The Uncollected Writings of Thomas de Quincey, Vol. 2
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Thomas de Quincey >> The Uncollected Writings of Thomas de Quincey, Vol. 2
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CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHAT WAY MR. JEREMIAH ESCAPES; AND WHAT HE FINDS IN THE STREET.
A most beautiful moonlight began at this juncture to throw its beams in
the prison, when Mr. Schnackenberger, starting up from his sleepless
couch, for pure rage, seized upon the iron bars of his window, and shook
them with a fervent prayer, that instead of bars it had pleased God to
put Mr. Mayor within his grasp. To his infinite astonishment, the bars
were more obedient to his wrath than could have been expected. One shake
more, and like a row of carious teeth they were all in Mr.
Schnackenberger's hand.
It may be supposed that Mr. Schnackenberger lost no time in using his
good fortune; indeed, a very slight jump would suffice to place him at
liberty. Accordingly, when the sentinel had retired to a little
distance, he flung his dreadnought out of the window--leaped upon
it--and stood without injury on the outside of the prison.
'Who goes there?' cried the alarmed sentinel, coyly approaching the spot
from which the noise issued.
'Nobody,' said the fugitive: and by way of answer to the
challenge--'Speak, or I must fire'--which tremulously issued from the
lips of the city hero, Mr. Schnackenberger, gathering up his
dreadnought to his breast, said in a hollow voice, 'Fellow, thou art a
dead man.'
Straightway the armed man fell upon his knees before him, and cried
out--'ah! gracious Sir! have mercy upon me. I am a poor wig-maker; and a
bad trade it is; and I petitioned his worship, and have done for this
many a year, to be taken into the city guard; and yesterday I passed--'
'Passed what?'
'Passed my examination, your honour:--his worship put me through the
manual exercise: and I was 'triculated into the corps. It would be a sad
thing, your honour, to lose my life the very next day after I was
'triculated.'
'Well,' said Mr. Jeremiah, who with much ado forbore laughing
immoderately, 'for this once I shall spare your life: but then
remember--not a word, no sound or syllable.'
'Not one, your honour, I vow to heaven.'
'And down upon the spot deliver me your coat, side arms, and hat.'
But the martial wig-maker protested that, being already ill of a cold,
he should, without all doubt, perish if he were to keep guard in his
shirt-sleeves.
'Well, in that case, this dreadnought will be a capital article: allow
me to prescribe it--it's an excellent sudorific.'
Necessity has no law: and so, to save his life, the city hero, after
some little struggle, submitted to this unusual exchange.
'Very good!' said Mr. Schnackenberger, as the warrior in the
dreadnought, after mounting his round hat, again shouldered his
musket:--'Now, good-night;' and so saying, he hastened off to the
residence of the Mayor.
CHAPTER XVII.
MR. JEREMIAH'S NIGHT INTERVIEW WITH THE MAYOR UPON STATE AFFAIRS.
'Saints in heaven! is this the messenger of the last day?' screamed out
a female voice, as the doorbell rang out a furious alarum--peal upon
peal--under that able performer, Mr. Jeremiah Schnackenberger. She
hastened to open the door; but, when she beheld a soldier in the state
uniform, she assured him it was all over with him; for his worship was
gone to bed; and, when _that_ was the case, he never allowed of any
disturbance without making an example.
'Aye, but I come upon state business.'
'No matter,' said the old woman, 'it's all one: when his worship sleeps,
business must sleep: that's the law, I'll assure you, and _has_ been any
time since I can think on. He always commits, at the least.'
'Very likely; but I _must_ speak to him.'
'Well, then, take the consequences on yourself,' said she: 'recollect,
you're a state soldier; you'll be brought to a court-martial; you'll be
shot.'
'Ah! well: that's _my_ concern.'
'Mighty well,' said the old woman: 'one may as well speak to the wind.
However, _I_'ll get out the way: _I_'ll not come near the hurricane. And
don't you say, I didn't warn you.'
So saying, she let him up to her master's bed-room door, and then
trotted off as fast and as far as she could.
At this moment Mr. Mayor, already wakened and discomposed by the violent
tintinnabulation, rushed out: 'What!' said he, 'am I awake? Is it a
guardsman that has this audacity?'
'No guardsman, Mr. Mayor,' said our hero; in whose face his worship was
vainly poring with the lamp to spell out the features of some one
amongst the twelve members of the state-guard; 'no guardsman, but a
gentleman that was apprehended last night at the theatre.'
'Ah!' said the Mayor, trembling in every limb, 'a prisoner, and escaped?
And perhaps has murdered the guard?--What would you have of me--me, a
poor, helpless, unfortunate man?'
And, at every word he spoke, he continued to step back towards a bell
that lay upon the table.
'_Basta_,' said Mr. Schnackenberger, taking the bell out of his hands.
'Mr. Mayor, I'm just the man in the dreadnought. And I've a question to
ask you, Mr. Mayor; and I thought it was rather long to wait until
morning; so I took the liberty of coming for an answer to-night; and I'd
think myself particularly obliged to you for it now:--Upon what
authority do you conceive yourself entitled to commit me, an innocent
man, and without a hearing, to an abominable hole of a dungeon? I have
not murdered the guard, Mr. Mayor: but I troubled him for his regimental
coat, that I might gain admittance to your worship: and I left him the
dreadnought in exchange.'
'The dreadnought?' said the Mayor. 'Aye: now this very dreadnought it
was, Sir, that compelled me (making a low bow) to issue my warrant for
your apprehension.' And it then came out, that in a list of stolen
goods recently lodged with the magistrates, a dreadnought was
particularly noticed: and Mr. Mayor having seen a man enter the theatre
in an article answering to the description, and easily identified by a
black cross embroidered upon the back, was obliged by his duty to have
him arrested; more especially as the wearer had increased the suspicion
against himself by concealing his face.
This explanation naturally reconciled Mr. Schnackenberger to the arrest:
and as to the filthy dungeon, _that_ admitted of a still simpler
apology, as it seemed that the town afforded no better.
'Why then, Mr. Mayor,--as things stand, it seems to me that in the point
of honour I ought to be satisfied: and in that case I still consider
myself your prisoner, and shall take up my quarters for this night in
your respectable mansion.'
'But no!' thought Mr. Mayor: 'better let a rogue escape, than keep a man
within my doors that may commit a murder on my body.' So he assured Mr.
Schnackenberger--that he had accounted in the most satisfactory manner
for being found in possession of the dreadnought; took down the name of
the old clothesman from whom it was hired; and lighting down his now
discharged prisoner, he declared, with a rueful attempt at smiling, that
it gave him the liveliest gratification on so disagreeable an occasion
to have made so very agreeable an acquaintance.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MISERY ACQUAINTS MR. SCHNACKENBERGER WITH STRANGE BEDFELLOWS.
When Mr. Schnackenberger returned home from his persecutions, he found
the door of the Double-barrelled Gun standing wide open: and, as he had
observed a light in his own room, he walked right up-stairs without
disturbing the sleeping waiter. But to his great astonishment, two
gigantic fellows were posted outside the door; who, upon his affirming
that he must be allowed to enter his own room, seemed in some foreign
and unintelligible language to support the negative of that proposition.
Without further scruple or regard to their menacing gestures, he pressed
forwards to the chamber door; but immediately after felt himself laid
hold of by the two fellows--one at his legs, the other at his head--and,
spite of his most indignant protests, carried down-stairs into the yard.
There he was tumbled into a little _depot_ for certain four-footed
animals--with whose golden representative he had so recently formed an
acquaintance no less intimate;--and, the height of the building not
allowing of his standing upright, he was disposed to look back with
sorrow to the paradise lost of his station upon the back of the quiet
animal whom he had ridden on the preceding day. Even the dungeon
appeared an elysium in comparison with his present lodgings, where he
felt the truth of the proverb brought home to him--that it is better to
be alone than in bad company.
Unfortunately, the door being fastened on the outside, there remained
nothing else for him to do than to draw people to the spot by a vehement
howling. But the swine being disturbed by this unusual outcry, and a
general uproar taking place among the inhabitants of the stye, Mr.
Schnackenberger's single voice, suffocated by rage, was over-powered by
the swinish accompaniment. Some little attention was, however, drawn to
the noise amongst those who slept near to the yard: but on the waiter's
assuring them that it was 'only a great pig who would soon be quiet,'
that the key could not be found, and no locksmith was in the way at that
time of night, the remonstrants were obliged to betake themselves to the
same remedy of patience, which by this time seemed to Mr. Jeremiah also
the sole remedy left to himself.
CHAPTER XIX.
WHOSE END RECONCILES OUR HERO WITH ITS BEGINNING.
Mr. Schnackenberger's howling had (as the waiter predicted) gradually
died away, and he was grimly meditating on his own miseries, to which
he had now lost all hope of seeing an end before daylight, when the
sudden rattling of a key at the yard door awakened flattering hopes in
his breast. It proved to be the waiter, who came to make a gaol
delivery--and on letting him out said, 'I am commissioned by the
gentlemen to secure your silence;' at the same time putting into his
hand a piece of gold.
'The d----l take your gold!' said Mr. Schnackenberger: 'is this the
practice at your house--first to abuse your guests, and then have the
audacity to offer them money?'
'Lord, protect us!' said the waiter, now examining his face, 'is it you?
but who would ever have looked for you in such a dress as this? The
gentlemen took you for one of the police. Lord! to think what a trouble
you'll have had!'
And it now came out, that a party of foreigners had pitched upon Mr.
Jeremiah's room as a convenient one for playing at hazard and some other
forbidden games; and to prevent all disturbance from the police, had
posted their servants, who spoke not a word of German, as sentinels at
the door.
'But how came you to let my room for such a purpose?'
'Because we never expected to see you to-night; we had heard that the
gentleman in the dreadnought had been taken up at the theatre, and
committed. But the gentlemen are all gone now; and the room's quite at
your service.'
Mr. Schnackenberger, however, who had lost the first part of the night's
sleep from suffering, was destined to lose the second from pleasure: for
the waiter now put into his hands the following billet: 'No doubt you
must have waited for me to no purpose in the passages of the theatre:
but alas! our firmest resolutions we have it not always in our power to
execute; and on this occasion, I found it quite impossible consistently
with decorum to separate myself from my attendants. Will you therefore
attend the hunt to-morrow morning? there I hope a better opportunity
will offer.'
It added to his happiness on this occasion that the princess had
manifestly not detected him as the man in the dreadnought.
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH MR. SCHNACKENBERGER ACTS UPON THE AMBITIOUS FEELINGS OF A MAN
IN OFFICE FOR AN AMIABLE PURPOSE.
Next morning, when the Provost-marshal came to fetch back the
appointments of the military wig-maker, it struck our good-natured
student that he had very probably brought the poor fellow into an
unpleasant scrape. He felt, therefore, called upon as a gentleman, to
wait upon the Mayor, and do his best to beg him off. In fact, he arrived
just in time: for all the arrangements were complete for demonstrating
to the poor wig-maker, by an _a posteriori_ line of argument, the
importance of valour in his new employment.
Mr. Schnackenberger entreated the Mayor to be lenient: courage, he said,
was not every man's business: as a wig-maker, the prisoner could have
had little practice in that virtue: the best of wigs were often made by
cowards: 'and even as a soldier,' said he, 'it's odds if there should be
such another alarm for the next hundred years.' But all in vain: his
judge was too much incensed: 'Such a scandalous dereliction of duty!'
said he; 'No, no: I must make an example of him.'
Hereupon, Mr. Jeremiah observed, that wig-makers were not the only
people who sometimes failed in the point of courage: 'Nay,' said he, 'I
have known even mayors who by no means shone in that department of duty:
and in particular, I am acquainted with some who would look exceedingly
blue, aye d----lish blue indeed, if a student whom I have the honour to
know should take it into his head to bring before the public a little
incident in which they figured, embellished with wood-cuts, representing
a retreat by forced marches towards a bell in the background.'
Mr. Mayor changed colour; and pausing a little to think, at length he
said--'Sir, you are in the right; every man has his weak moments. But
it would be unhandsome to expose them to the scoffs of the public.'
'Why, yes, upon certain conditions.'
'Which conditions I comply with,' said his worship; and forthwith he
commuted the punishment for a reprimand and a short confinement.
On these terms Mr. Schnackenberger assured him of his entire silence
with respect to all that had passed.
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH THE HOPES OF TWO LOVERS ARE WRECKED AT ONCE.
'Beg your pardon, Sir, are you Mr. Schnackenberger?' said a young man to
our hero, as he was riding out of the city gate.
'Yes, Sir, I'm the man; what would you have with me?' and, at the same
time looking earnestly at him, he remembered his face amongst the
footmen on the birth-night.
'At the Forester's house--about eleven o'clock,' whispered the man
mysteriously.
'Very good,' said Mr. Schnackenberger, nodding significantly; and
forthwith, upon the wings of rapturous anticipation, he flew to the
place of rendezvous.
On riding into the Forester's court-yard, among several other open
carriages, he observed one lined with celestial blue, which, with a
strange grossness of taste, exhibited upon the cushions a medley of
hams, sausages, &c. On entering the house, he was at no loss to discover
the owner of the carriage; for in a window-seat of the bar sate the
landlady of the Golden Sow, no longer in widow's weeds, but arrayed in
colours brighter than a bed of tulips.
Mr. Schnackenberger was congratulating himself on his quarrel with her,
which he flattered himself must preclude all amicable intercourse, when
she saw him, and to his horror approached with a smiling countenance.
Some overtures towards reconciliation he saw were in the wind: but, as
these could not be listened to except on one condition, he determined to
meet her with a test question: accordingly, as she drew near, simpering
and languishing,
'Have you executed?' said he abruptly, 'Have you executed?'
'Have I what?' said Mrs. Sweetbread.
'Executed? Have you executed the release?'
'Oh! you bad man! But come now: I know----'
At this moment, however, up came some acquaintances of Mrs.
Sweetbread's, who had ridden out to see the hunt; and, whilst her
attention was for one moment drawn off to them, Mr. Schnackenberger
slipped unobserved into a parlour: it was now half-past ten by the
Forester's clock; and he resolved to wait here until the time fixed by
the princess. Whilst sitting in this situation, he heard in an adjoining
room (separated only by a slight partition) his own name often repeated:
the voice was that of Mr. Von Pilsen; loud laughter followed every
sentence; and on attending more closely, Mr. Schnackenberger perceived
that he was just terminating an account of his own adventures at the
Golden Sow, and of his consequent embroilment with the amorous landlady.
All this, however, our student would have borne with equanimity. But
next followed a disclosure which mortified his vanity in the uttermost
degree. A few words sufficed to unfold to him that Mr. Von Pilsen, in
concert with the waiter of the Double-barrelled Gun and that young
female attendant of the princess, whose kitten had been persecuted by
Juno, had framed the whole plot, and had written the letters which Mr.
Schnackenberger had ascribed to her Highness. He had scarce patience to
hear out the remainder. In some way or other, Von Pilsen had so far
mistaken our hero, as to pronounce him 'chicken-hearted:' and upon this
ground, he invited his whole audience to an evening party at the public
rooms of the Double-barrelled Gun--where he promised to play off Mr.
Schnackenberger as a glorious exhibition for this night only.
Furious with wrath, and moreover anxious to escape before Von Pilsen and
his party should see him, and know that this last forgery no less than
the others had succeeded in duping him into a punctual observance of the
appointment, Mr. Schnackenberger rushed out of the room, seized his
horse's bridle--and was just on the point of mounting, when up came his
female tormentor, Mrs. Sweetbread.
'Come, come, now,' said she, smiling in her most amiable manner; 'we
were both under a mistake yesterday morning: and both of us were too
hasty. The booby of a lad took you to the Gun, when you wanted nothing
but the Sow: you were a little "fresh," and didn't know it; and I
thought you did it on purpose. But I know better now. And here I am to
fetch you back to the Sow: so come along: and we'll forget and forgive
on both sides.'
So saying, she would have taken his arm most lovingly: but Mr.
Schnackenberger stoutly refused. He had nothing to do with her but to
pay his bill; he wanted nothing of her but his back-sword, which he had
left at the Sow; and he made a motion towards his stirrup. But Mrs.
Sweetbread laid her hand upon his arm, and asked him tenderly--if her
person were then so utterly disgusting to him that, upon thus meeting
him again by his own appointment, he had at once forgotten all his
proposals?
'Proposals! what proposals?' shrieked the persecuted student;
'Appointment! what appointment?'
'Oh, you base, low-lived villain! don't you go for to deny it, now:
didn't you offer to be reconciled? didn't you bid me to come here, that
we might settle all quietly in the forest? Aye, and we _will_ settle it:
and nothing shall ever part us more; nothing in the world; for what God
has joined----'
'Drunken old witch!' interrupted Mr. Jeremiah, now sufficiently
admonished by the brandy fumes which assailed him as to the proximate
cause of Mrs. Sweetbread's boldness; 'seek lovers elsewhere.' And
hastily turning round to shake her off, he perceived to his horror that
an immense crowd had by this time assembled behind them. In the rear,
and standing upon the steps of the Forester's house, stood Von Pilsen
and his party, convulsed with laughter; immediately below them was the
whole body of the hunters, who had called here for refreshment--upon
whose faces struggled a mixed expression of merriment and wonder: and at
the head of the whole company stood a party of butchers and butchers'
boys returning from the hunt, whose fierce looks and gestures made it
evident that they sympathized with the wrongs of Mrs. Sweetbread, the
relict of a man who had done honour to their body--and were prepared to
avenge them in any way she might choose. She, meantime, whose whole
mighty love was converted into mighty hatred by the opprobrious words
and fierce repulse of Mr. Schnackenberger, called heaven and earth, and
all present, to witness her wrongs; protested that he had himself
appointed the meeting at the Forest-house; and in confirmation drew
forth a letter.
At sight of the letter, a rattling peal of laughter from Mr. Von Pilsen
left no room to doubt, in our student's mind, from whose witty
manufactory it issued; and a rattling peal of wrath from the butchers'
boys left no room to doubt in anybody's mind what would be its
consequences. The letter was, in fact, pretty much what Mrs. Sweetbread
alleged: it contained a large and unlimited offer of Mr.
Schnackenberger's large and unlimited person; professed an ardour of
passion which could brook no delay; and entreated her to grant him an
interview for the final arrangement of all preliminaries at the
Forest-house.
Whilst this letter was reading, Mr. Schnackenberger perceived that there
was no time to be lost: no Juno, unfortunately, was present, no 'deus ex
machina' to turn the scale of battle, which would obviously be too
unequal, and in any result (considering the quality of the assailants)
not very glorious. So, watching his opportunity, he vaulted into his
saddle, and shot off like an arrow. Up went the roar of laughter from
Von Pilsen and the hunters: up went the roar of fury from the butchers
and their boys: in the twinkling of an eye all were giving chase;
showers of stones sang through the trees; threats of vengeance were in
his ears; butchers' dogs were at his horse's heels; butchers' curses
were on the wind; a widow's cries hung upon his flight. The hunters
joined in the pursuit; a second chase was before them; Mr. Pilsen had
furnished them a second game. Again did Mr. Schnackenberger perspire
exceedingly; once again did Mr. Schnackenberger 'funk' enormously; yet,
once again did Mr. Schnackenberger shiver at the remembrance of the
Golden Sow, and groan at the name of Sweetbread. He retained, however,
presence of mind enough to work away at his spurs incessantly; nor ever
once turned his head until he reached the city gates, which he entered
at the _pas de charge_, thanking heaven that he was better mounted than
on his first arrival at B----.
CHAPTER XXII.
IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS.
Rapidly as Mr. Schnackenberger drove through the gates, he was arrested
by the voice of the warder, who cited him to instant attendance at the
town-hall. Within the memory of man, this was the first time that any
business had been transacted on a holiday; an extraordinary sitting was
now being held; and the prisoner under examination was----Juno. 'Oh!
heaven and its mercies! when will my afflictions cease?' said the
exhausted student; 'when shall I have a respite?' Respite there could be
none at present; for the case was urgent; and, unless Juno could find
good bail, she was certain of being committed on three very serious
charges of 1. trespass; 2. assault and battery; 3. stealing in a
dwelling-house. The case was briefly this: Juno had opened so
detestable an overture of howling on her master's departure for the
forest, that the people at the Double-barrelled Gun, out of mere
consideration for the city of B----, had found it necessary to set her
at liberty; whereupon, as if the devil drove her, forthwith the brute
had gone off in search of her old young enemy the kitten, at the hotel
of the princess. She beat up the kitten's quarters again; and again she
drove in the enemy pell-mell into her camp in the kitchen. The young
mistress of the kitten, out of her wits at seeing her darling's danger,
had set down a pail of milk, in which she was washing a Brussels' veil
and a quantity of Mechlin lace belonging to the princess--and hurried
her kitten into a closet. In a moment she returned, and found--milk,
Brussels' veil, Mechlin lace, vanished--evaporated into Juno's throat,
'abiit--evasit--excessit--erupit!' only the milk-pail, upon some
punctilio of delicacy in Juno, was still there; and Juno herself stood
by, complacently licking her milky lips, and expressing a lively
satisfaction with the texture of Flanders' manufactures. The princess,
vexed at these outrages on her establishment, sent a message to the
town-council, desiring that banishment for life might be inflicted on a
dog of such revolutionary principles, whose presence (as she understood)
had raised a general consternation throughout the city of B----.
Mr. Mayor, however, had not forgotten the threatened report of a certain
retreat to a bell, illustrated by wood-cuts; and therefore, after
assuring her Highness of his readiness to serve her, he added, that
measures would be adopted to prevent similar aggressions--but that
unhappily, from peculiar circumstances connected with this case, no
further severities could be inflicted. Meantime, while this note was
writing, Juno had contrived to liberate herself from arrest.
Scarce had she been absent three minutes, when in rushed to the
town-council the eternal enemy of the Mayor--Mr. Deputy Recorder. The
large goose's liver, the largest, perhaps, that for some centuries had
been bred and born in B----, and which was destined this very night to
have solemnised the anniversary of Mrs. Deputy Recorder's birth; this
liver, and no other, had been piratically attacked, boarded, and
captured, in the very sanctuary of the kitchen, 'by that flibustier
(said he) that buccaneer--that Paul Jones of a Juno.' Dashing the tears
from his eyes, Mr. Deputy Recorder went on to perorate; 'I ask,' said
he, 'whether such a Kentucky marauder ought not to be outlawed by all
nations, and put to the ban of civilised Europe? If not'--and then Mr.
Deputy paused for effect, and struck the table with his fist--'if not,
and such principles of Jacobinism and French philosophy are to be
tolerated; then, I say, there is an end to social order and religion:
Sansculotterie, Septemberising, and red night-caps, will flourish over
once happy Europe; and the last and best of kings, and our most shining
lights, will follow into the same bottomless abyss, which has already
swallowed up (and his voice faltered)--my liver.'
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