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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter fourteen of the Mystery of Edwin Drude. This is
a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Recording by Allen Chant. The Mystery of Edwin Drude, the
(00:22):
Unfinished novel by Charles Dickens, Chapter fourteen. When shall these
three meet again? Christmas Eve? In Cloisterham? A few strange
faces in the streets, A few other faces, half strange
and half familiar. Once the faces of Cloister him children,
(00:44):
now the faces of men and women who come back
from the outer world at long intervals, to find the
city wonderfully shrunken in size, as if it had not
washed by any means.
Speaker 2 (00:55):
Well in the mean time.
Speaker 1 (00:58):
To these, the striking of the cathedral clock and the
cowing of the rooks from the Cathedral tower are like
voices in their nursery time. To such as these it
has happened in their dying hours afar off that they
have imagined their chamber floor to be strewn with the
autumnal leaves fallen from the elm trees in the close.
(01:20):
So have the rustling sounds and fresh scents of their
earliest impressions, revived when the circle of their lives was
very nearly traced, and the beginning and the end were
drawing closer together. Seasonable tokens are about. Red berries shine
here and there in the lattices of Minor Canon corner,
(01:42):
Mister and Missus Towbar, daintily sticking sprigs of holly into
the carvings and sconces of the cathedral stalls, as if
they were sticking them into the coat buttonholes of the
Dean and chapter. Lavish profusion is in the shops, particularly
in the articles of currants, raisin spices, candied peel, and
(02:04):
moist sugar. An unusual air of gallantry and dissipation is abroad,
evinced in an immense bunch of mistletoe hanging in the
greengrocer's shop doorway, and a very poor twelfth cake culminating
in the figure of a harlequin, Such a very poor
little twelfth cake, that one would rather called it a
(02:27):
twenty fourth cake or a forty eighth cake, to be
raffled for at the pastry cook's terms one shilling per member.
Public amusements are not wanting the waxwork which made so
deep an impression on the reflective mind of the Emperor
of China is to be seen by particular desire during
(02:48):
Christmas week only on the premises of the bankrupt livery
stable Keeper up the Lane, and a new grand comic
Christmas pantomime is to be produced at the theater, the
latter heralded by the portrait of Signor Jacksonini, the clown
saying how do you do to morrow? Quite as large
(03:11):
as life and almost as miserably In short, Cloisterum is
up and doing. Though from this description the high School
and Miss Twinkleton's are to be excluded from the former establishment.
The scholars have gone home, every one of them in
love with one of Miss Twinkleton's young ladies, who knows
(03:35):
nothing about it, and only the handmaidens flutter occasionally in
the windows of the latter. It is noticed by the
Bye that these damsels become, within the limits of decorum,
more skittish when thus entrusted with the concrete representation of
their sex than when dividing the representation with Miss Twinkleton's
(03:57):
young ladies. Three are to meet at the Gatehouse to night.
How does eat one of the three get through the
day Neville Landless, though absolved from his books for the
time by mister Chris Sparkle, whose fresh nature is by
no means insensible to the charms of a holiday, reads
(04:20):
and writes in his quiet room with a concentrated air
until it is two hours past noon. He then sets
himself to clearing his table, to arranging his books, and
to tearing up and burning his stray papers. He makes
a clean sweep of all untidy accumulations, puts all his
(04:40):
drawers in order, and leaves no note or scrap of
paper undestroyed, save such memoranda as bear directly on his studies.
This done, he turns to his wardrobe, selects a few
articles of ordinary wear, among them change of stout shoes
and socks for walking, and hacks these in a knapsack.
(05:02):
This knapsack is new, and he bought it in the
high Street yesterday. He also purchased, at the same time
and at the same place, a heavy walking stick, strong
in the handle for the grip of the hand, and
iron shod. He tries this, swings it, poises it, and
lays it by with the knapsack on a window seat.
(05:25):
By this time his arrangements are complete, He dresses for
going out, and is in the act of going indeed,
has left his room and has met the minor cannon
on the staircase coming out of his bedroom upon the
same story. When he turns back again for his walking stick,
thinking he will carry it now, mister Chris Sparkle, who
(05:47):
has paused on the staircase, sees it in his hand
on his immediately reappearing, takes it from him and asks him,
with a smile, how he chooses a stick? Really, I
don't know that I understand the subject, he answers. I
choose it for its weight. Much too heavy, Neville, much
(06:08):
too heavy to rest upon in a long walk, sir,
rest upon, repeats mister Chris Sparkle, throwing himself into pedestrian form.
You don't rest upon it, you merely balance with it.
I shall know better with practice, sir. I have not
(06:29):
lived in a walking country, you know, true, says mister
Chris Sparkle. Get into a little training and we will
have a few score miles together. I should leave you nowhere.
Now do you come back before dinner?
Speaker 2 (06:45):
I think not?
Speaker 1 (06:46):
As we dine early, mister Chris Sparkle gives him a
bright nod and a cheerful good bye, expressing not without intention,
absolute confidence and ease. Nevill repairs to the nun's house
and requests that Miss Landless may be informed that her
brother is there by appointment. He waits at the gate,
(07:07):
not even crossing the threshold, for he is on his
parole not to put himself in Rosa's way. His sister
is at least as mindful of the obligation they have
taken on themselves as he can be, and loses not
a moment in joining him. They meet affectionately, avoid lingering there,
and walk towards the upper inland country. I am not
(07:32):
going to tread upon forbidden ground, Helena, says Neville. When
they have walked some distance and are turning. You will
understand in another moment that I cannot help referring to
what shall I say my infatuation? Had you not better
avoid it? Neville, you know that I can hear nothing.
(07:56):
You can hear, my dear what mister Chris Sparkle has
heard and heard with approval. Yes, I can hear so much. Well,
it is this. I am not only unsettled and unhappy myself,
but I am conscious of unsettling and interfering with other people.
How do I know that, but for my unfortunate presence,
(08:20):
you and and the rest of that former party, our
engaging guardian accepted, might be dining cheerfully in minor canon
corner to morrow. Indeed, it probably would be. So I
can see too well that I am not high in
the old lady's opinion. And it is easy to understand
(08:42):
what an irksome clog I must be upon the hospitalities
of her orderly house, especially at this time of year,
when I must be kept asunder from this person. And
there is such a reason for my not being brought
into contact with that person, and an unfavorable reputation has
(09:02):
preceded me with such another person, and so on. I
have put this very gently to mister Crisparkle, for you
know his self denying ways.
Speaker 2 (09:13):
But still I have put it.
Speaker 1 (09:16):
What I have laid much greater stress upon at the
same time, is that I am engaged in a miserable
struggle with myself, and that a little change and absence
may enable me to come through it the better. So,
the weather being bright and hard, I am going on
a walking expedition and intend taking myself out of everybody's way,
(09:42):
my own included I hope to morrow morning when to
come back in a fortnight, and going quite alone. I
am much better without company, even if there were any
one but you to bear me company, my dear Helena.
Mister Chris Sparkle entirely agrees you say entirely. I am
(10:06):
not sure but that at first he was inclined to
think it rather a moody scheme and one that might
do a brooding mind harm. But we took a moonlight
wall class Monday night to talk it over at leisure,
and I represented the case to him as it really is.
I showed him that I do not want to conquer
(10:27):
myself and that this evening well got over. It is
surely better that I should be away from here just
now than here. I could hardly help meeting certain people
walking together here, and that could do no good and
is certainly not the way to forget a fortnight. Hence
(10:48):
that chance will probably be over for the time. And
when it again arises for the last time, why I
can again go away?
Speaker 2 (10:58):
Father? I really do you.
Speaker 1 (11:00):
Feel hopeful of bracing exercise and wholesome fatigue? You know that,
mister Chrisparkle allows such things their full weight in the
preservation of his own sound mind, in his own sound body,
and that his just spirit is not likely to maintain
one set of natural laws for himself and another for me.
(11:22):
He yielded to my view of the matter when convinced
that I was honestly in earnest, and so with his
full consent, I start to morrow morning early enough to
be not only out of the streets, but out of
hearing of the bells when the good people go to church.
Elena thinks it over and thinks well of it, mister
(11:45):
Chrisparkle doing so, She would do so, But she does, originally,
out of her own mind, think well of it as
a healthy project, denoting a sincere endeavor and an active
attempt at self correction. She is inclined to pity him,
poor fellow, for going away solitary on the Great Christmas festival,
(12:06):
but she feels it much more to the purpose to
encourage him, and she does encourage him. Will he write
to her? He will write to her every alternate day
and tell her all his adventures. Does he send clothes
on in advance of him? My dear Helena, no travel
(12:30):
like a pilgrim with wallet and staff. My wallet or
my knapsack is packed and ready for strapping on, and
here is my staff. He hands it to her. She
makes the same remark as mister Chris Sparkle that it
is very heavy, and gives it back to him, asking
what wood it is?
Speaker 2 (12:51):
Iron wood.
Speaker 1 (12:53):
Up to this point he has been extremely cheerful. Perhaps
the having to carry his case with her, and therefore
to present it in its brightest aspect, has roused his spirits.
Perhaps the having done so with success is followed by
a revulsion. As the day closes in and the city
lights begin to spring up before them, he grows depressed.
(13:18):
I wish I were not going to this dinner, Helena,
dear Neville, Is it worth while to care much about it?
Think how soon it will be over? How soon it
will be over? He repeats gloomily, Yes, but I don't
like it. There may be a moment's awkwardness, she cheeringly
(13:42):
represents to him, but it can only last a moment.
He is quite sure of himself. I wish I felt
as sure of everything else as I feel of myself,
he answers her, How strangely you speak, Dear, What do
you mean, Helena?
Speaker 2 (14:01):
I don't know.
Speaker 1 (14:02):
I only know that I don't like it. What a
strange dead weight there is in the air. She calls
his attention to those copperous clouds beyond the river, and
says that the wind is rising. He scarcely speaks again
until he takes leave of her at the gate of
the nun's house. She does not immediately enter when they
(14:25):
have parted, but remains looking after him along the street.
Twice he passes the gatehouse, reluctant to enter. At length,
the cathedral clock chiming one quarter with a rapid turn,
he hurries in, and so he goes up the Poston Stair.
(14:47):
Edward Drude passes a solitary day. Something of deeper moment
than he had thought has gone out of his life,
and in the silence of his own chamber he wept
for it last night. Though the image of miss Landless
still hovers in the background of his mind, the pretty
little affectionate creature, so much firmer and wiser than he
(15:08):
had supposed, occupies its stronghold. It is with some misgiving
of his own unworthiness that he thinks of her, and
of what they might have been to one another if
he had been more in earnest some time ago, if
he had set a higher value on her, if instead
of accepting his lot in life as an inheritance, of course,
(15:31):
he had studied the right way to its appreciation and enhancement.
And still, for all this, and though there is a
sharp headache in all this, the vanity and caprice of
youth sustain that handsome figure of miss Landless in the
background of his mind. That was a curious look of
(15:52):
Roses when they parted at the gate. Did it mean
that she saw below the surface of his thoughts and
down into the their twilight depths scarcely that? For it
was a look of astonished and keen inquiry. He decides
that he cannot understand it, though it was remarkably expressive.
(16:13):
As he only waits for mister Grugius now and will
depart immediately after having seen him, he takes a sauntering
leave of the ancient city and its neighborhood. He recalls
the time when Rosa and he walked here and there
mere children, full of the dignity of being engaged poor children,
he thinks with a pitying sadness. Finding that his watch
(16:38):
has stopped, he turns into the jeweler's shop to have
it wound and set. The jeweler is knowing on the
subject of a bracelet, which he begs to submit in
a general and quite aimless way it would suit he
considers a young bride to perfection, especially if of rather
a diminutive style of beauty. Finding the bracelet but coldly
(17:01):
looked at, the jeweler invites attention to a tray of
rings for gentlemen. Here is a style of ring, now,
he remarks, a very chaste signet which gentlemen are much
given to purchasing when changing their condition, A ring of
very reasonable appearance, with the date of their wedding day
engraved inside. Several gentlemen have preferred it to any other
(17:25):
kind of memento. The rings are as coldly viewed as
the bracelet. Edwin tells the tempter that he wears no
jewelry but his watch and chain, which were his father's,
and his shirt pin.
Speaker 2 (17:40):
That I was aware of.
Speaker 1 (17:42):
Is the jeweler's reply, for mister Jasper dropped him for
a watch glass the other day, and in fact I
showed these articles to him, remarking that if he should
wish to make a present to a gentleman relative on
any particular occasion. But he said with a smile that
he had an inventory in his mind of all the
(18:02):
jewelry his gentleman relative ever wore, namely his watch and
chain and his suret pin. Still, the jeweler considers that
might not apply to all times, though, applying to the
present time, twenty minutes past two, mister Drude, I set
your watch at let me recommend you not to let
(18:23):
it run down. Sir Edwin takes his watch, puts it on,
and goes out, thinking, dear old Jack, if I were
to make an extra crease in my neckcloth, he would
think it worth noticing. He strolls about and about to
pass the time until the dinner hour. It somehow happens
(18:45):
that Cloisterum seems reproachful to him to day, has fault
to find with him, as if he had not used
it well, but is far more pensive with him than angry.
His wanton carelessness is replaced by a wistful looking at
and dwelling upon all the old landmarks. He will soon
(19:05):
be far away and may never see them again. He thinks,
poor youth, poor youth. As dusk draws on, he paces
the monk's vineyard. He has walked to and fro full
half an hour by the cathedral chimes, and it has
closed in dark before he becomes quite aware of a
woman crouching on the ground near a wicket gate in
(19:28):
a corner. The gate commands a cross by path, little
used in the gloaming, and the figure must have been
there all the time, though he has but gradually and
lately made it out. He strikes into that path and
walks up to the wicket. By the light of a
lamp near it, he sees that the woman is of
(19:49):
a haggard appearance, and that her wheeze and chin is
resting on her hands, and that her eyes are staring
with an unwinking, blind sort of steadfastness before her. Always kind,
but moved to be unusually kind this evening, and having
bestowed kind words on most of the children and aged
(20:10):
people he has met, he at once bends down and
speaks to this woman.
Speaker 2 (20:16):
Are you ill, no, dearie?
Speaker 1 (20:19):
She answers, without looking at him, and with no departure
from her strange blind stare. Are you blind, no, dearie?
Speaker 2 (20:31):
Are you lost? Homeless? Faint?
Speaker 1 (20:34):
What is the matter that you stay here in the
cold so long without moving. By slow and stiff efforts,
she appears to contract her vision until it can rest
upon him, and then a curious film passes over her
and she begins to shake. He straightens himself, recoils a step,
(20:55):
and looks down at her in a dread amazement, for
he seems to know her. Good heavens, he thinks, next
moment like Jack that night. As he looks down at her,
she looks up at him and whimpers.
Speaker 3 (21:12):
My lungs is weakly, My lungs is dreadful, bad, poor me,
bore me.
Speaker 1 (21:22):
My cough is rattling dry, and coughs in confirmation horribly.
Where did you come from?
Speaker 3 (21:37):
Come from London, deary.
Speaker 1 (21:41):
Her cough still rending her. Where are you going.
Speaker 3 (21:45):
To back to London, deary? I came here looking for
a needle in a haystack and I ain't found it.
Look you, deary, give me three and sixpence, and won't
you be afeared of me? I'll get back to London
then and trouble no one. I'm in a business, ah me.
(22:11):
It's slack, it's slack, and times is very bad, but
I can.
Speaker 1 (22:17):
Make a shift to live by it? Do you eat opium?
Speaker 3 (22:24):
Spokes it?
Speaker 1 (22:26):
She replies, with difficulty, still racked by her cough.
Speaker 3 (22:30):
Give me three and sixpence and I'll lay it out
well and get back. If you don't give me three
and sixpence, don't give me a brass farden. And if
you do, give me three and sixpence, dearie, I'll tell
you something.
Speaker 1 (22:48):
He counts the money from his pocket and puts it
in her hand. She instantly clutches it tight and rises
to her feet with a croaking laugh of satisfaction. Bless ye, harkey,
dear gentlemen, what's your christen name?
Speaker 2 (23:05):
Edwin? Edwin?
Speaker 1 (23:09):
Edwin Ebwin, She repeats, trailing off into a drowsy repetition
of the word, and then asks, suddenly, it's the short
of that name Eddy. It is sometimes called sir. He replies,
with the color starting to his face.
Speaker 3 (23:29):
Don't sweet hearts call it so?
Speaker 1 (23:33):
She asks, pondering how should I know? Haven't you a
sweetheart upon your soul?
Speaker 2 (23:43):
None?
Speaker 1 (23:45):
She is moving away with another bless She o, thank'e, deary,
when he adds.
Speaker 2 (23:52):
You were to tell me something, you may as well
do so?
Speaker 3 (23:57):
So? What was so? I was?
Speaker 1 (24:01):
Well, then, whisper.
Speaker 2 (24:04):
You be thankful that your name ah ned.
Speaker 1 (24:13):
He looks at her quite steadily as he asks why,
because it's a bad name to have. Just now, how
a bad name, a threatened name.
Speaker 2 (24:28):
A dangerous name.
Speaker 1 (24:31):
The proverb says that threatened men live long. He tells
her lightly, then, ned, so threatened is he wherever he
may be. While I am a talking to you. Deary
should live to all eternity, replies the woman. She has
(24:52):
leaned forward to say it in his ear, with her
forefingers shaking before his eyes, and now huddles herself to together,
and with another blessy and thank'ee, goes away in the
direction of the traveler's lodging house. This is not an
inspiriting close to a dull day alone in a sequestered place,
(25:16):
surrounded by vestiges of old time and decay. It rather
has a tendency to call a shudder into being. He
makes for the better lighted streets, and resolves as he
walks on to say nothing of this to night, but
to mention it to Jack, who alone calls him ned
(25:36):
as an odd coincidence to morrow, of course, only as
a coincidence, and not as anything better worth remembering. Still
it holds him as many things much better worth remembering
never did. He has another mile or so to linger
out before the dinner hour, And when he walks over
(25:58):
the bridge and by the river, the woman's words are
in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the
troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn
echo of them, even in the cathedral chime, which strikes
a sudden surprise to his heart. As he turns in
under the archway of the gatehouse. And so he goes
(26:23):
up the Poston stair. John Jasper passes a more agreeable
and cheerful day than either of his guests. Having no
music lessons to give in the holiday season, his time
is his own, but for the cathedral services. He is
early among the shop keepers, ordering little table luxuries that.
Speaker 2 (26:43):
His nephew likes.
Speaker 1 (26:46):
His neview will not be with him long, he tells
his provision dealers, and so must be petted and made
much of. While out on his hospitable preparations, he looks
in on mister Sapsey and mentions that dear ned and
that inflammable young spark of mister Chris Sparkle's are to
(27:06):
dine at the Gatehouse to day and make up their difference.
Mister Sapsey is by no means friendly towards the inflammable
young spark. He says that his complexion is un English.
And when mister Sapsey has once declared anything to be
un English, he considers that thing everlastingly sunk in the
(27:29):
bottomless pit. John Jasper is truly sorry to hear mister
Sapsey speak thus, for he knows right well that mister
Sapsy never speaks without a meaning, and that he has
a very subtle trick of being right. Mister Sapsey, by
a very remarkable coincidence, is of exactly that opinion. Mister
(27:54):
Jasper is in beautiful voice this day, in the pathetic
supplication to have his heart incline to keep this law.
He quite astonishes his fellows by his melodious power. He
has never sung difficult music with such skill and harmony
as in this day's anthem. His nervous temperament is occasionally
(28:15):
prone to take difficult music a little too quickly. To day,
his time is perfect. These results are probably attained through
a grand composure of the spirits. The mere mechanism of
his throat is a little tender, for he wears both
with his singing robe and with his ordinary dress, a
(28:36):
large black scarf of close woven silk slung loosely round
his neck. But his composure is so noticeable that mister
Chrisparkle speaks of it as they come out from Vespers.
I must thank you, Jasper, for the pleasure with which
I have heard you to day. Beautiful, delightful. You could
(29:01):
not have so outdone yourself, I hope without being wonderfully well.
Speaker 2 (29:07):
I am wonderfully well.
Speaker 1 (29:10):
Nothing unequal, says the minor cannon, with the smooth motion
of his hand. Nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided, All
thoroughly done in a masterful manner, with perfect self command.
Thank you, I hope. So, if it is not too
(29:31):
much to say, one would think, Jasper, that you have
been trying a new medicine for that occasional indisposition of yours. No, really,
that's well observed, for I have then stick to it,
my good fellow, says mister Chris Sparkle, clapping him on
(29:52):
the shoulder with friendly encouragement. Stick to it, I will
I conquer atulate you, mister Crisparkle, pursues as they come
out of the cathedral. On all accounts, thank you again.
I will walk round the corner with you if you
(30:12):
don't object. I have plenty of time before my company come,
and I want to say a word to you which
I think you will not be displeased to hear.
Speaker 3 (30:25):
What is it?
Speaker 1 (30:26):
Well, we were speaking the other evening of my black humors.
Mister Chris Sparkle's face falls and he shakes his head deploringly.
I said, you know that I should make you an
antidote to those black humors. And you said you hoped
(30:49):
I would consign them to the flames. And I hope,
and I still hope, so Jasper with the best reason
in the world, I mean to burn this year's diary
at the year's end because you, mister Chrisparkle brightens greatly
as he thus begins. You anticipate me because I feel
(31:15):
that I have been out of sorts, gloomy, bilious, brain oppressed,
whatever it may be. You said I had been exaggerative,
so I have. Mister Chrisparkle's brightened face brightened still more.
I couldn't see it then because I was out of sorts,
(31:38):
but I am in a healthy estate now, and I
acknowledge it with genuine pleasure. I made a great deal
of a very little. That's the fact it does me good,
cries mister Chrisparkle. To hear you say it, a man
(31:59):
leading a man snotanous life. Jasper proceeds and, getting his
nerves or his stomach out of order, dwells upon an
idea until it loses its proportions. That was my case
with the idea in question. So I shall burn the
(32:19):
evidence of my case when the book is full, and
begin the next volume with a clearer vision. This is better,
says mister Chris Sparkle, stopping at the steps of his
own door to shake hands, than I could have hoped.
Why naturally returns Jasper. You have but little reason to
(32:43):
hope that I should become more like yourself. You are
always training yourself to be mind and body as clear
as crystal, and you always are and never change, whereas
I am a muddy, solitary.
Speaker 2 (33:00):
Moping weed.
Speaker 1 (33:03):
However, I have got over that mope. Shall I wait
while you ask if mister Nevill has left for my place.
If not, he and I may walk round together, I think,
says mister Chris Sparkle, opening the entrance door with his key,
that he left some time ago, at least I know
(33:25):
he left, and I think he has not come back.
But I'll inquire. You won't come in.
Speaker 2 (33:33):
My company?
Speaker 1 (33:34):
Wait, said Jasper with a smile. The miner cannon disappears
and in a few moments returns as he thought, mister
Nevill has not come back. Indeed, as he remembers now,
mister Neville said he will probably go straight.
Speaker 2 (33:50):
To the gatehouse.
Speaker 1 (33:53):
Bad manners in a host says Jasper, my company will
be there before me. What will you bet that I
don't find my company embracing I will bet, or I
would if I ever bet, returns mister Chrisparkle that your
company will have a gay entertainer this evening. Jasper nods
(34:17):
and laughs.
Speaker 2 (34:17):
Good night.
Speaker 1 (34:19):
He retraces his steps to the cathedral door and turns
down past it to the gatehouse. He sings in a
low voice and with delicate expression as he walks along.
It still seems as if a false note were not
within his power to night, and as if nothing could
hurry or retard him. Arriving thus under the arched entrance
(34:43):
of his dwelling, he pauses for an instant in the
shelter to pull off that great black scarf and bang
it in a loop upon his arm. For that brief
time his face is knitted and stern, but it immediately
clears as he resumes his singing and his way, and
(35:04):
so he goes up the Poston stair. The red light
burns steadily all the evening in the lighthouse. On the
margin of the tide of busy life. Soften sounds and
hum of traffic pass it and flow on irregularly into
the lonely precincts, but very little else goes by, save
(35:26):
violent rushes of wind. It comes on to blow a
boisterous gale. The precincts are never particularly well lighted, but
the strong blasts of wind blowing out many of the
lamps in some instances, shattering the frames too, and bringing
the glass rattling to the ground. They are unusually dark
(35:47):
to night. The darkness is augmented and confused by flying
dust from the earth, dry twigs from the trees, and
great ragged fragments from the rook's nests up in the tower.
The trees themselves so toss and creak as this tangible
part of the darkness madly whirls about that they seem
(36:09):
in a peril of being torn out of the earth,
while ever and again in a crack and a rushing
fall denote that some large branch has yielded to the storm.
Not such power of wind has blown for many a
winter night. Chimneys topple in the streets, and people hold
to posts and corners and to one another to keep
(36:33):
themselves upon their feet. The violent rushes abate, not but
increase in frequency and fury, until at midnight, when the
streets are empty, the storm goes thundering along them, rattling
at all the latches and tearing at all the shutters,
as if warning the people to get up and fly
(36:54):
with it, rather than have the roofs brought down upon
their brains. Till the red light burns steadily. Nothing is
steady but the red light. All through the night. The
wind blows and abates, not but early in the morning,
when there is barely enough light in the east to
(37:15):
dim the stars. It begins to lull from that time
with occasional wild charges, Like a wounded monster dying, it
drops and sinks, and at full daylight it is dead.
It is then seen that the hands of the cathedral
clock are torn off, that lead from the roof has
(37:36):
been stripped away, rolled up, and blown into the close,
and that some great stones have been displaced upon the
summit of the Great Tower. Christmas morning, though it be
it is necessary to send workmen up to ascertain the
extent of the damage done. These lead by girdles go aloft,
(37:58):
while mister Tope and a crowd of early idlers gathered
down in Minor Cannon corner, shading their eyes and watching
for their appearance up there. This cluster is suddenly broken
and put aside by the hands of mister Jasper. All
the gazing eyes are brought down to the earth by
his loudly inquiring of mister Chris Sparkle at an open window.
Speaker 2 (38:23):
Where is my neview? He has not been here? Is
he not with you?
Speaker 3 (38:30):
No?
Speaker 1 (38:31):
He went down to the river last night with mister
Neville to look at the storm and has not been back.
Call mister Neville. He left this morning, early, left this
morning early. Let me in, Let me in. There is
no more looking up at the tower. Now all the
(38:54):
assembled eyes are turned on mister Jasper, white, half dressed.
Speaker 2 (39:00):
Panting.
Speaker 1 (39:02):
And clinging to the rail before the minor Cannon's house.
End of Chapter fourteen, read by all Enchant of Tunbridge
in Kent, England, during the summer of two thousand and eight.
Chapter fourteen of the Mystery of Edwin Drude. This is
a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Recording by Allen Chant. The Mystery of Edwin Drude, the
(00:22):
Unfinished novel by Charles Dickens, Chapter fourteen. When shall these
three meet again? Christmas Eve? In Cloisterham? A few strange
faces in the streets, A few other faces, half strange
and half familiar. Once the faces of Cloister him children,
(00:44):
now the faces of men and women who come back
from the outer world at long intervals, to find the
city wonderfully shrunken in size, as if it had not
washed by any means.
Speaker 2 (00:55):
Well in the mean time.
Speaker 1 (00:58):
To these, the striking of the cathedral clock and the
cowing of the rooks from the Cathedral tower are like
voices in their nursery time. To such as these it
has happened in their dying hours afar off that they
have imagined their chamber floor to be strewn with the
autumnal leaves fallen from the elm trees in the close.
(01:20):
So have the rustling sounds and fresh scents of their
earliest impressions, revived when the circle of their lives was
very nearly traced, and the beginning and the end were
drawing closer together. Seasonable tokens are about. Red berries shine
here and there in the lattices of Minor Canon corner,
(01:42):
Mister and Missus Towbar, daintily sticking sprigs of holly into
the carvings and sconces of the cathedral stalls, as if
they were sticking them into the coat buttonholes of the
Dean and chapter. Lavish profusion is in the shops, particularly
in the articles of currants, raisin spices, candied peel, and
(02:04):
moist sugar. An unusual air of gallantry and dissipation is abroad,
evinced in an immense bunch of mistletoe hanging in the
greengrocer's shop doorway, and a very poor twelfth cake culminating
in the figure of a harlequin, Such a very poor
little twelfth cake, that one would rather called it a
(02:27):
twenty fourth cake or a forty eighth cake, to be
raffled for at the pastry cook's terms one shilling per member.
Public amusements are not wanting the waxwork which made so
deep an impression on the reflective mind of the Emperor
of China is to be seen by particular desire during
(02:48):
Christmas week only on the premises of the bankrupt livery
stable Keeper up the Lane, and a new grand comic
Christmas pantomime is to be produced at the theater, the
latter heralded by the portrait of Signor Jacksonini, the clown
saying how do you do to morrow? Quite as large
(03:11):
as life and almost as miserably In short, Cloisterum is
up and doing. Though from this description the high School
and Miss Twinkleton's are to be excluded from the former establishment.
The scholars have gone home, every one of them in
love with one of Miss Twinkleton's young ladies, who knows
(03:35):
nothing about it, and only the handmaidens flutter occasionally in
the windows of the latter. It is noticed by the
Bye that these damsels become, within the limits of decorum,
more skittish when thus entrusted with the concrete representation of
their sex than when dividing the representation with Miss Twinkleton's
(03:57):
young ladies. Three are to meet at the Gatehouse to night.
How does eat one of the three get through the
day Neville Landless, though absolved from his books for the
time by mister Chris Sparkle, whose fresh nature is by
no means insensible to the charms of a holiday, reads
(04:20):
and writes in his quiet room with a concentrated air
until it is two hours past noon. He then sets
himself to clearing his table, to arranging his books, and
to tearing up and burning his stray papers. He makes
a clean sweep of all untidy accumulations, puts all his
(04:40):
drawers in order, and leaves no note or scrap of
paper undestroyed, save such memoranda as bear directly on his studies.
This done, he turns to his wardrobe, selects a few
articles of ordinary wear, among them change of stout shoes
and socks for walking, and hacks these in a knapsack.
(05:02):
This knapsack is new, and he bought it in the
high Street yesterday. He also purchased, at the same time
and at the same place, a heavy walking stick, strong
in the handle for the grip of the hand, and
iron shod. He tries this, swings it, poises it, and
lays it by with the knapsack on a window seat.
(05:25):
By this time his arrangements are complete, He dresses for
going out, and is in the act of going indeed,
has left his room and has met the minor cannon
on the staircase coming out of his bedroom upon the
same story. When he turns back again for his walking stick,
thinking he will carry it now, mister Chris Sparkle, who
(05:47):
has paused on the staircase, sees it in his hand
on his immediately reappearing, takes it from him and asks him,
with a smile, how he chooses a stick? Really, I
don't know that I understand the subject, he answers. I
choose it for its weight. Much too heavy, Neville, much
(06:08):
too heavy to rest upon in a long walk, sir,
rest upon, repeats mister Chris Sparkle, throwing himself into pedestrian form.
You don't rest upon it, you merely balance with it.
I shall know better with practice, sir. I have not
(06:29):
lived in a walking country, you know, true, says mister
Chris Sparkle. Get into a little training and we will
have a few score miles together. I should leave you nowhere.
Now do you come back before dinner?
Speaker 2 (06:45):
I think not?
Speaker 1 (06:46):
As we dine early, mister Chris Sparkle gives him a
bright nod and a cheerful good bye, expressing not without intention,
absolute confidence and ease. Nevill repairs to the nun's house
and requests that Miss Landless may be informed that her
brother is there by appointment. He waits at the gate,
(07:07):
not even crossing the threshold, for he is on his
parole not to put himself in Rosa's way. His sister
is at least as mindful of the obligation they have
taken on themselves as he can be, and loses not
a moment in joining him. They meet affectionately, avoid lingering there,
and walk towards the upper inland country. I am not
(07:32):
going to tread upon forbidden ground, Helena, says Neville. When
they have walked some distance and are turning. You will
understand in another moment that I cannot help referring to
what shall I say my infatuation? Had you not better
avoid it? Neville, you know that I can hear nothing.
(07:56):
You can hear, my dear what mister Chris Sparkle has
heard and heard with approval. Yes, I can hear so much. Well,
it is this. I am not only unsettled and unhappy myself,
but I am conscious of unsettling and interfering with other people.
How do I know that, but for my unfortunate presence,
(08:20):
you and and the rest of that former party, our
engaging guardian accepted, might be dining cheerfully in minor canon
corner to morrow. Indeed, it probably would be. So I
can see too well that I am not high in
the old lady's opinion. And it is easy to understand
(08:42):
what an irksome clog I must be upon the hospitalities
of her orderly house, especially at this time of year,
when I must be kept asunder from this person. And
there is such a reason for my not being brought
into contact with that person, and an unfavorable reputation has
(09:02):
preceded me with such another person, and so on. I
have put this very gently to mister Crisparkle, for you
know his self denying ways.
Speaker 2 (09:13):
But still I have put it.
Speaker 1 (09:16):
What I have laid much greater stress upon at the
same time, is that I am engaged in a miserable
struggle with myself, and that a little change and absence
may enable me to come through it the better. So,
the weather being bright and hard, I am going on
a walking expedition and intend taking myself out of everybody's way,
(09:42):
my own included I hope to morrow morning when to
come back in a fortnight, and going quite alone. I
am much better without company, even if there were any
one but you to bear me company, my dear Helena.
Mister Chris Sparkle entirely agrees you say entirely. I am
(10:06):
not sure but that at first he was inclined to
think it rather a moody scheme and one that might
do a brooding mind harm. But we took a moonlight
wall class Monday night to talk it over at leisure,
and I represented the case to him as it really is.
I showed him that I do not want to conquer
(10:27):
myself and that this evening well got over. It is
surely better that I should be away from here just
now than here. I could hardly help meeting certain people
walking together here, and that could do no good and
is certainly not the way to forget a fortnight. Hence
(10:48):
that chance will probably be over for the time. And
when it again arises for the last time, why I
can again go away?
Speaker 2 (10:58):
Father? I really do you.
Speaker 1 (11:00):
Feel hopeful of bracing exercise and wholesome fatigue? You know that,
mister Chrisparkle allows such things their full weight in the
preservation of his own sound mind, in his own sound body,
and that his just spirit is not likely to maintain
one set of natural laws for himself and another for me.
(11:22):
He yielded to my view of the matter when convinced
that I was honestly in earnest, and so with his
full consent, I start to morrow morning early enough to
be not only out of the streets, but out of
hearing of the bells when the good people go to church.
Elena thinks it over and thinks well of it, mister
(11:45):
Chrisparkle doing so, She would do so, But she does, originally,
out of her own mind, think well of it as
a healthy project, denoting a sincere endeavor and an active
attempt at self correction. She is inclined to pity him,
poor fellow, for going away solitary on the Great Christmas festival,
(12:06):
but she feels it much more to the purpose to
encourage him, and she does encourage him. Will he write
to her? He will write to her every alternate day
and tell her all his adventures. Does he send clothes
on in advance of him? My dear Helena, no travel
(12:30):
like a pilgrim with wallet and staff. My wallet or
my knapsack is packed and ready for strapping on, and
here is my staff. He hands it to her. She
makes the same remark as mister Chris Sparkle that it
is very heavy, and gives it back to him, asking
what wood it is?
Speaker 2 (12:51):
Iron wood.
Speaker 1 (12:53):
Up to this point he has been extremely cheerful. Perhaps
the having to carry his case with her, and therefore
to present it in its brightest aspect, has roused his spirits.
Perhaps the having done so with success is followed by
a revulsion. As the day closes in and the city
lights begin to spring up before them, he grows depressed.
(13:18):
I wish I were not going to this dinner, Helena,
dear Neville, Is it worth while to care much about it?
Think how soon it will be over? How soon it
will be over? He repeats gloomily, Yes, but I don't
like it. There may be a moment's awkwardness, she cheeringly
(13:42):
represents to him, but it can only last a moment.
He is quite sure of himself. I wish I felt
as sure of everything else as I feel of myself,
he answers her, How strangely you speak, Dear, What do
you mean, Helena?
Speaker 2 (14:01):
I don't know.
Speaker 1 (14:02):
I only know that I don't like it. What a
strange dead weight there is in the air. She calls
his attention to those copperous clouds beyond the river, and
says that the wind is rising. He scarcely speaks again
until he takes leave of her at the gate of
the nun's house. She does not immediately enter when they
(14:25):
have parted, but remains looking after him along the street.
Twice he passes the gatehouse, reluctant to enter. At length,
the cathedral clock chiming one quarter with a rapid turn,
he hurries in, and so he goes up the Poston Stair.
(14:47):
Edward Drude passes a solitary day. Something of deeper moment
than he had thought has gone out of his life,
and in the silence of his own chamber he wept
for it last night. Though the image of miss Landless
still hovers in the background of his mind, the pretty
little affectionate creature, so much firmer and wiser than he
(15:08):
had supposed, occupies its stronghold. It is with some misgiving
of his own unworthiness that he thinks of her, and
of what they might have been to one another if
he had been more in earnest some time ago, if
he had set a higher value on her, if instead
of accepting his lot in life as an inheritance, of course,
(15:31):
he had studied the right way to its appreciation and enhancement.
And still, for all this, and though there is a
sharp headache in all this, the vanity and caprice of
youth sustain that handsome figure of miss Landless in the
background of his mind. That was a curious look of
(15:52):
Roses when they parted at the gate. Did it mean
that she saw below the surface of his thoughts and
down into the their twilight depths scarcely that? For it
was a look of astonished and keen inquiry. He decides
that he cannot understand it, though it was remarkably expressive.
(16:13):
As he only waits for mister Grugius now and will
depart immediately after having seen him, he takes a sauntering
leave of the ancient city and its neighborhood. He recalls
the time when Rosa and he walked here and there
mere children, full of the dignity of being engaged poor children,
he thinks with a pitying sadness. Finding that his watch
(16:38):
has stopped, he turns into the jeweler's shop to have
it wound and set. The jeweler is knowing on the
subject of a bracelet, which he begs to submit in
a general and quite aimless way it would suit he
considers a young bride to perfection, especially if of rather
a diminutive style of beauty. Finding the bracelet but coldly
(17:01):
looked at, the jeweler invites attention to a tray of
rings for gentlemen. Here is a style of ring, now,
he remarks, a very chaste signet which gentlemen are much
given to purchasing when changing their condition, A ring of
very reasonable appearance, with the date of their wedding day
engraved inside. Several gentlemen have preferred it to any other
(17:25):
kind of memento. The rings are as coldly viewed as
the bracelet. Edwin tells the tempter that he wears no
jewelry but his watch and chain, which were his father's,
and his shirt pin.
Speaker 2 (17:40):
That I was aware of.
Speaker 1 (17:42):
Is the jeweler's reply, for mister Jasper dropped him for
a watch glass the other day, and in fact I
showed these articles to him, remarking that if he should
wish to make a present to a gentleman relative on
any particular occasion. But he said with a smile that
he had an inventory in his mind of all the
(18:02):
jewelry his gentleman relative ever wore, namely his watch and
chain and his suret pin. Still, the jeweler considers that
might not apply to all times, though, applying to the
present time, twenty minutes past two, mister Drude, I set
your watch at let me recommend you not to let
(18:23):
it run down. Sir Edwin takes his watch, puts it on,
and goes out, thinking, dear old Jack, if I were
to make an extra crease in my neckcloth, he would
think it worth noticing. He strolls about and about to
pass the time until the dinner hour. It somehow happens
(18:45):
that Cloisterum seems reproachful to him to day, has fault
to find with him, as if he had not used
it well, but is far more pensive with him than angry.
His wanton carelessness is replaced by a wistful looking at
and dwelling upon all the old landmarks. He will soon
(19:05):
be far away and may never see them again. He thinks,
poor youth, poor youth. As dusk draws on, he paces
the monk's vineyard. He has walked to and fro full
half an hour by the cathedral chimes, and it has
closed in dark before he becomes quite aware of a
woman crouching on the ground near a wicket gate in
(19:28):
a corner. The gate commands a cross by path, little
used in the gloaming, and the figure must have been
there all the time, though he has but gradually and
lately made it out. He strikes into that path and
walks up to the wicket. By the light of a
lamp near it, he sees that the woman is of
(19:49):
a haggard appearance, and that her wheeze and chin is
resting on her hands, and that her eyes are staring
with an unwinking, blind sort of steadfastness before her. Always kind,
but moved to be unusually kind this evening, and having
bestowed kind words on most of the children and aged
(20:10):
people he has met, he at once bends down and
speaks to this woman.
Speaker 2 (20:16):
Are you ill, no, dearie?
Speaker 1 (20:19):
She answers, without looking at him, and with no departure
from her strange blind stare. Are you blind, no, dearie?
Speaker 2 (20:31):
Are you lost? Homeless? Faint?
Speaker 1 (20:34):
What is the matter that you stay here in the
cold so long without moving. By slow and stiff efforts,
she appears to contract her vision until it can rest
upon him, and then a curious film passes over her
and she begins to shake. He straightens himself, recoils a step,
(20:55):
and looks down at her in a dread amazement, for
he seems to know her. Good heavens, he thinks, next
moment like Jack that night. As he looks down at her,
she looks up at him and whimpers.
Speaker 3 (21:12):
My lungs is weakly, My lungs is dreadful, bad, poor me,
bore me.
Speaker 1 (21:22):
My cough is rattling dry, and coughs in confirmation horribly.
Where did you come from?
Speaker 3 (21:37):
Come from London, deary.
Speaker 1 (21:41):
Her cough still rending her. Where are you going.
Speaker 3 (21:45):
To back to London, deary? I came here looking for
a needle in a haystack and I ain't found it.
Look you, deary, give me three and sixpence, and won't
you be afeared of me? I'll get back to London
then and trouble no one. I'm in a business, ah me.
(22:11):
It's slack, it's slack, and times is very bad, but
I can.
Speaker 1 (22:17):
Make a shift to live by it? Do you eat opium?
Speaker 3 (22:24):
Spokes it?
Speaker 1 (22:26):
She replies, with difficulty, still racked by her cough.
Speaker 3 (22:30):
Give me three and sixpence and I'll lay it out
well and get back. If you don't give me three
and sixpence, don't give me a brass farden. And if
you do, give me three and sixpence, dearie, I'll tell
you something.
Speaker 1 (22:48):
He counts the money from his pocket and puts it
in her hand. She instantly clutches it tight and rises
to her feet with a croaking laugh of satisfaction. Bless ye, harkey,
dear gentlemen, what's your christen name?
Speaker 2 (23:05):
Edwin? Edwin?
Speaker 1 (23:09):
Edwin Ebwin, She repeats, trailing off into a drowsy repetition
of the word, and then asks, suddenly, it's the short
of that name Eddy. It is sometimes called sir. He replies,
with the color starting to his face.
Speaker 3 (23:29):
Don't sweet hearts call it so?
Speaker 1 (23:33):
She asks, pondering how should I know? Haven't you a
sweetheart upon your soul?
Speaker 2 (23:43):
None?
Speaker 1 (23:45):
She is moving away with another bless She o, thank'e, deary,
when he adds.
Speaker 2 (23:52):
You were to tell me something, you may as well
do so?
Speaker 3 (23:57):
So? What was so? I was?
Speaker 1 (24:01):
Well, then, whisper.
Speaker 2 (24:04):
You be thankful that your name ah ned.
Speaker 1 (24:13):
He looks at her quite steadily as he asks why,
because it's a bad name to have. Just now, how
a bad name, a threatened name.
Speaker 2 (24:28):
A dangerous name.
Speaker 1 (24:31):
The proverb says that threatened men live long. He tells
her lightly, then, ned, so threatened is he wherever he
may be. While I am a talking to you. Deary
should live to all eternity, replies the woman. She has
(24:52):
leaned forward to say it in his ear, with her
forefingers shaking before his eyes, and now huddles herself to together,
and with another blessy and thank'ee, goes away in the
direction of the traveler's lodging house. This is not an
inspiriting close to a dull day alone in a sequestered place,
(25:16):
surrounded by vestiges of old time and decay. It rather
has a tendency to call a shudder into being. He
makes for the better lighted streets, and resolves as he
walks on to say nothing of this to night, but
to mention it to Jack, who alone calls him ned
(25:36):
as an odd coincidence to morrow, of course, only as
a coincidence, and not as anything better worth remembering. Still
it holds him as many things much better worth remembering
never did. He has another mile or so to linger
out before the dinner hour, And when he walks over
(25:58):
the bridge and by the river, the woman's words are
in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the
troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn
echo of them, even in the cathedral chime, which strikes
a sudden surprise to his heart. As he turns in
under the archway of the gatehouse. And so he goes
(26:23):
up the Poston stair. John Jasper passes a more agreeable
and cheerful day than either of his guests. Having no
music lessons to give in the holiday season, his time
is his own, but for the cathedral services. He is
early among the shop keepers, ordering little table luxuries that.
Speaker 2 (26:43):
His nephew likes.
Speaker 1 (26:46):
His neview will not be with him long, he tells
his provision dealers, and so must be petted and made
much of. While out on his hospitable preparations, he looks
in on mister Sapsey and mentions that dear ned and
that inflammable young spark of mister Chris Sparkle's are to
(27:06):
dine at the Gatehouse to day and make up their difference.
Mister Sapsey is by no means friendly towards the inflammable
young spark. He says that his complexion is un English.
And when mister Sapsey has once declared anything to be
un English, he considers that thing everlastingly sunk in the
(27:29):
bottomless pit. John Jasper is truly sorry to hear mister
Sapsey speak thus, for he knows right well that mister
Sapsy never speaks without a meaning, and that he has
a very subtle trick of being right. Mister Sapsey, by
a very remarkable coincidence, is of exactly that opinion. Mister
(27:54):
Jasper is in beautiful voice this day, in the pathetic
supplication to have his heart incline to keep this law.
He quite astonishes his fellows by his melodious power. He
has never sung difficult music with such skill and harmony
as in this day's anthem. His nervous temperament is occasionally
(28:15):
prone to take difficult music a little too quickly. To day,
his time is perfect. These results are probably attained through
a grand composure of the spirits. The mere mechanism of
his throat is a little tender, for he wears both
with his singing robe and with his ordinary dress, a
(28:36):
large black scarf of close woven silk slung loosely round
his neck. But his composure is so noticeable that mister
Chrisparkle speaks of it as they come out from Vespers.
I must thank you, Jasper, for the pleasure with which
I have heard you to day. Beautiful, delightful. You could
(29:01):
not have so outdone yourself, I hope without being wonderfully well.
Speaker 2 (29:07):
I am wonderfully well.
Speaker 1 (29:10):
Nothing unequal, says the minor cannon, with the smooth motion
of his hand. Nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided, All
thoroughly done in a masterful manner, with perfect self command.
Thank you, I hope. So, if it is not too
(29:31):
much to say, one would think, Jasper, that you have
been trying a new medicine for that occasional indisposition of yours. No, really,
that's well observed, for I have then stick to it,
my good fellow, says mister Chris Sparkle, clapping him on
(29:52):
the shoulder with friendly encouragement. Stick to it, I will
I conquer atulate you, mister Crisparkle, pursues as they come
out of the cathedral. On all accounts, thank you again.
I will walk round the corner with you if you
(30:12):
don't object. I have plenty of time before my company come,
and I want to say a word to you which
I think you will not be displeased to hear.
Speaker 3 (30:25):
What is it?
Speaker 1 (30:26):
Well, we were speaking the other evening of my black humors.
Mister Chris Sparkle's face falls and he shakes his head deploringly.
I said, you know that I should make you an
antidote to those black humors. And you said you hoped
(30:49):
I would consign them to the flames. And I hope,
and I still hope, so Jasper with the best reason
in the world, I mean to burn this year's diary
at the year's end because you, mister Chrisparkle brightens greatly
as he thus begins. You anticipate me because I feel
(31:15):
that I have been out of sorts, gloomy, bilious, brain oppressed,
whatever it may be. You said I had been exaggerative,
so I have. Mister Chrisparkle's brightened face brightened still more.
I couldn't see it then because I was out of sorts,
(31:38):
but I am in a healthy estate now, and I
acknowledge it with genuine pleasure. I made a great deal
of a very little. That's the fact it does me good,
cries mister Chrisparkle. To hear you say it, a man
(31:59):
leading a man snotanous life. Jasper proceeds and, getting his
nerves or his stomach out of order, dwells upon an
idea until it loses its proportions. That was my case
with the idea in question. So I shall burn the
(32:19):
evidence of my case when the book is full, and
begin the next volume with a clearer vision. This is better,
says mister Chris Sparkle, stopping at the steps of his
own door to shake hands, than I could have hoped.
Why naturally returns Jasper. You have but little reason to
(32:43):
hope that I should become more like yourself. You are
always training yourself to be mind and body as clear
as crystal, and you always are and never change, whereas
I am a muddy, solitary.
Speaker 2 (33:00):
Moping weed.
Speaker 1 (33:03):
However, I have got over that mope. Shall I wait
while you ask if mister Nevill has left for my place.
If not, he and I may walk round together, I think,
says mister Chris Sparkle, opening the entrance door with his key,
that he left some time ago, at least I know
(33:25):
he left, and I think he has not come back.
But I'll inquire. You won't come in.
Speaker 2 (33:33):
My company?
Speaker 1 (33:34):
Wait, said Jasper with a smile. The miner cannon disappears
and in a few moments returns as he thought, mister
Nevill has not come back. Indeed, as he remembers now,
mister Neville said he will probably go straight.
Speaker 2 (33:50):
To the gatehouse.
Speaker 1 (33:53):
Bad manners in a host says Jasper, my company will
be there before me. What will you bet that I
don't find my company embracing I will bet, or I
would if I ever bet, returns mister Chrisparkle that your
company will have a gay entertainer this evening. Jasper nods
(34:17):
and laughs.
Speaker 2 (34:17):
Good night.
Speaker 1 (34:19):
He retraces his steps to the cathedral door and turns
down past it to the gatehouse. He sings in a
low voice and with delicate expression as he walks along.
It still seems as if a false note were not
within his power to night, and as if nothing could
hurry or retard him. Arriving thus under the arched entrance
(34:43):
of his dwelling, he pauses for an instant in the
shelter to pull off that great black scarf and bang
it in a loop upon his arm. For that brief
time his face is knitted and stern, but it immediately
clears as he resumes his singing and his way, and
(35:04):
so he goes up the Poston stair. The red light
burns steadily all the evening in the lighthouse. On the
margin of the tide of busy life. Soften sounds and
hum of traffic pass it and flow on irregularly into
the lonely precincts, but very little else goes by, save
(35:26):
violent rushes of wind. It comes on to blow a
boisterous gale. The precincts are never particularly well lighted, but
the strong blasts of wind blowing out many of the
lamps in some instances, shattering the frames too, and bringing
the glass rattling to the ground. They are unusually dark
(35:47):
to night. The darkness is augmented and confused by flying
dust from the earth, dry twigs from the trees, and
great ragged fragments from the rook's nests up in the tower.
The trees themselves so toss and creak as this tangible
part of the darkness madly whirls about that they seem
(36:09):
in a peril of being torn out of the earth,
while ever and again in a crack and a rushing
fall denote that some large branch has yielded to the storm.
Not such power of wind has blown for many a
winter night. Chimneys topple in the streets, and people hold
to posts and corners and to one another to keep
(36:33):
themselves upon their feet. The violent rushes abate, not but
increase in frequency and fury, until at midnight, when the
streets are empty, the storm goes thundering along them, rattling
at all the latches and tearing at all the shutters,
as if warning the people to get up and fly
(36:54):
with it, rather than have the roofs brought down upon
their brains. Till the red light burns steadily. Nothing is
steady but the red light. All through the night. The
wind blows and abates, not but early in the morning,
when there is barely enough light in the east to
(37:15):
dim the stars. It begins to lull from that time
with occasional wild charges, Like a wounded monster dying, it
drops and sinks, and at full daylight it is dead.
It is then seen that the hands of the cathedral
clock are torn off, that lead from the roof has
(37:36):
been stripped away, rolled up, and blown into the close,
and that some great stones have been displaced upon the
summit of the Great Tower. Christmas morning, though it be
it is necessary to send workmen up to ascertain the
extent of the damage done. These lead by girdles go aloft,
(37:58):
while mister Tope and a crowd of early idlers gathered
down in Minor Cannon corner, shading their eyes and watching
for their appearance up there. This cluster is suddenly broken
and put aside by the hands of mister Jasper. All
the gazing eyes are brought down to the earth by
his loudly inquiring of mister Chris Sparkle at an open window.
Speaker 2 (38:23):
Where is my neview? He has not been here? Is
he not with you?
Speaker 3 (38:30):
No?
Speaker 1 (38:31):
He went down to the river last night with mister
Neville to look at the storm and has not been back.
Call mister Neville. He left this morning, early, left this
morning early. Let me in, Let me in. There is
no more looking up at the tower. Now all the
(38:54):
assembled eyes are turned on mister Jasper, white, half dressed.
Speaker 2 (39:00):
Panting.
Speaker 1 (39:02):
And clinging to the rail before the minor Cannon's house.
End of Chapter fourteen, read by all Enchant of Tunbridge
in Kent, England, during the summer of two thousand and eight.
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