Tales by George Crabbe Part 14

Now desperate grown, weak, hara.s.s'd, and afraid, From new allies he sought for doubtful aid; To thought itself he strove to bid adieu, And from devotions to diversions flew; He took a poor domestic for a slave (Though avarice grieved to see the price he gave); Upon his board, once frugal, press'd a load Of viands rich the appet.i.te to goad; The long protracted meal, the sparkling cup, Fought with his gloom, and kept his courage up: Soon as the morning came, there met his eyes Accounts of wealth, that he might reading rise; To profit then he gave some active hours, Till food and wine again should renovate his powers: Yet, spite of all defence, of every aid, The watchful Foe her close attention paid; In every thoughtful moment on she press'd, And gave at once her dagger to his breast; He waked at midnight, and the fears of sin, As waters through a bursten dam, broke in; Nay, in the banquet, with his friends around, When all their cares and half their crimes were drown'd, Would some chance act awake the slumbering fear, And care and crime in all their strength appear: The news is read, a guilty victim swings, And troubled looks proclaim the bosom-stings: Some pair are wed; this brings the wife in view; And some divorced; this shows the parting too: Nor can he hear of evil word or deed, But they to thought, and thought to sufferings lead.

Such was his life--no other changes came, The hurrying day, the conscious night the same; The night of horror--when he starting cried To the poor startled sinner at his side, "Is it in law? am I condemned to die?

Let me escape!--I'll give--oh! let me fly - How! but a dream!--no judges! dungeon! chain!

Or these grim men!--I will not sleep again - Wilt thou, dread being! thus thy promise keep?

Day is thy time--and wilt thou murder sleep?

Sorrow and want repose, and wilt thou come, Nor give one hour of pure untroubled gloom?

"Oh! Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend, Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend; But if he will thy friendly checks forego, Thou art, oh? woe for me, his deadliest foe?"

TALE XV.

ADVICE; OR THE 'SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST.

His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports - And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration.

SHAKESPEARE, Henry V.

I will converse with iron-witted fools, With unrespective boys: none are for me, Who look into me with considerate eyes.

Richard III.

You cram these words into mine ears, against The stomach of my sense.

Tempest.

A wealthy Lord of far-extended land Had all that pleased him placed at his command; Widow'd of late, but finding much relief In the world's comforts, he dismiss'd his grief; He was by marriage of his daughters eased, And knew his sons could marry if they pleased; Meantime in travel he indulged the boys, And kept no spy nor partner of his joys.

These joys, indeed, were of the grosser kind, That fed the cravings of an earthly mind; A mind that, conscious of its own excess, Felt the reproach his neighbours would express.

Long at th' indulgent board he loved to sit, Where joy was laughter, and profaneness wit; And such the guest and manners of the hall, No wedded lady on the 'Squire would call: Here reign'd a Favourite, and her triumph gain'd O'er other favourites who before had reign'd; Reserved and modest seemed the nymph to be, Knowing her lord was charm'd with modesty; For he, a sportsman keen, the more enjoy'd, The greater value had the thing destroyed.

Our 'Squire declared, that from a wife released, He would no more give trouble to a Priest; Seem'd it not, then, ungrateful and unkind That he should trouble from the priesthood find?

The Church he honour'd, and he gave the due And full respect to every son he knew; But envied those who had the luck to meet A gentle pastor, civil and discreet; Who never bold and hostile sermon penned, To wound a sinner, or to shame a friend; One whom no being either shunn'd or fear'd: Such must be loved wherever they appear'd.

Not such the stern old Rector of the time, Who soothed no culprit, and who spared no crime; Who would his fears and his contempt express For irreligion and licentiousness; Of him our Village Lord, his guests among, By speech vindictive proved his feelings stung.

"Were he a bigot," said the 'Squire, "whose zeal Condemn'd us all, I should disdain to feel: But when a man of parts, in college train'd, Prates of our conduct, who would not be pain'd?

While he declaims (where no one dares reply) On men abandon'd, grov'ling in the sty (Like beasts in human shape) of shameless luxury.

Yet with a patriot's zeal I stand the shock Of vile rebuke, example to his flock: But let this Rector, thus severe and proud, Change his wide surplice for a narrow shroud, And I will place within his seat a youth, Train'd by the Graces to explain the Truth; Then shall the flock with gentle hand be led, By wisdom won, and by compa.s.sion fed."

This purposed Teacher was a sister's son, Who of her children gave the priesthood one; And she had early train'd for this employ The pliant talents of her college-boy: At various times her letters painted all Her brother's views--the manners of the Hall; The rector's harshness, and the mischief made By chiding those whom preachers should persuade: This led the youth to views of easy life, A friendly patron, an obliging wife; His t.i.the, his glebe, the garden, and the steed, With books as many as he wish'd to read.

All this accorded with the Uncle's will: He loved a priest compliant, easy, still; Sums he had often to his favourite sent, "To be," he wrote, "in manly freedom spent; For well it pleased his spirit to a.s.sist An honest lad, who scorn'd a Methodist."

His mother, too, in her maternal care, Bade him of canting hypocrites beware: Who from his duties would his heart seduce, And make his talents of no earthly use.

Soon must a trial of his worth be made - The ancient priest is to the tomb convey'd; And the Youth summon'd from a serious friend, His guide and host, new duties to attend.

Three months before, the nephew and the 'Squire Saw mutual worth to praise and to admire; And though the one too early left his wine, The other still exclaim'd--"My boy will s.h.i.+ne: Yes, I perceive that he will soon improve, And I shall form the very guide I love; Decent abroad, he will my name defend, And when at home, be social and unbend."

The plan was specious, for the mind of James Accorded duly with his uncle's schemes; He then aspired not to a higher name Than sober clerks of moderate talents claim; Gravely to pray, and rev'rendly to preach, Was all he saw, good youth! within his reach: Thus may a ma.s.s of sulphur long abide, Cold and inert, but, to the flame applied, Kindling it blazes, and consuming turns To smoke and poison, as it boils and burns.

James, leaving college, to a Preacher stray'd; What call'd he knew not--but the call obey'd; Mild, idle, pensive, ever led by those Who could some specious novelty propose; Humbly he listen'd, while the preacher dwelt On touching themes, and strong emotions felt; And in this night was fix'd that pliant will To one sole point, and he retains it still.

At first his care was to himself confined; Himself a.s.sured, he gave it to mankind: His zeal grew active--honest, earnest zeal, And comfort dealt to him, he long'd to deal; He to his favourite preacher now withdrew, Was taught to teach, instructed to subdue, And train'd for ghostly warfare, when the call Of his new duties reach'd him from the Hall.

Now to the 'Squire, although alert and stout, Came unexpected an attack of gout; And the grieved patron felt such serious pain, He never thought to see a church again: Thrice had the youthful rector taught the crowd, Whose growing numbers spoke his powers aloud, Before the patron could himself rejoice (His pain still lingering) in the general voice; For he imputed all this early fame To graceful manner and the well-known name; And to himself a.s.sumed a share of praise, For worth and talents he was pleased to raise.

A month had flown, and with it fled disease; What pleased before, began again to please; Emerging daily from his chamber's gloom, He found his old sensations hurrying home; Then call'd his nephew, and exclaim'd, "My boy, Let us again the balm of life enjoy; The foe has left me, and I deem it right, Should he return, to arm me for the fight."

Thus spoke the 'Squire, the favourite nymph stood by, And view'd the priest with insult in her eye; She thrice had heard him when he boldly spoke On dangerous points, and fear'd he would revoke: For James she ioved not--and her manner told, "This warm affection will be quickly cold:"

And still she fear'd impression might be made Upon a subject nervous and decay'd; She knew her danger, and had no desire Of reformation in the gallant 'Squire; And felt an envious pleasure in her breast To see the rector daunted and distress'd.

Again the Uncle to the youth applied - "Cast, my dear lad, that cursed gloom aside: There are for all things time and place; appear Grave in your pulpit, and be merry here: Now take your wine--for woes a sure resource, And the best prelude to a long discourse."

James half obey'd, but cast an angry eye On the fair la.s.s, who still stood watchful by; Resolving thus, "I have my fears--but still I must perform my duties, and I will: No love, no interest, shall my mind control; Better to lose my comforts than my soul; Better my uncle's favour to abjure, Than the upbraidings of my heart endure."

He took his gla.s.s, and then address'd the 'Squire: "I feel not well, permit me to retire."

The 'Squire conceived that the ensuing day Gave him these terrors for the grand essay, When he himself should this young preacher try, And stand before him with observant eye; This raised compa.s.sion in his manly breast, And he would send the rector to his rest; Yet first, in soothing voice--"A moment stay, And these suggestions of a friend obey; Treasure these hints, if fame or peace you prize, - The bottle emptied, I shall close my eyes.

"On every priest a twofold care attends, To prove his talents, and insure his friends: First, of the first--your stores at once produce; And bring your reading to its proper use: On doctrines dwell, and every point enforce By quoting much, the scholar's sure resource; For he alone can show us on each head What ancient schoolmen and sage fathers said.

No worth has knowledge, if you fail to show How well you studied and how much you know: Is faith your subject, and you judge it right On theme so dark to cast a ray of light, Be it that faith the orthodox maintain, Found in the rubric, what the creeds explain; Fail not to show us on this ancient faith (And quote the pa.s.sage) what some martyr saith: Dwell not one moment on a faith that shocks The minds of men sincere and orthodox; That gloomy faith, that robs the wounded mind Of all the comfort it was wont to find From virtuous acts, and to the soul denies Its proper due for alms and charities; That partial faith, that, weighing sins alone, Lets not a virtue for a fault atone; That partial faith, that would our tables clear, And make one dreadful Lent of all the year; And cruel too, for this is faith that rends Confiding beauties from protecting friends; A faith that all embracing, what a gloom Deep and terrific o'er the land would come!

What scenes of horror would that time disclose!

No sight but misery, and no sound but woes; Your n.o.bler faith, in loftier style convey'd, Shall be with praise and admiration paid: On points like these your hearers all admire A preacher's depth, and nothing more require.

Shall we a studious youth to college send, That every clown his words may comprehend?

'Tis for your glory, when your hearers own Your learning matchless, but the sense unknown.

"Thus honour gain'd, learn now to gain a friend, And the sure way is--never to offend; For, James, consider--what your neighbours do Is their own business, and concerns not you: Shun all resemblance to that forward race Who preach of sins before a sinner's face; And seem as if they overlook'd a pew, Only to drag a failing man in view: Much should I feel, when groaning in disease, If a rough hand upon my limb should seize; But great my anger, if this hand were found The very doctor's who should make it sound: So feel our minds, young Priest, so doubly feel, When hurt by those whose office is to heal.

"Yet of our duties you must something tell, And must at times on sin and frailty dwell; Here you may preach in easy, flowing style, How errors cloud us, and how sins defile: Here bring persuasive tropes and figures forth, To show the poor that wealth is nothing worth; That they, in fact, possess an ample share Of the world's good, and feel not half its care: Give them this comfort, and, indeed, my gout In its full vigour causes me some doubt; And let it always, for your zeal, suffice That vice you combat, in the abstract--vice: The very captious will be quiet then; We all confess we are offending men: In las.h.i.+ng sin, of every stroke beware, For sinners feel, and sinners you must spare; In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves; But name th' offence, and you absolve the rest, And point the dagger at a single breast.

"Yet are there sinners of a cla.s.s so low, That you with safety may the lash bestow; Poachers, and drunkards, idle rogues, who feed At others' cost, a mark'd correction need: And all the better sort, who see your zeal, Will love and reverence for their pastor feel; Reverence for one who can inflict the smart, And love, because he deals them not a part.

"Remember well what love and age advise: A quiet rector is a parish prize, Who in his learning has a decent pride; Who to his people is a gentle guide; Who only hints at failings that he sees; Who loves his glebe, his patron, and his ease, And finds the way to fame and profit is to please."

The Nephew answer'd not, except a sigh And look of sorrow might be term'd reply; He saw the fearful hazard of his state, And held with truth and safety strong debate; Nor long he reason'd, for the zealous youth Resolved, though timid, to profess the truth; And though his friend should like a lion roar, Truth would he preach, and neither less nor more.

The bells had toll'd--arrived the time of prayer, The flock a.s.sembled, and the 'Squire was there: And now can poet sing, or proseman say, The disappointment of that trying day?

As he who long had train'd a favourite steed, (Whose blood and bone gave promise of his speed,) Sanguine with hope, he runs with partial eye O'er every feature, and his bets are high; Of triumph sure, he sees the rivals start, And waits their coming with exulting heart; Forestalling glory, with impatient glance, And sure to see his conquering steed advance: The conquering steed advances--luckless day!

A rival's Herod bears the prize away, Nor second his, nor third, but lagging last, With hanging head he comes, by all surpa.s.s'd: Surprise and wrath the owner's mind inflame, Love turns to scorn, and glory ends in shame; - Thus waited, high in hope, the partial 'Squire, Eager to hear, impatient to admire; When the young Preacher, in the tones that find A certain pa.s.sage to the kindling mind, With air and accent strange, impressive, sad, Alarm'd the judge--he trembled for the lad; But when the text announced the power of grace, Amazement scowl'd upon his clouded face At this degenerate son of his ill.u.s.trious race; Staring he stood, till hope again arose That James might well define the words he chose: For this he listen'd--but, alas! he found The preacher always on forbidden ground.

And now the Uncle left the hated pew, With James, and James's conduct, in his view; A long farewell to all his favourite schemes!

For now no crazed fanatic's frantic dreams Seem'd vile as James's conduct, or as James: All he had long derided, hated, fear'd, This, from the chosen youth, the uncle heard; - The needless pause, the fierce disorder'd air, The groan for sin, the vehemence of prayer, Gave birth to wrath, that, in a long discourse Of grace triumphant, rose to fourfold force: He found his thoughts despised, his rules transgress'd, And while the anger kindled in his breast, The pain must be endured that could not be expressed: Each new idea more inflamed his ire, As fuel thrown upon a rising fire: A hearer yet, he sought by threatening sign To ease his heart, and awe the young divine; But James refused those angry looks to meet, Till he dismiss'd his flock, and left his seat: Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame, But fix'd his soul,--his sentiments the same; And therefore wise it seem'd to fly from rage, And seek for shelter in his parsonage: There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find Some comforts left, though not a few resign'd; There, if he lost an erring parent's love, An honest conscience must the cause approve; If the nice palate were no longer fed, The mind enjoy'd delicious thoughts instead; And if some part of earthly good was flown, Still was the t.i.the of ten good farms his own.

Fear now, and discord, in the village reign, The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain; But there is war within, and wisdom pleads in vain.

Now dreads the Uncle, and proclaims his dread, Lest the Boy-priest should turn each rustic head; The certain converts cost him certain woe, The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe: Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke, Now pa.s.s his Honour with a pious look; La.s.ses, who met him once with lively airs, Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers: An old companion, whom he long has loved, By coward fears confess'd his conscience moved; As the third bottle gave its spirit forth, And they bore witness to departing worth, The friend arose, and he too would depart: "Man," said the 'Squire, "thou wert not wont to start; Hast thou attended to that foolish boy, Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?"

Yes, he had listen'd, who had slumber'd long, And was convinced that something must be wrong: But, though affected, still his yielding heart, And craving palate, took the Uncle's part; Wine now oppress'd him, who, when free from wine, Could seldom clearly utter his design; But though by nature and indulgence weak, Yet, half converted, he resolved to speak; And, speaking, own'd, "that in his mind the Youth Had gifts and learning, and that truth was truth: The 'Squire he honour'd, and for his poor part, He hated nothing like a hollow heart: But 'twas a maxim he had often tried, That right was right, and there he would abide; He honoured learning, and he would confess The preacher had his talents--more or less: Why not agree? he thought the young divine Had no such strictness--they might drink and dine; For them sufficient--but he said before That truth was truth, and he would drink no more."

This heard the 'Squire with mix'd contempt and pain; He fear'd the Priest this recreant sot would gain.

The favourite Nymph, though not a convert made, Conceived the man she scorn'd her cause would aid, And when the spirits of her lord were low, The la.s.s presumed the wicked cause to show; "It was the wretched life his Honour led, And would draw vengeance on his guilty head; Their loves (Heav'n knew how dreadfully distressed The thought had made her!) were as yet unbless'd: And till the church had sanction'd"--Here she saw The wrath that forced her trembling to withdraw.

Add to these outward ills some inward light, That showed him all was not correct and right: Though now he less indulged--and to the poor, From day to day, sent alms from door to door; Though he some ease from easy virtues found, Yet conscience told him he could not compound, But must himself the darling sin deny, Change the whole heart,--but here a heavy sigh Proclaim'd, "How vast the toil! and, ah! how weak am I!"

James too has trouble--he divided sees A parish, once harmonious and at ease; With him united are the simply meek, The warm, the sad, the nervous, and the weak; The rest his Uncle's, save the few beside, Who own no doctrine, and obey no guide; With stragglers of each adverse camp, who lend Their aid to both, but each in turn offend.

Though zealous still, yet he begins to feel The heat too fierce that glows in vulgar zeal; With pain he hears his simple friends relate Their week's experience, and their woful state; With small temptation struggling every hour, And bravely battling with the tempting power: His native sense is hurt by strange complaints Of inward motions in these warring saints; Who never cast on sinful bait a look, But they perceive the devil at the hook: Grieved, yet compell'd to smile, he finds it hard Against the blunders of conceit to guard; He sighs to hear the jests his converts cause, He cannot give their erring zeal applause; But finds it inconsistent to condemn The flights and follies he has nursed in them: These, in opposing minds, contempt produce, Or mirth occasion, or provoke abuse; On each momentous theme disgrace they bring, And give to Scorn her poison and her sting.

TALE XVI.

THE CONFIDANT.

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicion?

SHAKESPEARE, Oth.e.l.lo.

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, And given my treasure and my rights in thee To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?

Henry IV.

It is excellent To have a giant's strength, but tyrannous To use it as a giant.

Measure for Measure.

Anna was young and lovely--in her eye The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye: Her shape was slender, and her features small, But graceful, easy, unaffected all: The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed; There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed; For the pure blood that flush'd that rosy cheek Spoke what the heart forbade the tongue to speak, And told the feelings of that heart as well, Nay, with more candour than the tongue could tell.

Though this fair la.s.s had with the wealthy dwelt, Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt; And, at the distant hint or dark surmise, The blood into the mantling cheek would rise.

Now Anna's station frequent terrors wrought, In one whose looks were with such meaning fraught, For on a Lady, as an humble friend, It was her painful office to attend.

Her duties here were of the usual kind - And some the body hara.s.s'd, some the mind: Billets she wrote, and tender stories read, To make the Lady sleepy in her bed; She play'd at whist, but with inferior skill, And heard the summons as a call to drill; Music was ever pleasant till she play'd At a request that no request convey'd; The Lady's tales with anxious looks she heard, For she must witness what her Friend averr'd; The Lady's taste she must in all approve, Hate whom she hated, whom she lov'd must love; These, with the various duties of her place, With care she studied, and perform'd with grace: She veil'd her troubles in a mask of ease, And show'd her pleasure was a power to please.