Put Yourself in His Place

Charles Reade

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. Hillsborough and its outlying suburbs make bricks by the million, spin and weave both wool and cotton, forge in steel from the finest needle up to a ship's armor, and so add considerably to the kingdom's wealth.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819941118
• Langue: English

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PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE
By Charles Reade
“I will frame a work of fiction upon notoriousfact, so that anybody shall think he can do the same; shall laborand toil attempting the same, and fail— such is the power ofsequence and connection in writing. ”— HORACE: Art of Poetry.
CHAPTER I.
Hillsborough and its outlying suburbs make bricks bythe million, spin and weave both wool and cotton, forge in steelfrom the finest needle up to a ship's armor, and so addconsiderably to the kingdom's wealth.
But industry so vast, working by steam on a limitedspace, has been fatal to beauty: Hillsborough, though built on oneof the loveliest sites in England, is perhaps the most hideous townin creation. All ups and down and back slums. Not one of itswriggling, broken-backed streets has handsome shops in an unbrokenrow. Houses seem to have battled in the air, and stuck whereverthey tumbled down dead out of the melee. But worst of all, the cityis pockmarked with public-houses, and bristles with high roundchimneys. These are not confined to a locality, but stuck all overthe place like cloves in an orange. They defy the law, and belchforth massy volumes of black smoke, that hang like acres of crapeover the place, and veil the sun and the blue sky even in thebrightest day. But in a fog— why, the air of Hillsborough looks athing to plow, if you want a dirty job.
More than one crystal stream runs sparkling down thevalleys, and enters the town; but they soon get defiled, and creepthrough it heavily charged with dyes, clogged with putridity, andbubbling with poisonous gases, till at last they turn to mere ink,stink, and malaria, and people the churchyards as they crawl.
This infernal city, whose water is blacking, andwhose air is coal, lies in a basin of delight and beauty: nobleslopes, broad valleys, watered by rivers and brooks of singularbeauty, and fringed by fair woods in places; and, eastward, thehills rise into mountains, and amongst them towers Cairnhope,striped with silver rills, and violet in the setting sun.
Cairnhope is a forked mountain, with a bosom ofpurple heather and a craggy head. Between its forks stood, at theperiod of my story, a great curiosity; which merits description onits own account, and also as the scene of curious incidents tocome.
It was a deserted church. The walls were piercedwith arrow-slits, through which the original worshipers had sentmany a deadly shaft in defense of their women and cattle, collectedwithin the sacred edifice at the first news of marauderscoming.
Built up among the heathery hills in times of warand trouble, it had outlived its uses. Its people had long ago gonedown into the fruitful valley, and raised another church in theirmidst, and left this old house of God alone, and silent as thetombs of their forefathers that lay around it.
It was no ruin, though on the road to decay. One ofthe side walls was much lower than the other, and the roof had twogreat waves, and was heavily clothed, in natural patterns, withvelvet moss, and sprinkled all over with bright amber lichen: a fewtiles had slipped off in two places, and showed the rafters brownwith time and weather: but the structure was solid and sound; thefallen tiles lay undisturbed beneath the eaves; not a brick, not abeam, not a gravestone had been stolen, not even to build the newchurch: of the diamond panes full half remained; the stone font wasstill in its place, with its Gothic cover, richly carved; and fourbrasses reposed in the chancel, one of them loose in its bed.
What had caused the church to be deserted had keptit from being desecrated; it was clean out of the way. No gypsy,nor vagrant, ever slept there, and even the boys of the villagekept their distance. Nothing would have pleased them better than tobreak the sacred windows time had spared, and defile the graves oftheir forefathers with pitch-farthing and other arts; but it wasthree miles off, and there was a lion in the way: they must pass insight of Squire Raby's house; and, whenever they had tried it, heand his groom had followed them on swift horses that could jump aswell as gallop, had caught them in the churchyard, and lashed themheartily; and the same night notice to quit had been given to theirparents, who were all Mr. Raby's weekly tenants: and this had ledto a compromise and flagellation.
Once or twice every summer a more insidious foeapproached. Some little party of tourists, including a lady, whosketched in water and never finished anything, would hear of theold church, and wander up to it. But Mr. Raby's trusty groom wassure to be after them, with orders to keep by them, under guise offriendship, and tell them outrageous figments, and see that theydemolished not, stole not, sculptured not.
All this was odd enough in itself, but it astonishednobody who knew Mr. Raby. His father and predecessor had guardedthe old church religiously in his day, and was buried in it, by hisown orders; and, as for Guy Raby himself, what wonder he respectedit, since his own mind, like that old church, was out of date, anda relic of the past?
An antique Tory squire, nursed in expiringJacobitism, and cradled in the pride of race; educated at Oxford,well read in books, versed in county business, and acquainted withtrade and commerce; yet puffed up with aristocratic notions, andhugging the very prejudices our nobility are getting rid of as fastas the vulgar will let them.
He had a sovereign contempt for tradespeople, andespecially for manufacturers. Any one of those numerous disputesbetween masters and mechanics, which distinguish British industry,might have been safely referred to him, for he abhorred anddespised them both with strict impartiality.
The lingering beams of a bright December day stillgilded the moss-clad roof of that deserted church, and flamed onits broken panes, when a young man came galloping toward it, fromHillsborough, on one of those powerful horses common in thatdistrict.
He came so swiftly and so direct, that, ere the sunhad been down twenty minutes, he and his smoking horse had reacheda winding gorge about three furlongs from the church. Here,however, the bridle-road, which had hitherto served his turn acrossthe moor, turned off sharply toward the village of Cairnhope, andthe horse had to pick his way over heather, and bog, and greatloose stones. He lowered his nose, and hesitated more than once.But the rein was loose upon his neck, and he was left to take histime. He had also his own tracks to guide him in places, for thiswas by no means his first visit; and he managed so well, that atlast he got safe to a mountain stream which gurgled past the northside of the churchyard: he went cautiously through the water, andthen his rider gathered up the reins, stuck in the spurs, and puthim at a part of the wall where the moonlight showed a considerablebreach. The good horse rose to it, and cleared it, with a foot tospare; and the invader landed in the sacred precincts unobserved,for the road he had come by was not visible from Raby House, norindeed was the church itself.
He was of swarthy complexion, dressed in a plainsuit of tweed, well made, and neither new nor old. His hat was ofthe newest fashion, and glossy. He had no gloves on.
He dismounted, and led his horse to the porch. Hetook from his pocket a large glittering key and unlocked thechurch-door; then gave his horse a smack on the quarter. Thatsagacious animal walked into the church directly, and his ironhoofs rang strangely as he paced over the brick floor of the aisle,and made his way under the echoing vault, up to the very altar; fornear it was the vestry-chest, and in that chest his corn.
The young man also entered the church; but soon cameout again with a leathern bucket in his hand. He then went roundthe church, and was busily employed for a considerable time.
He returned to the porch, carried his bucket in, andlocked the door, leaving the key inside.
That night Abel Eaves, a shepherd, was led by hisdog, in search of a strayed sheep, to a place rarely trodden by thefoot of man or beast, viz. , the west side of Cairnhope Peak. Hecame home pale and disturbed, and sat by the fireside in deadsilence. “What ails thee, my man? ” said Janet, his wife; “andthere's the very dog keeps a whimpering. ”
“What ails us, wife? Pincher and me? We have seensummat. ”
“What was it? ” inquired the woman, suddenlylowering her voice.
“Cairnhope old church all o' fire inside. ”
“Bless us and save us! ” said Janet, in awhisper.
“And the fire it did come and go as if hell was ablowing at it. One while the windows was a dull red like, and thenext they did flare so, I thought it would all burst out in ablaze. And so 'twould, but, bless your heart, their heads ha'n'tached this hundred year and more, as lighted that there devilishfire. ”
He paused a moment, then said, with sudden gravityand resignation and even a sort of half business-like air, “Wife,ye may make my shroud, and sew it and all; but I wouldn't buy thestuff of Bess Crummles; she is an ill-tongued woman, and came nearmaking mischief between you and me last Lammermas as ever was.”
“Shroud! ” cried Mrs. Eaves, getting seriouslyalarmed. “Why, Abel, what is Cairnhope old church to you? You wereborn in an other parish. ”
Abel slapped his thigh. “Ay, lass, and anothercounty, if ye go to that. ” And his countenance brightenedsuddenly.
“And as for me, ” continued Janet, “I'm Cairnhope;but my mother came from Morpeth, a widdy: and she lies within ahundred yards of where I sit a talking to thee. There's none of mykin laid in old Cairnhope churchyard. Warning's not for thee, norme, nor yet for our Jock. Eh, lad, it will be for Squire Raby. Hisfather lies up there, and so do all his folk. Put on thy hat thisminute, and I'll hood myself, and we'll go up to Raby Hall, andtell Squire. ”
Abel objected to that, and intimated that his ownfireside was particularly inviting to a man who had seen diabolicalfires that came and went, and sh