Stories of Comedy

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All other company she resolutely refused. When the players were in the
town, the poor manager, who came to beg her to bespeak a comedy, was
thrust out of the gates by the big butler. Though there were balls,
card-parties, and assemblies, Widow Bluebeard would never subscribe to
one of them; and even the officers, those all-conquering heroes who make
such ravages in ladies' hearts, and to whom all ladies' doors are
commonly open, could never get an entry into the widow's house. Captain
Whiskerfield strutted for three weeks up and down before her house, and
had not the least effect upon her. Captain O'Grady (of an Irish
regiment) attempted to bribe the servants, and one night actually scaled
the garden wall; but all that he got was his foot in a man-trap, not to
mention being dreadfully scarified by the broken glass; and so _he_
never made love any more. Finally, Captain Blackbeard, whose whiskers
vied in magnitude with those of the deceased Bluebeard himself, although
he attended church regularly every week,--he who had not darkened the
doors of a church for ten years before,--even Captain Blackbeard got
nothing by his piety; and the widow never once took her eyes off her
book to look at him. The barracks were in despair; and Captain
Whiskerfield's tailor, who had supplied him with new clothes in order to
win the widow's heart, ended by clapping the captain into jail.

His reverence the parson highly applauded the widow's conduct to the
officers; but, being himself rather of a social turn, and fond of a good
dinner and a bottle, he represented to the lovely mourner that she
should endeavor to divert her grief by a little respectable society, and
recommended that she should from time to time entertain a few grave and
sober persons whom he would present to her. As Dr. Sly had an unbounded
influence over the fair mourner, she acceded to his desires; and
accordingly he introduced to her house some of the most venerable and
worthy of his acquaintance,--all married people, however, so that the
widow should not take the least alarm.

It happened that the doctor had a nephew, who was a lawyer in London,
and this gentleman came dutifully in the long vacation to pay a visit to
his reverend uncle. "He is none of your roystering, dashing young
fellows," said his reverence; "he is the delight of his mamma and
sisters; he never drinks anything stronger than tea; he never missed
church thrice a Sunday for these twenty years; and I hope, my dear and
amiable madam, that you will not object to receive this pattern of young
men for the sake of your most devoted friend, his uncle."

The widow consented to receive Mr. Sly. He was not a handsome man,
certainly. "But what does that matter?" said the doctor. "He is _good_,
and virtue is better than all the beauty of all the dragoons in the
Queen's service."

Mr. Sly came there to dinner, and he came to tea; and he drove out with
the widow in the carriage with the lozenge on it; and at church he
handed the psalm-book; and, in short, he paid her every attention which
could be expected from so polite a young gentleman.

At this the town began to talk, as people in towns will. "The doctor
kept all bachelors out of the widow's house," said they, "in order that
that ugly nephew of his may have the field entirely to himself." These
speeches were of course heard by Sister Anne, and the little minx was
not a little glad to take advantage of them, in order to induce her
sister to see some more cheerful company. The fact is, the young hussy
loved a dance or a game at cards much more than a humdrum conversation
over a tea-table; and so she plied her sister day and night with hints
as to the propriety of opening her house, receiving the gentry of the
county, and spending her fortune.

To this point the widow at length, though with many sighs and vast
unwillingness, acceded; and she went so far as to order a very becoming
half-mourning, in which all the world declared she looked charming. "I
carry," said she, "my blessed Bluebeard in my heart,--_that_ is in the
deepest mourning for him, and when the heart grieves, there is no need
of outward show."

So she issued cards for a little quiet tea and supper, and several of
the best families in the town and neighborhood attended her
entertainment. It was followed by another and another; and at last
Captain Blackbeard was actually introduced, though, of course, he came
in plain clothes.

Dr. Sly and his nephew never could abide the captain. "They had heard
some queer stories," they said, "about proceedings in barracks. Who was
it that drank three bottles at a sitting? who had a mare that ran for
the plate? and why was it that Dolly Coddlins left the town so
suddenly?" Mr. Sly turned up the whites of his eyes as his uncle asked
these questions, and sighed for the wickedness of the world. But for all
that he was delighted, especially at the anger which the widow
manifested when the Dolly Coddlins affair was hinted at. She was
furious, and vowed she would never see the wretch again. The lawyer and
his uncle were charmed. O short-sighted lawyer and parson, do you think
Mrs. Bluebeard would have been so angry if she had not been jealous?--do
you think she would have been jealous if she had not ... had not what?
She protested that she no more cared for the captain than she did for
one of her footmen; but the next time he called she would not condescend
to say a word to him.

"My dearest Miss Anne," said the captain, as he met her in Sir Roger de
Coverley (she herself was dancing with Ensign Trippet), "what is the
matter with your lovely sister?"

"Dolly Coddlins is the matter," said Miss Anne. "Mr. Sly has told all."
And she was down the middle in a twinkling.

The captain blushed so at this monstrous insinuation, that any one could
see how incorrect it was. He made innumerable blunders in the dance, and
was all the time casting such ferocious glances at Mr. Sly (who did not
dance, but sat by the widow and ate ices), that his partner thought he
was mad, and that Mr. Sly became very uneasy.

When the dance was over, he came to pay his respects to the widow, and,
in so doing, somehow trod so violently on Mr. Sly's foot, that that
gentleman screamed with pain, and presently went home. But though he was
gone, the widow was not a whit more gracious to Captain Blackbeard. She
requested Mr. Trippet to order her carriage that night, and went home
without uttering one single word to Captain Blackbeard.

The next morning, and with a face of preternatural longitude, the Rev.
Dr. Sly paid a visit to the widow. "The wickedness and bloodthirstiness
of the world," said he, "increase every day. O my dear madam, what
monsters do we meet in it,--what wretches, what assassins, are allowed
to go abroad! Would you believe it, that this morning, as my nephew was
taking his peaceful morning-meal, one of the ruffians from the barracks
presented himself with a challenge from Captain Blackbeard?"

"Is he hurt?" screamed the widow.

"No, my dear friend, my dear Frederick is not hurt. And O, what a joy it
will be to him to think you have that tender solicitude for his
welfare!"

"You know I have always had the highest respect for him," said the
widow; who, when she screamed, was in truth thinking of somebody else.
But the doctor did not choose to interpret her thoughts in that way, and
gave all the benefit of them to his nephew.

"That anxiety, dearest madam, which you express for him emboldens me,
encourages me, authorizes me, to press a point upon you which I am sure
must have entered your thoughts ere now. The dear youth in whom you have
shown such an interest lives but for you! Yes, fair lady, start not at
hearing that his sole affections are yours; and with what pride shall I
carry to him back the news that he is not indifferent to you!"

"Are they going to fight?" continued the lady, in a breathless state of
alarm. "For Heaven's sake, dearest doctor, prevent the horrid, horrid
meeting. Send for a magistrate's warrant; do anything; but do not suffer
those misguided young men to cut each other's throats!"

"Fairest lady, I fly!" said the doctor, and went back to lunch quite
delighted with the evident partiality Mrs. Bluebeard showed for his
nephew. And Mrs. Bluebeard, not content with exhorting him to prevent
the duel, rushed to Mr. Pound, the magistrate, informed him of the
facts, got out warrants against both Mr. Sly and the captain, and would
have put them into execution; but it was discovered that the former
gentleman had abruptly left town, so that the constable could not lay
hold of him.

It somehow, however, came to be generally known that the widow Bluebeard
had declared herself in favor of Mr. Sly, the lawyer; that she had
fainted when told her lover was about to fight a duel; finally, that she
had accepted him, and would marry him as soon as the quarrel between him
and the captain was settled. Dr. Sly, when applied to, hummed and ha'd,
and would give no direct answer; but he denied nothing, and looked so
knowing, that all the world was certain of the fact; and the county
paper next week stated:--

"We understand that the lovely and wealthy Mrs. Bl--b--rd is
about once more to enter the bands of wedlock with our
distinguished townsman, Frederick S--y, Esq., of the Middle
Temple, London. The learned gentleman left town in consequence
of a dispute with a gallant son of Mars, which was likely to
have led to warlike results, had not a magistrate's warrant
intervened, when the captain was bound over to keep the peace."

In fact, as soon as the captain was so bound over, Mr. Sly came back,
stating that he had quitted the town not to avoid a duel,--far from it,
but to keep out of the way of the magistrates, and give the captain
every facility. _He_ had taken out no warrant; _he_ had been perfectly
ready to meet the captain; if others had been more prudent, it was not
his fault. So he held up his head, and cocked his hat with the most
determined air; and all the lawyers' clerks in the place were quite
proud of their hero.

As for Captain Blackbeard, his rage and indignation may be imagined; a
wife robbed from him, his honor put in question by an odious, lanky,
squinting lawyer! He fell ill of a fever incontinently; and the surgeon
was obliged to take a quantity of blood from him, ten times the amount
of which he swore he would have out of the veins of the atrocious Sly.

The announcement in "The Mercury," however, filled the widow with almost
equal indignation. "The widow of the gallant Bluebeard," she said,
"marry an odious wretch who lives in dingy chambers in the Middle
Temple! Send for Dr. Sly." The doctor came; she rated him soundly, asked
him how he dared set abroad such calumnies concerning her; ordered him
to send his nephew back to London at once; and as he valued her esteem,
as he valued the next presentation to a fat living which lay in her
gift, to contradict everywhere, and in the fullest terms, the wicked
report concerning her.

"My dearest madam," said the doctor, pulling his longest face, "you
shall be obeyed. The poor lad shall be acquainted with the fatal change
in your sentiments!"

"Change in my sentiments, Dr. Sly!"

"With the destruction of his hopes, rather let me say; and Heaven grant
that the dear boy have strength to bear up against the misfortune which
comes so suddenly upon him!"

The next day Sister Anne came with a face full of care to Mrs.
Bluebeard. "O, that unhappy lover of yours!" said she.

"Is the captain unwell?" exclaimed the widow.

"No, it is the other," answered Sister Anne. "Poor, poor Mr. Sly! He
made a will leaving you all, except five pounds a year to his laundress:
he made his will, locked his door, took heart-rending leave of his uncle
at night, and this morning was found hanging at his bedpost when Sambo,
the black servant, took him up his water to shave. 'Let me be buried,'
he said, 'with the pincushion she gave me and the locket containing her
hair.' _Did_ you give him a pincushion, sister? _did_ you give him a
locket with your hair?"

"It was only silver-gilt!" sobbed the widow; "and now, O Heavens! I have
killed him!" The heart-rending nature of her sobs may be imagined; but
they were abruptly interrupted by her sister.

"Killed him?--no such thing! Sambo cut him down when he was as black in
the face as the honest negro himself. He came down to breakfast, and I
leave you to fancy what a touching meeting took place between the nephew
and the uncle."

"So much love!" thought the widow. "What a pity he squints so! If he
would but get his eyes put straight, I might perhaps--" She did not
finish the sentence: ladies often leave this sort of sentence in a sweet
confusion.

But hearing some news regarding Captain Blackbeard, whose illness and
blood-letting were described to her most pathetically, as well as
accurately, by the Scotch surgeon of the regiment, her feelings of
compassion towards the lawyer cooled somewhat; and when Dr. Sly called
to know if she would condescend to meet the unhappy youth, she said in
rather a _distrait_ manner, that she wished him every happiness; that
she had the highest regard and respect for him; that she besought him
not to think any more of committing the dreadful crime which would have
made her unhappy forever; _but_ that she thought, for the sake of both
parties, they had better not meet until Mr. Sly's feelings had grown
somewhat more calm.

"Poor fellow! poor fellow!" said the doctor, "may he be enabled to bear
his frightful calamity! I have taken away his razors from him, and
Sambo, my man, never lets him out of his sight."

The next day, Mrs. Bluebeard thought of sending a friendly message to
Dr. Sly's, asking for news of the health of his nephew; but, as she was
giving her orders on that subject to John Thomas the footman, it
happened that the captain arrived, and so Thomas was sent down stairs
again. And the captain looked so delightfully interesting with his arm
in a sling, and his beautiful black whiskers curling round a face which
was paler than usual, that, at the end of two hours, the widow forgot
the message altogether, and, indeed, I believe, asked the captain
whether he would not stop and dine. Ensign Trippet came, too, and the
party was very pleasant; and the military gentlemen laughed hugely at
the idea of the lawyer having been cut off the bedpost by the black
servant, and were so witty on the subject, that the widow ended by half
believing that the bedpost and hanging scheme on the part of Mr. Sly was
only a feint,--a trick to win her heart. Though this, to be sure, was
not agreed to by the lady without a pang, for, _entre nous_, to hang
one's self for a lady is no small compliment to her attractions, and,
perhaps, Mrs. Bluebeard was rather disappointed at the notion that the
hanging was not a _bona fide_ strangulation.

However, presently her nerves were excited again; and she was consoled
or horrified, as the case may be (the reader must settle the point
according to his ideas and knowledge of womankind),--she was at any rate
dreadfully excited by the receipt of a billet in the well-known
clerk-like hand of Mr. Sly. It ran thus:--

"I saw you through your dining-room windows. You were
hob-nobbing with Captain Blackbeard. You looked rosy and well.
You smiled. You drank off the champagne at a single draught.

"I can bear it no more. Live on, smile on, and be happy. My
ghost shall repine, perhaps, at your happiness with
another,--but in life I should go mad were I to witness it.

"It is best that I should be gone.

"When you receive this, tell my uncle to drag the fish-pond at
the end of Bachelor's Acre. His black servant Sambo accompanies
me, it is true. But Sambo shall perish with me should his
obstinacy venture to restrain me from my purpose. I know the
poor fellow's honesty well, but I also know my own despair.

"Sambo will leave a wife and seven children. Be kind to those
orphan mulattoes for the sake of

"FREDERICK."

The widow gave a dreadful shriek, and interrupted the two captains, who
were each just in the act of swallowing a bumper of claret.
"Fly--fly--save him," she screamed; "save him, monsters, ere it is too
late! Drowned!--Frederick!--Bachelor's Wa--" Syncope took place, and the
rest of the sentence was interrupted.

Deucedly disappointed at being obliged to give up their wine, the two
heroes seized their cocked hats, and went towards the spot which the
widow in her wild exclamations of despair had sufficiently designated.

Trippet was for running to the fish-pond at the rate of ten miles an
hour.

"Take it easy, my good fellow," said Captain Blackbeard; "running is
unwholesome after dinner. And, if that squinting scoundrel of a lawyer
_does_ drown himself, I sha'n't sleep any the worse." So the two
gentlemen walked very leisurely on towards the Bachelor's Walk; and,
indeed, seeing on their way thither Major Macabaw looking out of the
window at his quarters and smoking a cigar, they went up stairs to
consult the major, as also a bottle of Schiedam he had.

"They come not!" said the widow, when restored to herself. "O Heavens!
grant that Frederick is safe! Sister Anne, go up to the leads and look
if anybody is coming." And up, accordingly, to the garrets Sister Anne
mounted. "Do you see anybody coming, Sister Anne?"

"I see Dr. Drench's little boy," said Sister Anne; "he is leaving a pill
and draught at Miss Molly Grub's."

"Dearest Sister Anne, don't you see any one coming?" shouted the widow
once again.

"I see a flock of dust--no! a cloud of sheep. Pshaw! I see the London
coach coming in. There are three outsides, and the guard has flung a
parcel to Mrs. Jenkins's maid."

"Distraction! Look once more, Sister Anne."

"I see a crowd,--a shutter,--a shutter with a man on it,--a
beadle,--forty little boys,--Gracious goodness! what _can_ it be?" and
down stairs tumbled Sister Anne, and was looking out of the
parlor-window by her sister's side, when the crowd she had perceived
from the garret passed close by them.

At the head walked the beadle, slashing about at the little boys.

Two scores of these followed and surrounded

A SHUTTER carried by four men.

On the shutter lay _Frederick_! He was ghastly pale; his hair was
draggled over his face; his clothes stuck tight to him on account of the
wet; streams of water gurgled down the shutter-sides. But he was not
dead! He turned one eye round towards the window where Mrs. Bluebeard
sat, and gave her a look which she never could forget.

Sambo brought up the rear of the procession. He was quite wet through;
and, if anything would have put his hair out of curl, his ducking would
have done so. But, as he was not a gentleman, he was allowed to walk
home on foot, and, as he passed the widow's window, he gave her one
dreadful glance with his goggling black eyes, and moved on, pointing
with his hands to the shutter.

John Thomas the footman was instantly despatched to Dr. Sly's to have
news of the patient. There was no shilly-shallying now. He came back in
half an hour to say that Mr. Frederick flung himself into Bachelor's
Acre fish-pond with Sambo, had been dragged out with difficulty, had
been put to bed, and had a pint of white wine whey, and was pretty
comfortable. "Thank Heaven!" said the widow, and gave John Thomas a
seven-shilling piece, and sat down with a lightened heart to tea. "What
a heart!" said she to Sister Anne. "And O, what a pity it is that he
squints!"

Here the two captains arrived. They had not been to the Bachelor's Walk;
they had remained at Major Macabaw's consulting the Schiedam. They had
made up their minds what to say. "Hang the fellow! he will never have
the pluck to drown himself," said Captain Blackbeard. "Let us argue on
that, as we may safely."

"My sweet lady," said he, accordingly, "we have had the pond dragged. No
Mr. Sly. And the fisherman who keeps the punt assures us that he has not
been there all day."

"Audacious falsehood!" said the widow, her eyes flashing fire. "Go,
heartless man! who dares to trifle thus with the feelings of a
respectable and unprotected woman. Go, sir, you're only fit for the love
of a--Dolly--Coddlins!" She pronounced the _Coddlins_ with a withering
sarcasm that struck the captain aghast; and, sailing out of the room,
she left her tea untasted, and did not wish either of the military
gentlemen good night.

But, gentles, an' ye know the delicate fibre of woman's heart, ye will
not in very sooth believe that such events as those we have
described--such tempests of passion--fierce winds of woe--blinding
lightnings of tremendous joy and tremendous grief--could pass over one
frail flower and leave it all unscathed. No! Grief kills as joy doth.
Doth not the scorching sun nip the rose-bud as well as the bitter wind?
As Mrs. Sigourney sweetly sings:--

"Ah! the heart is a soft and a delicate thing;
Ah! the heart is a lute with a thrilling string;
A spirit that floats on a gossamer's wing!"

Such was Fatima's heart. In a word, the preceding events had a powerful
effect upon her nervous system, and she was ordered much quiet and
sal-volatile by her skilful medical attendant, Dr. Glauber.

To be so ardently, passionately loved as she was, to know that Frederick
had twice plunged into death from attachment to her, was to awaken in
her bosom "a thrilling string," indeed! Could she witness such
attachment and not be touched by it? She _was_ touched by it,--she was
influenced by the virtues, by the passion, by the misfortunes, of
Frederick: but then he was so abominably ugly that she could not--she
could not consent to become his bride!

She told Dr. Sly so. "I respect and esteem your nephew," said she; "but
my resolve is made. I will continue faithful to that blessed saint whose
monument is ever before my eyes" (she pointed to the churchyard as she
spoke). "Leave this poor tortured heart in quiet. It has already
suffered more than most hearts could bear. I will repose under the
shadow of that tomb until I am called to rest within it,--to rest by the
side of my Bluebeard!"

The ranunculuses, rhododendra, and polyanthuses, which ornamented that
mausoleum, had somehow been suffered to run greatly to seed during the
last few months, and it was with no slight self-accusation that she
acknowledged this fact on visiting "the garden of the grave," as she
called it; and she scolded the beadle soundly for neglecting his duty
towards it. He promised obedience for the future, dug out all the weeds
that were creeping round the family vault, and (having charge of the
key) entered that awful place, and swept and dusted the melancholy
contents of the tomb.

Next morning, the widow came down to breakfast looking very pale. She
had passed a bad night; she had had awful dreams; she had heard a voice
call her thrice at midnight. "Pooh! my dear, it's only nervousness,"
said sceptical Sister Anne.

Here John Thomas, the footman, entered, and said the beadle was in the
hall, looking in a very strange way. He had been about the house since
daybreak, and insisted on seeing Mrs. Bluebeard. "Let him enter," said
that lady, prepared for some great mystery. The beadle came; he was pale
as death; his hair was dishevelled, and his cocked hat out of order.
"What have you to say?" said the lady, trembling.

Before beginning, he fell down on his knees.

"Yesterday," said he, "according to your ladyship's orders, I dug up the
flower-beds of the family vault, dusted the vault and the--the coffins
(added he, trembling) inside. Me and John Sexton did it together, and
polished up the plate quite beautiful."

"For Heaven's sake, don't allude to it," cried the widow, turning pale.

"Well, my lady, I locked the door, came away, and found in my hurry--for
I wanted to beat two little boys what was playing at marbles on Alderman
Paunch's monyment--I found, my lady, I'd forgot my cane.

"I couldn't get John Sexton to go back with me till this morning, and I
didn't like to go alone, and so we went this morning; and what do you
think I found? I found his honor's coffin turned round, and the cane
broke in two. Here's the cane!"

"Ah!" screamed the widow, "take it away,--take it away!"

"Well, what does this prove," said Sister Anne, "but that somebody moved
the coffin, and broke the cane?"

"Somebody! _who's somebody?_" said the beadle, staring round about him.
And all of a sudden he started back with a tremendous roar, that made
the ladies scream and all the glasses on the sideboard jingle, and
cried, "_That's the man!_"

He pointed to the portrait of Bluebeard, which stood over the jingling
glasses on the sideboard. "That's the man I saw last night walking round
the vault, as I'm a living sinner. I saw him a-walking round and round,
and, when I went up to speak to him, I'm blessed if he didn't go in at
the iron gate, which opened afore him like--like winking, and then in
at the vault door, which I'd double-locked, my lady, and bolted inside,
I'll take my oath on it!"

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