better of it, and walkedback with the rest.They found on reaching it, that it was a lonely place with no verygreat accommodation in the way of apartments--that portion of itsresources being all comprised in one public room with a sandedfloor, and a chair or two. However, a large faggot and a plentifulsupply of coals being heaped upon the fire, the appearance of thingswas not long in mending; and, by the time they had washed off alleffaceable marks of the late accident, the room was warm and light,which was a most agreeable exchange for the cold and darkness out ofdoors.'Well, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, insinuating himself into thewarmest corner, 'you did very right to catch hold of them horses. Ishould have done it myself if I had come to in time, but I am veryglad you did it. You did it very well; very well.''So well,' said the merry-faced gentleman, who did not seem toapprove very much of the patronising tone adopted by Squeers, 'thatif they had not been firmly checked when they were, you would mostprobably have had no brains left to teach with.'This remark called up a discourse relative to the promptitudeNicholas had displayed, and he was overwhelmed with compliments andcommendations.'I am very glad to have escaped, of course,' observed Squeers:'every man is glad when he escapes from danger; but if any one of mycharges had been hurt--if I had been prevented from restoring anyone of these little boys to his parents whole and sound as Ireceived him--what would have been my feelings? Why the wheel a-topof my head would have been far preferable to it.''Are they all brothers, sir?' inquired the lady who had carried the'Davy' or safety-lamp.'In one sense they are, ma'am,' replied Squeers, diving into hisgreatcoat pocket for cards. 'They are all under the same parentaland affectionate treatment. Mrs Squeers and myself are a mother andfather to every one of 'em. Mr Nickleby, hand the lady them cards,and offer these to the gentleman. Perhaps they might know of someparents that would be glad to avail themselves of the establishment.'Expressing himself to this effect, Mr Squeers, who lost noopportunity of advertising gratuitously, placed his hands upon hisknees, and looked at the pupils with as much benignity as he couldpossibly affect, while Nicholas, blushing with shame, handed roundthe cards as directed.'I hope you suffer no inconvenience from the overturn, ma'am?' saidthe merry-faced gentleman, addressing the fastidious lady, as thoughhe were charitably desirous to change the subject.'No bodily inconvenience,' replied the lady.'No mental inconvenience, I hope?''The subject is a very painful one to my feelings, sir,' replied thelady with strong emotion; 'and I beg you as a gentleman, not torefer to it.''Dear me,' said the merry-faced gentleman, looking merrier still, 'Imerely intended to inquire--''I hope no inquiries will be made,' said the lady, 'or I shall becompelled to throw myself on the protection of the other gentlemen.Landlord, pray direct a boy to keep watch outside the door--and if agreen chariot passes in the direction of Grantham, to stop itinstantly.'The people of the house were evidently overcome by this request, andwhen the lady charged the boy to remember, as a means of identifyingthe expected green chariot, that it would have a coachman with agold-laced hat on the box, and a footman, most probably in silkstockings, behind, the attentions of the good woman of the inn wereredoubled. Even the box-passenger caught the infection, and growingwonderfully deferential, immediately inquired whether there was notvery good society in that neighbourhood, to which the lady repliedyes, there was: in a manner which sufficiently implied that shemoved at the very tiptop and summit of it all.'As the guard has gone on horseback to Grantham to get anothercoach,' said the good-tempered gentleman when they had been allsitting round the fire, for some time, in silence, 'and as he mustbe gone a couple of hours at the very least, I propose a bowl of hotpunch. What say you, sir?'This question was addressed to the broken-headed inside, who was aman of very genteel appearance, dressed in mourning. He was notpast the middle age, but his hair was grey; it seemed to have beenprematurely turned by care or sorrow. He readily acceded to theproposal, and appeared to be prepossessed by the frank good-natureof the individual from whom it emanated.This latter personage took upon himself the office of tapster whenthe punch was ready, and after dispensing it all round, led theconversation to the antiquities of York, with which both he and thegrey-haired gentleman appeared to be well acquainted. When thistopic flagged, he turned with a smile to the grey-headed gentleman,and asked if he could sing.'I cannot indeed,' replied gentleman, smiling in his turn.'That's a pity,' said the owner of the good-humoured countenance.'Is there nobody here who can sing a song to lighten the time?'The passengers, one and all, protested that they could not; thatthey wished they could; that they couldn't remember the words ofanything without the book; and so forth.'Perhaps the lady would not object,' said the president with greatrespect, and a merry twinkle in his eye. 'Some little Italian thingout of the last opera brought out in town, would be most acceptableI am sure.'As the lady condescended to make no reply, but tossed her headcontemptuously, and murmured some further expression of surpriseregarding the absence of the green chariot, one or two voices urgedupon the president himself, the propriety of making an attempt forthe general benefit.'I would if I could,' said he of the good-tempered face; 'for I holdthat in this, as in all other cases where people who are strangersto each other are thrown unexpectedly together, they shouldendeavour to render themselves as pleasant, for the joint sake ofthe little community, as possible.''I wish the maxim were more generally acted on, in all cases,' saidthe grey-headed gentleman.'I'm glad to hear it,' returned the other. 'Perhaps, as you can'tsing, you'll tell us a story?''Nay. I should ask you.''After you, I will, with pleasure.''Indeed!' said the grey-haired gentleman, smiling, 'Well, let it beso. I fear the turn of my thoughts is not calculated to lighten thetime you must pass here; but you have brought this upon yourselves,and shall judge. We were speaking of York Minster just now. Mystory shall have some reference to it. Let us call itThe Five Sisters of YorkAfter a murmur of approbation from the other passengers, duringwhich the fastidious lady drank a glass of punch unobserved, thegrey-headed gentleman thus went on:'A great many years ago--for the fifteenth century was scarce twoyears old at the time, and King Henry the Fourth sat upon the throneof England--there dwelt, in the ancient city of York, five maidensisters, the subjects of my tale.'These five sisters were all of surpassing beauty. The eldest wasin her twenty-third year, the second a year younger, the third ayear younger than the second, and the fourth a year younger than thethird. They were tall stately figures, with dark flashing eyes andhair of jet; dignity and grace were in their every movement; and thefame of their great beauty had spread through all the country round.'But, if the four elder sisters were lovely, how beautiful was theyoungest, a fair creature of sixteen! The blushing tints in thesoft bloom on the fruit, or the delicate painting on the flower, arenot more exquisite than was the blending of the rose and lily in hergentle face, or the deep blue of her eye. The vine, in all itselegant luxuriance, is not more graceful than were the clusters ofrich brown hair that sported round her brow.'If we all had hearts like those which beat so lightly in the bosomsof the young and beautiful, what a heaven this earth would be! If,while our bodies grow old and withered, our hearts could but retaintheir early youth and freshness, of what avail would be our sorrowsand sufferings! But, the faint image of Eden which is stamped uponthem in childhood, chafes and rubs in our rough struggles with theworld, and soon wears away: too often to leave nothing but amournful blank remaining.'The heart of this fair girl bounded with joy and gladness. Devotedattachment to her sisters, and a fervent love of all beautifulthings in nature, were its pure affections. Her gleesome voice andmerry laugh were the sweetest music of their home. She was its verylight and life. The brightest flowers in the garden were reared byher; the caged birds sang when they heard her voice, and pined whenthey missed its sweetness. Alice, dear Alice; what living thingwithin the sphere of her gentle witchery, could fail to love her!'You may seek in vain, now, for the spot on which these sisterslived, for their very names have passed away, and dusty antiquariestell of them as of a fable. But they dwelt in an old wooden house--old even in those days--with overhanging gables and balconies ofrudely-carved oak, which stood within a pleasant orchard, and wassurrounded by a rough stone wall, whence a stout archer might havewinged an arrow to St Mary's Abbey. The old abbey flourished then;and the five sisters, living on its fair domains, paid yearly duesto the black monks of St Benedict, to which fraternity it belonged.'It was a bright and sunny morning in the pleasant time of summer,when one of those black monks emerged from the abbey portal, andbent his steps towards the house of the fair sisters. Heaven abovewas blue, and earth beneath was green; the river glistened like apath of diamonds in the sun; the birds poured forth their songs fromthe shady trees; the lark soared high above the waving corn; and thedeep buzz of insects filled the air. Everything looked gay andsmiling; but the holy man walked gloomily on, with his eyes bentupon the ground. The beauty of the earth is but a breath, and manis but a shadow. What sympathy should a holy preacher have witheither?'With eyes bent upon the ground, then, or only raised enough toprevent his stumbling over such obstacles as lay in his way, thereligious man moved slowly forward until he reached a small posternin the wall of the sisters' orchard, through which he passed,closing it behind him. The noise of soft voices in conversation,and of merry laughter, fell upon his ears ere he had advanced manypaces; and raising his eyes higher than was his humble wont, hedescried, at no great distance, the five sisters seated on thegrass, with Alice in the centre: all busily plying their customarytask of embroidering.'"Save you, fair daughters!" said the friar; and fair in truth theywere. Even a monk might have loved them as choice masterpieces ofhis Maker's hand.'The sisters saluted the holy man with becoming reverence, and theeldest motioned him to a mossy seat beside them. But the good friarshook his head, and bumped himself down on a very hard stone,--atwhich, no doubt, approving angels were gratified.'"Ye were merry, daughters," said the monk.'"You know how light of heart sweet Alice is," replied the eldestsister, passing her fingers through the tresses of the smiling girl.'"And what joy and cheerfulness it wakes up within us, to see allnature beaming in brightness and sunshine, father," added Alice,blushing beneath the stern look of the recluse.'The monk answered not, save by a grave inclination of the head, andthe sisters pursued their task in silence.'"Still wasting the precious hours," said the monk at length,turning to the eldest sister as he spoke, "still wasting theprecious hours on this vain trifling. Alas, alas! that the fewbubbles on the surface of eternity--all that Heaven wills we shouldsee of that dark deep stream--should be so lightly scattered!''"Father," urged the maiden, pausing, as did each of the others, inher busy task, "we have prayed at matins, our daily alms have beendistributed at the gate, the sick peasants have been tended,--allour morning tasks have been performed. I hope our occupation is ablameless one?''"See here," said the friar, taking the frame from her hand,"an intricate winding of gaudy colours, without purpose or object,unless it be that one day it is destined for some vain ornament, tominister to the pride of your frail and giddy sex. Day after dayhas been employed upon this senseless task, and yet it is not halfaccomplished. The shade of each departed day falls upon our graves,and the worm exults as he beholds it, to know that we are hasteningthither. Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleetinghours?"'The four elder sisters cast down their eyes as if abashed by theholy man's reproof, but Alice raised hers, and bent them mildly onthe friar.'"Our dear mother," said the maiden; "Heaven rest her soul!"'"Amen!" cried the friar in a deep voice.'"Our dear mother," faltered the fair Alice, "was living when theselong tasks began, and bade us, when she should be no more, ply themin all discretion and cheerfulness, in our leisure hours; she saidthat if in harmless mirth and maidenly pursuits we passed thosehours together, they would prove the happiest and most peaceful ofour lives, and that if, in later times, we went forth into theworld, and mingled with its cares and trials--if, allured by itstemptations and dazzled by its glitter, we ever forgot that love andduty which should bind, in holy ties, the children of one lovedparent--a glance at the old work of our common girlhood would awakengood thoughts of bygone days, and soften our hearts to affection andlove."'"Alice speaks truly, father," said the elder sister, somewhatproudly. And so saying she resumed her work, as did the others.'It was a kind of sampler of large size, that each sister had beforeher; the device was of a complex and intricate description, and thepattern and colours of all five were the same. The sisters bentgracefully over their work; the monk, resting his chin upon hishands, looked from one to the other in silence.'"How much better," he said at length, "to shun all such thoughtsand chances, and, in the peaceful shelter of the church, devote yourlives to Heaven! Infancy, childhood, the prime of life, and oldage, wither as rapidly as they crowd upon each other. Think howhuman dust rolls onward to the tomb, and turning your faces steadilytowards that goal, avoid the cloud which takes its rise among thepleasures of the world, and cheats the senses of their votaries.The veil, daughters, the veil!"'"Never, sisters," cried Alice. "Barter not the light and air ofheaven, and the freshness of earth and all the beautiful thingswhich breathe upon it, for the cold cloister and the cell. Nature'sown blessings are the proper goods of life, and we may share themsinlessly together. To die is our heavy portion, but, oh, let usdie with life about us; when our cold hearts cease to beat, let warmhearts be beating near; let our last look be upon the bounds whichGod has set to his own bright skies, and not on stone walls and barsof iron! Dear sisters, let us live and die, if you list, in thisgreen garden's compass; only shun the gloom and sadness of acloister, and we shall be happy."'The tears fell fast from the maiden's eyes as she closed herimpassioned appeal, and hid her face in the bosom of her sister.'"Take comfort, Alice," said the eldest, kissing her fair forehead."The veil shall never cast its shadow on thy young brow. How sayyou, sisters? For yourselves you speak, and not for Alice, or forme."'The sisters, as with one accord, cried that their lot was casttogether, and that there were dwellings for peace and virtue beyondthe convent's walls.'"Father," said the eldest lady, rising with dignity, "you hear ourfinal resolve. The same pious care which enriched the abbey of StMary, and left us, orphans, to its holy guardianship, directed thatno constraint should be imposed upon our inclinations, but that weshould be free to live according to our choice. Let us hear no moreof this, we pray you. Sisters, it is nearly noon. Let us takeshelter until evening!" With a reverence to the friar, the lady roseand walked towards the house, hand in hand with Alice; the othersisters followed.'The holy man, who had often urged the same point before, but hadnever met with so direct a repulse, walked some little distancebehind, with his eyes bent upon the earth, and his lips moving as ifin prayer. As the sisters reached the porch, he quickened his pace,and called upon them to stop.'"Stay!" said the monk, raising his right hand in the air, anddirecting an angry glance by turns at Alice and the eldest sister."Stay, and hear from me what these recollections are, which youwould cherish above eternity, and awaken--if in mercy theyslumbered--by means of idle toys. The memory of earthly things ischarged, in after life, with bitter disappointment, affliction,death; with dreary change and wasting sorrow. The time will one daycome, when a glance at those unmeaning baubles will tear open deepwounds in the hearts of some among you, and strike to your inmostsouls. When that hour arrives--and, mark me, come it will--turnfrom the world to which you clung, to the refuge which you spurned.Find me the cell which shall be colder than the fire of mortalsgrows, when dimmed by calamity and trial, and there weep for thedreams of youth. These things are Heaven's will, not mine," saidthe friar, subduing his voice as he looked round upon the shrinkinggirls. "The Virgin's blessing be upon you, daughters!"'With these words he disappeared through the postern; and thesisters hastening into the house were seen no more that day.'But nature will smile though priests may frown, and next day thesun shone brightly, and on the next, and the next again. And in themorning's glare, and the evening's soft repose, the five sistersstill walked, or worked, or beguiled the time by cheerfulconversation, in their quiet orchard.'Time passed away as a tale that is told; faster indeed than manytales that are told, of which number I fear this may be one. Thehouse of the five sisters stood where it did, and the same treescast their pleasant shade upon the orchard grass. The sisters toowere there, and lovely as at first, but a change had come over theirdwelling. Sometimes, there was the clash of armour, and thegleaming of the moon on caps of steel; and, at others, jadedcoursers were spurred up to the gate, and a female form glidedhurriedly forth, as if eager to demand tidings of the wearymessenger. A goodly train of knights and ladies lodged one nightwithin the abbey walls, and next day rode away, with two of the fairsisters among them. Then, horsemen began to come less frequently,and seemed to bring bad tidings when they did, and at length theyceased to come at all, and footsore peasants slunk to the gate aftersunset, and did their errand there, by stealth. Once, a vassal wasdispatched in haste to the abbey at dead of night, and when morningcame, there were sounds of woe and wailing in the sisters' house;and after this, a mournful silence fell upon it, and knight or lady,horse or armour, was seen about it no more.'There was a sullen darkness in the sky, and the sun had goneangrily down, tinting the dull clouds with the last traces of hiswrath, when the same black monk walked slowly on, with folded arms,within a stone's-throw of the abbey. A blight had fallen on thetrees and shrubs; and the wind, at length beginning to break theunnatural stillness that had prevailed all day, sighed heavily fromtime to time, as though foretelling in grief the ravages of thecoming storm. The bat skimmed in fantastic flights through theheavy air, and the ground was alive with crawling things, whoseinstinct brought them forth to swell and fatten in the rain.'No longer were the friar's eyes directed to the earth; they werecast abroad, and roamed from point to point, as if the gloom anddesolation of the scene found a quick response in his own bosom.Again he paused near the sisters' house, and again he entered by thepostern.'But not again did his ear encounter the sound of laughter, or hiseyes rest upon the beautiful figures of the five sisters. All wassilent and deserted. The boughs of the trees were bent and broken,and the grass had grown long and rank. No light feet had pressed itfor many, many a day.'With the indifference or abstraction of one well accustomed to thechange, the monk glided into the house, and entered a low, darkroom. Four sisters sat there. Their black garments made their palefaces whiter still, and time and sorrow had worked deep ravages.They were stately yet; but the flush and pride of beauty were gone.'And Alice--where was she? In Heaven.'The monk--even the monk--could bear with some grief here; for itwas long since these sisters had met, and there were furrows intheir blanched faces which years could never plough. He took hisseat in silence, and motioned them to continue their speech.'"They are here, sisters," said the elder lady in a trembling voice."I have never borne to look upon them since, and now I blame myselffor my weakness. What is there in her memory that we should dread?To call up our old days shall be a solemn pleasure yet."'She glanced at the monk as she spoke, and, opening a cabinet,brought forth the five frames of work, completed long before. Herstep was firm, but her hand trembled as she produced the last one;and, when the feelings of the other sisters gushed forth at sight ofit, her pent-up tears made way, and she sobbed "God bless her!"'The monk rose and advanced towards them. "It was almost the lastthing she touched in health," he said in a low voice.'"It was," cried the elder lady, weeping bitterly.'The monk turned to the second sister.'"The gallant youth who looked into thine eyes, and hung upon thyvery breath when first he saw thee intent upon this pastime, liesburied on a plain whereof the turf is red with blood. Rustyfragments of armour, once brightly burnished, lie rotting on theground, and are as little distinguishable for his, as are the bonesthat crumble in the mould!"'The lady groaned, and wrung her hands.'"The policy of courts," he continued, turning to the two othersisters, "drew ye from your peaceful home to scenes of revelry andsplendour. The same policy, and the restless ambition of--proud andfiery men, have sent ye back, widowed maidens, and humbled outcasts.Do I speak truly?"'The sobs of the two sisters were their only reply.'"There is little need," said the monk, with a meaning look, "tofritter away the time in gewgaws which shall raise up the paleghosts of hopes of early years. Bury them, heap penance andmortification on their heads, keep them down, and let the convent betheir grave!"'The sisters asked for three days to deliberate; and felt, thatnight, as though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for theirdead joys. But, morning came again, and though the boughs of theorchard trees drooped and ran wild upon the ground, it was the sameorchard still. The grass was coarse and high, but there was yet thespot on which they had so often sat together, when change and sorrowwere but names. There was every walk and nook which Alice had madeglad; and in the minster nave was one flat stone beneath which sheslept in peace.'And could they, remembering how her young heart had sickened at thethought of cloistered walls, look upon her grave, in garbs whichwould chill the very ashes within it? Could they bow down inprayer, and when all Heaven turned to hear them, bring the darkshade of sadness on one angel's face? No.'They sent abroad, to artists of great celebrity in those times, andhaving obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, causedto be executed, in five large compartments of richly stained glass,a faithful copy of their old embroidery work. These were fittedinto a large window until that time bare of ornament; and when thesun shone brightly, as she had so well loved to see it, the familiarpatterns were reflected in their original colours, and throwing astream of brilliant light upon the pavement, fell warmly on the nameof Alice.'For many hours in every day, the sisters paced slowly up and downthe nave, or knelt by the side of the flat broad stone. Only threewere seen in the customary place, after many years; then but two,and, for a long time afterwards, but one solitary female bent withage. At length she came no more, and the stone bore five plainChristian names.'That stone has worn away and been replaced by others, and manygenerations have come and gone since then. Time has softened downthe colours, but the same stream of light still falls upon theforgotten tomb, of which no trace remains; and, to this day, thestranger is shown in York Cathedral, an old window called the FiveSisters.''That's a melancholy tale,' said the merry-faced gentleman, emptyinghis glass.'It is a tale of life, and life is made up of such sorrows,'returned the other, courteously, but in a grave and sad tone ofvoice.'There are shades in all good pictures, but there are lights too, ifwe choose to contemplate them,' said the gentleman with the merryface. 'The youngest sister in your tale was always light-hearted.''And died early,' said the other, gently.'She would have died earlier, perhaps, had she been less happy,'said the first speaker, with much feeling. 'Do you think thesisters who loved her so well, would have grieved the less if herlife had been one of gloom and sadness? If anything could soothethe first sharp pain of a heavy loss, it would be--with me--thereflection, that those I mourned, by being innocently happy here,and loving all about them, had prepared themselves for a purer andhappier world. The sun does not shine upon this fair earth to meetfrowning eyes, depend upon it.''I believe you are right,' said the gentleman who had told thestory.'Believe!' retorted the other, 'can anybody doubt it? Take anysubject of sorrowful regret, and see with how much pleasure it isassociated. The recollection of past pleasure may become pain--''It does,' interposed the other.'Well; it does. To remember happiness which cannot be restored, ispain, but of a softened kind. Our recollections are unfortunatelymingled with much that we deplore, and with many actions which webitterly repent; still in the most chequered life I firmly thinkthere are so many little rays of sunshine to look back upon, that Ido not believe any mortal (unless he had put himself without thepale of hope) would deliberately drain a goblet of the waters ofLethe, if he had it in his power.''Possibly you are correct in that belief,' said the grey-hairedgentleman after a short reflection. 'I am inclined to think youare.''Why, then,' replied the other, 'the good in this state of existencepreponderates over the bad, let miscalled philosophers tell us whatthey will. If our affections be tried, our affections are ourconsolation and comfort; and memory, however sad, is the best andpurest link between this world and a better. But come! I'll tellyou a story of another kind.'After a very brief silence, the merry-faced gentleman sent round thepunch, and glancing slyly at the fastidious lady, who seemeddesperately apprehensive that he was going to relate somethingimproper, beganThe Baron of Grogzwig'The Baron Von Koeldwethout, of Grogzwig in Germany, was as likely ayoung baron as you would wish to see. I needn't say that he livedin a castle, because that's of course; neither need I say that helived in an old castle; for what German baron ever lived in a newone? There were many strange circumstances connected with thisvenerable building, among which, not the least startling andmysterious were, that when the wind blew, it rumbled in thechimneys, or even howled among the trees in the neighbouring forest;and that when the moon shone, she found her way through certainsmall loopholes in the wall, and actually made some parts of thewide halls and galleries quite light, while she left others ingloomy shadow. I believe that one of the baron's ancestors, beingshort of money, had inserted a dagger in a gentleman who called onenight to ask his way, and it was supposed that these miraculousoccurrences took place in consequence. And yet I hardly know howthat could have been, either, because the baron's ancestor, who wasan amiable man, felt very sorry afterwards for having been so rash,and laying violent hands upon a quantity of stone and timber whichbelonged to a weaker baron, built a chapel as an apology, and sotook a receipt from Heaven, in full of all demands.'Talking of the baron's ancestor puts me in mind of the baron'sgreat claims to respect, on the score of his pedigree. I am afraidto say, I am sure, how many ancestors the baron had; but I know thathe had a great many more than any other man of his time; and I onlywish that he had lived in these latter days, that he might have hadmore. It is a very hard thing upon the great men of past centuries,that they should have come into the world so soon, because a man whowas born three or four hundred years ago, cannot reasonably beexpected to have had as many relations before him, as a man who isborn now. The last man, whoever he is--and he may be a cobbler orsome low vulgar dog for aught we know--will have a longer pedigreethan the greatest nobleman now alive; and I contend that this is notfair.'Well, but the Baron Von Koeldwethout of Grogzwig! He was a fineswarthy fellow, with dark hair and large moustachios, who rodea-hunting in clothes of Lincoln green, with russet boots on his feet,and a bugle slung over his shoulder like the guard of a long stage.When he blew this bugle, four-and-twenty other gentlemen of inferiorrank, in Lincoln green a little coarser, and russet boots with alittle thicker soles, turned out directly: and away galloped thewhole train, with spears in their hands like lacquered arearailings, to hunt down the boars, or perhaps encounter a bear: inwhich latter case the baron killed him first, and greased hiswhiskers with him afterwards.'This was a merry life for the Baron of Grogzwig, and a merrierstill for the baron's retainers, who drank Rhine wine every nighttill they fell under the table, and then had the bottles on thefloor, and called for pipes. Never were such jolly, roystering,rollicking, merry-making blades, as the jovial crew of Grogzwig.'But the pleasures of the table, or the pleasures of under thetable, require a little variety; especially when the same five-and-twenty people sit daily down to the same board, to discuss the samesubjects, and tell the same stories. The baron grew weary, andwanted excitement. He took to quarrelling with his gentlemen, andtried kicking two or three of them every day after dinner. This wasa pleasant change at first; but it became monotonous after a week orso, and the baron felt quite out of sorts, and cast about, indespair, for some new amusement.'One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod orGillingwater, and slaughtered "another fine bear," and brought himhome in triumph, the Baron Von Koeldwethout sat moodily at the headof his table, eyeing the smoky roof of the hall with a discontendedaspect. He swallowed huge bumpers of wine, but the more heswallowed, the more he frowned. The gentlemen who had been honouredwith the dangerous distinction of sitting on his right and left,imitated him to a miracle in the drinking, and frowned at eachother.'"I will!" cried the baron suddenly, smiting the table with hisright hand, and twirling his moustache with his left. "Fill to theLady of Grogzwig!"'The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens turned pale, with the exceptionof their four-and-twenty noses, which were unchangeable.'"I said to the Lady of Grogzwig," repeated the baron, looking roundthe board.'"To the Lady of Grogzwig!" shouted the Lincoln greens; and downtheir four-and-twenty throats went four-and-twenty imperial pints ofsuch rare old hock, that they smacked their eight-and-forty lips,and winked again.'"The fair daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen," saidKoeldwethout, condescending to explain. "We will demand her inmarriage of her father, ere the sun goes down tomorrow. If herefuse our suit, we will cut off his nose."'A hoarse murmur arose from the company; every man touched, firstthe hilt of his sword, and then the tip of his nose, with appallingsignificance.'What a pleasant thing filial piety is to contemplate! If thedaughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen had pleaded a preoccupiedheart, or fallen at her father's feet and corned them in salt tears,or only fainted away, and complimented the old gentleman in franticejaculations, the odds are a hundred to one but Swillenhausen Castlewould have been turned out at window, or rather the baron turned outat window, and the castle demolished. The damsel held her peace,however, when an early messenger bore the request of VonKoeldwethout next morning, and modestly retired to her chamber, fromthe casement of which she watched the coming of the suitor and hisretinue. She was no sooner assured that the horseman with the largemoustachios was her proffered husband, than she hastened to herfather's presence, and expressed her readiness to sacrifice herselfto secure his peace. The venerable baron caught his child to hisarms, and shed a wink of joy.'There was great feasting at the castle, that day. The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens of Von Koeldwethout exchanged vows of eternalfriendship with twelve Lincoln greens of Von Swillenhausen, andpromised the old baron that they would drink his wine "Till all wasblue"--meaning probably until their whole countenances had acquiredthe same tint as their noses. Everybody slapped everybody else'sback, when the time for parting came; and the Baron Von Koeldwethoutand his followers rode gaily home.'For six mortal weeks, the bears and boars had a holiday. Thehouses of Koeldwethout and Swillenhausen were united; the spearsrusted; and the baron's bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing.'Those were great times for the four-and-twenty; but, alas! theirhigh and palmy days had taken boots to themselves, and were alreadywalking off.'"My dear," said the baroness.'"My love," said the baron.'"Those coarse, noisy men--"'"Which, ma'am?" said the baron, starting.'The baroness pointed, from the window at which they stood, to thecourtyard beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln greens were takinga copious stirrup-cup, preparatory to issuing forth after a boar ortwo.'"My hunting train, ma'am," said the baron.'"Disband them, love," murmured the baroness.'"Disband them!" cried the baron, in amazement.'"To please me, love," replied the baroness.'"To please the devil, ma'am," answered the baron.'Whereupon the baroness uttered a great cry, and swooned away at thebaron's feet.'What could the baron do? He called for the lady's maid, and roaredfor the doctor; and then, rushing into the yard, kicked the twoLincoln greens who were the most used to it, and cursing the othersall round, bade them go--but never mind where. I don't know theGerman for it, or I would put it delicately that way.'It is not for me to say by what means, or by what degrees, somewives manage to keep down some husbands as they do, although I mayhave my private opinion on the subject, and may think that no Memberof Parliament ought to be married, inasmuch as three married membersout of every four, must vote according to their wives' consciences(if there be such things), and not according to their own. All Ineed say, just now, is, that the Baroness Von Koeldwethout somehowor other acquired great control over the Baron Von Koeldwethout, andthat, little by little, and bit by bit, and day by day, and year byyear, the baron got the worst of some disputed question, or wasslyly unhorsed from some old hobby; and that by the time he was afat hearty fellow of forty-eight or thereabouts, he had no feasting,no revelry, no hunting train, and no hunting--nothing in short thathe liked, or used to have; and that, although he was as fierce as alion, and as bold as brass, he was decidedly snubbed and put down,by his own lady, in his own castle of Grogzwig.'Nor was this the whole extent of the baron's misfortunes. About ayear after his nuptials, there came into the world a lusty youngbaron, in whose honour a great many fireworks were let off, and agreat many dozens of wine drunk; but next year there came a youngbaroness, and next year another young baron, and so on, every year,either a baron or baroness (and one year both together), until thebaron found himself the father of a small family of twelve. Uponevery one of these anniversaries, the venerable Baroness VonSwillenhausen was nervously sensitive for the well-being of herchild the Baroness Von Koeldwethout; and although it was not foundthat the good lady ever did anything material towards contributingto her child's recovery, still she made it a point of duty to be asnervous as possible at the castle of Grogzwig, and to divide hertime between moral observations on the baron's housekeeping, andbewailing the hard lot of her unhappy daughter. And if the Baron ofGrogzwig, a little hurt and irritated at this, took heart, andventured to suggest that his wife was at least no worse off than thewives of other barons, the Baroness Von Swillenhausen begged allpersons to take notice, that nobody but she, sympathised with herdear daughter's sufferings; upon which, her relations and friendsremarked, that to be sure she did cry a great deal more than herson-in-law, and that if there were a hard-hearted brute alive, itwas that Baron of Grogzwig.'The poor baron bore it all as long as he could, and when he couldbear it no longer lost his appetite and his spirits, and sat himselfgloomily and dejectedly down. But there were worse troubles yet instore for him, and as they came on, his melancholy and sadnessincreased. Times changed. He got into debt. The Grogzwig coffersran low, though the Swillenhausen family had looked upon them asinexhaustible; and just when the baroness was on the point of makinga thirteenth addition to the family pedigree, Von Koeldwethoutdiscovered that he had no means of replenishing them.'"I don't see what is to be done," said the baron. "I think I'llkill myself."'This was a bright idea. The baron took an old hunting-knife from acupboard hard by, and having sharpened it on his boot, made whatboys call "an offer" at his throat.'"Hem!" said the baron, stopping short. "Perhaps it's not sharpenough."'The baron sharpened it again, and made another offer, when his handwas arrested by a loud screaming among the young barons andbaronesses, who had a nursery in an upstairs tower with iron barsoutside the window, to prevent their tumbling out into the moat.'"If I had been a bachelor," said the baron sighing, "I might havedone it fifty times over, without being interrupted. Hallo! Put aflask of wine and the largest pipe in the little vaulted room behindthe hall."'One of the domestics, in a very kind manner, executed the baron'sorder in the course of half an hour or so, and Von Koeldwethoutbeing apprised thereof, strode to the vaulted room, the walls ofwhich, being of dark shining wood, gleamed in the light of theblazing logs which were piled upon the hearth. The bottle and pipewere ready, and, upon the whole, the place looked very comfortable.'"Leave the lamp," said the baron.'"Anything else, my lord?" inquired the domestic.'"The room," replied the baron. The domestic obeyed, and the baronlocked the door.'"I'll smoke a last pipe," said the baron, "and then I'll be off."So, putting the knife upon the table till he wanted it, and tossingoff a goodly measure of wine, the Lord of Grogzwig threw himselfback in his chair, stretched his legs out before the fire, andpuffed away.'He thought about a great many things--about his present troublesand past days of bachelorship, and about the Lincoln greens, longsince dispersed up and down the country, no one knew whither: withthe exception of two who had been unfortunately beheaded, and fourwho had killed themselves with drinking. His mind was running uponbears and boars, when, in the process of draining his glass to thebottom, he raised his eyes, and saw, for the first time and withunbounded astonishment, that he was not alone.'No, he was not; for, on the opposite side of the fire, there satwith folded arms a wrinkled hideous figure, with deeply sunk andbloodshot eyes, and an immensely long cadaverous face, shadowed byjagged and matted locks of coarse black hair. He wore a kind oftunic of a dull bluish colour, which, the baron observed, onregarding it attentively, was clasped or ornamented down the frontwith coffin handles. His legs, too, were encased in coffin platesas though in armour; and over his left shoulder he wore a shortdusky cloak, which seemed made of a remnant of some pall. He tookno notice of the baron, but was intently eyeing the fire.'"Halloa!" said the baron, stamping his foot to attract attention.'"Halloa!" replied the stranger, moving his eyes towards the baron,but not his face or himself "What now?"'"What now!" replied the baron, nothing daunted by his hollow voiceand lustreless eyes. "I should ask that question. How did you gethere?"'"Through the door," replied the figure.'"What are you?" says the baron.'"A man," replied the figure.'"I don't believe it," says the baron.'"Disbelieve it then," says the figure.'"I will," rejoined the baron.'The figure looked at the bold Baron of Grogzwig for some time, andthen said familiarly,'"There's no coming over you, I see. I'm not a man!"'"What are you then?" asked the baron.'"A genius," replied the figure.'"You don't look much like one," returned the baron scornfully.'"I am the Genius of Despair and Suicide," said the apparition."Now you know me."'With these words the apparition turned towards the baron, as ifcomposing himself for a talk--and, what was very remarkable, was,that he threw his cloak aside, and displaying a stake, which was runthrough the centre of his body, pulled it out with a jerk, and laidit on the table, as composedly as if it had been a walking-stick.'"Now," said the figure, glancing at the hunting-knife, "are youready for me?"'"Not quite," rejoined the baron; "I must finish this pipe first."'"Look sharp then," said the figure.'"You seem in a hurry," said the baron.'"Why, yes, I am," answered the figure; "they're doing a prettybrisk business in my way, over in England and France just now, andmy time is a good deal taken up."'"Do you drink?" said the baron, touching the bottle with the bowlof his pipe.'"Nine times out of ten, and then very hard," rejoined the figure,drily.'"Never in moderation?" asked the baron.'"Never," replied the figure, with a shudder, "that breedscheerfulness."'The baron took another look at his new friend, whom he thought anuncommonly queer customer, and at length inquired whether he tookany active part in such little proceedings as that which he had incontemplation.'"No," replied the figure evasively; "but I am always present."'"Just to see fair, I suppose?" said the baron.'"Just that," replied the figure, playing with his stake, andexamining the ferule. "Be as quick as you can, will you, forthere's a young gentleman who is afflicted with too much money andleisure wanting me now, I find."'"Going to kill himself because he has too much money!" exclaimedthe baron, quite tickled. "Ha! ha! that's a good one." (This wasthe first time the baron had laughed for many a long day.)'"I say," expostulated the figure, looking very much scared; "don'tdo that again."'"Why not?" demanded the baron.'"Because it gives me pain all over," replied the figure. "Sigh asmuch as you please: that does me good."'The baron sighed mechanically at the mention of the word; thefigure, brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with mostwinning politeness.'"It's not a bad idea though," said the baron, feeling the edge ofthe weapon; "a man killing himself because he has too much money."'"Pooh!" said the apparition, petulantly, "no better than a man'skilling himself because he has none or little."'Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in sayingthis, or whether he thought the baron's mind was so thoroughly madeup that it didn't matter what he said, I have no means of knowing.I only know that the baron stopped his hand, all of a sudden, openedhis eyes wide, and looked as if quite a new light had come upon himfor the first time.'"Why, certainly," said Von Koeldwethout, "nothing is too bad to beretrieved."'"Except empty coffers," cried the genius.'"Well; but they may be one day filled again," said the baron.'"Scolding wives," snarled the genius.'"Oh! They may be made quiet," said the baron.'"Thirteen children," shouted the genius.'"Can't all go wrong, surely," said the baron.'The genius was evidently growing very savage with the baron, forholding these opinions all at once; but he tried to laugh it off,and said if he would let him know when he had left off joking heshould feel obliged to him.'"But I am not joking; I was never farther from it," remonstratedthe baron.'"Well, I am glad to hear that," said the genius, looking very grim,"because a joke, without any figure of speech, is the death of me.Come! Quit this dreary world at once."'"I don't know," said the baron, playing with the knife; "it's adreary one certainly, but I don't think yours is much better, foryou have not the appearance of being particularly comfortable. Thatputs me in mind--what security have I, that I shall be any thebetter for going out of the world after all!" he cried, starting up;"I never thought of that."'"Dispatch," cried the figure, gnashing his teeth.'"Keep off!" said the baron. 'I'll brood over miseries no longer,but put a good face on the matter, and try the fresh air and thebears again; and if that don't do, I'll talk to the baronesssoundly, and cut the Von Swillenhausens dead.' With this the baronfell into his chair, and laughed so loud and boisterously, that theroom rang with it.'The figure fell back a pace or two, regarding the baron meanwhilewith a look of intense terror, and when he had ceased, caught up thestake, plunged it violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl,and disappeared.'Von Koeldwethout never saw it again. Having once made up his mindto action, he soon brought the baroness and the Von Swillenhausensto reason, and died many years afterwards: not a rich man that I amaware of, but certainly a happy one: leaving behind him a numerousfamily, who had been carefully educated in bear and boar-huntingunder his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is, that ifever they become hipped and melancholy from similar causes (as verymany men do), they look at both sides of the question, applying amagnifying-glass to the best one; and if they still feel tempted toretire without leave, that they smoke a large pipe and drink a fullbottle first, and profit by the laudable example of the Baron ofGrogzwig.''The fresh coach is ready, ladies and gentlemen, if you please,'said a new driver, looking in.This intelligence caused the punch to be finished in a great hurry,and prevented any discussion relative to the last story. Mr Squeerswas observed to draw the grey-headed gentleman on one side, and toask a question with great apparent interest; it bore reference tothe Five Sisters of York, and was, in fact, an inquiry whether hecould inform him how much per annum the Yorkshire convents got inthose days with their boarders.The journey was then resumed. Nicholas fell asleep towards morning,and, when he awoke, found, with great regret, that, during his nap,both the Baron of Grogzwig and the grey-haired gentleman had gotdown and were gone. The day dragged on uncomfortably enough. Atabout six o'clock that night, he and Mr Squeers, and the littleboys, and their united luggage, were all put down together at theGeorge and New Inn, Greta Bridge.