Читать книгу Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas - Charles James Lever - Страница 10

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It was still dark, on a drizzling morning in January, as we reached the Capital; the lamps shone faintly through the foggy, wet atmosphere; and the gloom was deepened as we entered the narrow streets at the west of the city. A few glimmering lights from five-stories high, showed where some early riser was awaking to his daily toil; while here and there, some rough-coated policeman stood at the corner of a street to be rained on; except these, no sign of living thing appeared; and I own the whole aspect was a sad damper to the ardor of that enthusiasm which had often pictured the great metropolis as some gorgeous fairy-land.

The carriage stopped twice, to set down two of the travellers, in obscure dingy streets, and then I heard Mr. Lyndsay say, “To the College;” and on we went through a long labyrinth of narrow lanes and thoroughfares, which gradually widened out into more spacious streets, and at length arrived at a great building, whose massive gates slowly opened to receive, and then solemnly closed after us. We now stood in a spacious quadrangle, silent and noiseless as a church at midnight.

Mr. Lyndsay hastily descended, and ordering me to carry in some of the baggage, I followed him into a large scantily furnished room, beyond which was a bedchamber, of like accommodation. “This is my home, Con,” said he, with a melancholy attempt at a smile; “and here,” said he, leading me to a small one-windowed room on the opposite side, “here is yours.” A bed, of that humble kind called a stretcher, placed against one wall, and a large chest for holding coals against the other, a bottomless chair, and a shoe-brush with very scanty bristles, constituted the entire furniture.

It was some time after all the luggage was removed before Mr. Lyndsay could get rid of the postilion; like all poor men in a like predicament, he had to bargain and reason and remonstrate, submitting to many a mortification, and enduring many a sore pang, at the pitiless ribaldry which knows nothing so contemptible as poverty; at last, after various reflections on the presumption of people who travel and cannot afford it, on their vanity, self-conceit, and so forth, the fellow departed, with what my ears assured me was no contemptible share of my poor master's purse.

I was sitting alone in my den during this scene, not wishing by my presence to add anything to his mortification; and, now all was still and noiseless, I waited for some time expecting to be called—to be told of some trifling service to execute, or, at least, to be spoken to; but no, not a sound, not a murmur, was to be heard.

My own thoughts were none of the brightest: the ceaseless rain that streamed against the little window, and shut out all prospect of what was without; the cold and cheerless chamber and the death-like silence were like lead upon my heart.

I had often, in my reveries at home, fancied that all who were lifted above the cottier in life must have neither care nor sorrow; that real want was unknown, save in their class; and that all afflictions of those more highly placed were of a character too trifling to be deemed serious; and now suddenly there came to me the thought, What if every one had his share of grief? I vow, the very suspicion thrilled through me, and I sat still, dwelling on the sad theme with deep intensity.

As I sat thus, a sigh, low, but distinct, came from the adjoining chamber. I suddenly remembered my young master, and crept noiselessly to the door; it stood ajar, and I could see in, and mark everything well. He was sitting at a table covered with books and writing materials; a single candle threw its yellow glare over the whole, and lit up with a sickly tint the travel-worn and tired features of the youth.

As I looked, he leaned his forehead down upon his arm, and seemed either overcome by sorrow or fatigue; when suddenly a deep-booming bell sent forth a solemn peal, and made the very chamber vibrate with its din. Lyndsay started at the sound; a kind of shudder, like a convulsive throe, shook his limbs; and sitting up on his seat, he pushed back the falling hair from his eyes, and again addressed himself to his book. The heavy tolling sounds seemed now no longer to distract, but rather to nerve him to greater efforts, for he read on with an intense persistence; turning from volume to volume, and repeatedly noting down on the paper as he read.

Of a sudden the bell ceased, and Lyndsay arose from the table and passed into the bedroom, from which he almost instantaneously reappeared, dressed in his cap and gown—a new and curious costume in my eyes, but which at the time was invested with a deep, mysterious interest to me.

I retired silently now to my room, and saw him pass out into the wide court. I hastened to look out. Already some hundred others in similar costume were assembled there, and the buzz of voices and the sound of many feet were a pleasant relief to the desert-like silence of the court as I had seen it before. The change was, however, of a very brief duration; in less than a minute the whole assemblage moved off and entered a great building, whose heavy door closed on them with a deep bang, and all was still once more.

I now set myself to think by what small services I could render myself acceptable to my young master. I arranged the scanty furniture into a resemblance, faint enough, certainly, to comfort, and made a cheerful fire with the remnant of the roomy coal-box. This done, I proceeded to put his clothes in order, and actually astonished myself with the skill I seemed to possess in my new walk. An intense curiosity to know what was going on without led me frequently to the door which led into the court; but I profited little by this step. The only figures which met my eye were now and then some elderly personage clad in his academic robes, gravely wending towards the “Hall,” and the far less imposing cries of some “college women,” as the hags are called who officiate as the University housemaids.

It was at one of these visits that suddenly I heard the great door of the “Hall” burst open with a crash, and immediately down the steps poured the black tide of figures, talking and laughing in one multifarious din that seemed to fill the very air. Cautiously withdrawing, I closed the door, and retired; but scarcely had I reached my room, when young Lyndsay passed through to his own chamber: his cheek was flushed, and his eyes sparkled with animation, and his whole air and gesture indicated great excitement.

Having removed his cravat, and bathed his temples with cold water, he once more sat down before his books, and was soon so immersed in study as not to hear my footsteps as I entered.

I stood uncertain, and did not dare to interrupt him for some minutes; the very intensity of his application awed me. Indeed, I believe I should have retired without a word, had he not accidentally looked up and beheld me. “Eh!—what!—how is this?” cried he, endeavoring to recall his mind from the themes before him; “I had forgotten you, my poor boy, and you have had no breakfast.”

“And you, sir?” said I, in reality more interested for him than myself.

“Take this, Con,” said he, not heeding my remark, and giving me a piece of silver from his purse; “get yourself something to eat: to-morrow, or next day, we shall arrange these things better; for at this moment my head has its load of other cares.”

“But will you not eat something?” said I; “you have not tasted food since we met.”

“We are expected to breakfast with our tutor on the examination mornings, Con,” said he; and then, not seeming to feel the inconsistency of his acts with his words, he again bent his head over the table, and lost all remembrance of either me or our conversation. I stole noiselessly away, and sallied forth to seek my breakfast where I could.

There were few loiterers in the court; a stray student hurrying past, or an old slipshod hag of hideous aspect and squalid misery, were all I beheld; but both classes' bestowed most unequivocal signs of surprise at my country air and appearance, and to my question, where I could buy some bread and milk, answers the most cynical or evasive were returned. While I was yet endeavoring to obtain from one of the ancient maidens alluded to some information on the point, two young men, with velvet caps and velvet capes on their gowns, stopped to listen.

“I say, friend,” cried one, seemingly the younger of the two, “when did you enter?”

“This morning,” said I, taking the question literally.

“Do you hear that, Ward?” continued he to his companion. “What place did you take?”

“I was on the roof,” replied I, supposing the quaere bore allusion to the mode of my coming.

“Quite classical,” said the elder, a tall, good-looking youth; “you came as did Caesar into Gaul, 'summâ diligentiâ,' on the top of the Diligence.”

They both laughed heartily at a very threadbare college joke, and were about to move away, when the younger, turning round, said, “Have you matriculated?”

“No, sir—what's that?”

“It's a little ceremony,” interposed the elder, “necessary, and indeed indispensable, to every one coming to reside within these walls. You've heard of Napoleon, I dare say?”

“Bony, is it?” asked I, giving the more familiar title by which he was better known to my circle of acquaintance.

“Exactly,” said he, “Bony. Now Bony used to call a first battle the baptism of Glory; so may we style, in a like way, Matriculation to be the baptism of Knowledge. You understand me, eh?”

“Not all out,” said I, “but partly.”

“We 'll illustrate by a diagram, then.”

“I say, Bob,” whispered the younger, “let us find out with whom he is;” then, turning to me, said, “Where do you live here?”

“Yonder,” said I, “where that lamp is.”

“Mr. Lyndsay's chambers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right,” cried the younger; “we'll show you the secret of matriculation.”

“Come along, my young friend,” said the elder, in the same pompous tone he had used at first, “let us teach you to drink of that Pierian spring which 'Labitur et labetur in omne volubile oevum.'”

I believe it was the fluent use of the unknown tongue which at once allayed any mistrust I might have felt of my new acquaintances; however that may be, there was something so imposing in the high-sounding syllables that I yielded at once, and followed them into another and more remote quadrangle.

Here they stopped under a window, while one gave a loud whistle with his fingers to his lips; the sash was immediately thrown up, and a handsome, merry-looking face protruded. “Eh!—what!—Taylor and Ward,” cried he, “what's going on?”

“Come down, Burton; here's a youth for matriculation,” cried the younger.

“All right,” cried the other. “There are eight of us here at breakfast;” and disappearing from the window, he speedily descended to the court, followed by a number of others, who gravely saluted me with a deep bow, and solemnly welcomed me within the classic precincts of old Trinity.

“Domine—what's his name?” said the young gentleman called Burton.

“Cregan, sir,” replied I, already flattered by the attentions I was receiving—“Con Cregan, sir.”

“Well, Domine Cregan, come along with us, and never put faith in a junior sophister. You know what a junior sophister is, I trust?”

“No, sir.”

“Tell him, Ward.”

“A junior sophister, Mr. Cregan, is one who, being in 'Locke' all day, is very often locked out all night, and who observes the two rubrics of the statute 'de vigilantibus et lucentibus,' by extinguishing both lamps and watchmen.”

“Confound your pedantry!” broke in Burton; “a junior soph, is a man in his ninth examination.”

“The terror of the porters,” cried one.

“The Dean's milch cow,” added another.

“A credit to his parents, but a debtor to his tailor,” broke in a third.

“Seldom at Greek lecture, but no fellow commoner at the Currah,” lisped out Taylor; and by this time we had reached a narrow lane, flanked on one side by a tall building of gloomy exterior, and on the other by an angle of the square.

“Here we are, Mr. Cregan; as the poet says, 'this is the place, the centre of the wood.'”

“Gentlemen sponsors, to your functions!” Scarce were the words out, when I was seized by above half a dozen pair of strong hands; my legs were suddenly jerked upwards, and, notwithstanding my attempts to resist, I was borne along for some yards at a brisk pace. I was already about to forbear my struggles, and suffer them to play their—as I deemed it—harmless joke in quiet, when straight in front of me I saw an enormous pump, at which, and by a double handle, Burton and another were working away like sailors on a wreck; throwing forth above a yard off, a jet of water almost enough to turn a mill.

The whole plot now revealed itself to me at once, and I commenced a series of kickings and plungings that almost left me free. My enemies, however, were too many and too powerful; on they bore me, and in a perfect storm of blows, lunges, writhings, and boundings, they held me fast under the stream, which played away in a frothy current over my head, face, chest, and legs—for, with a most laudable impartiality, they moved me from side to side till not a dry spot remained on my whole body.

I shouted, I yelled, I swore, and screamed for aid, but all in vain; and my diabolical tormentors seemed to feel no touch of weariness in their inhuman pastime; while I, exhausted by my struggles and the continual rush of the falling water, almost ceased to resist; when suddenly a cry of “The Dean! the Dean!” was heard; my bearers let go their hold—down I tumbled upon the flags, with barely consciousness enough to see the scampering crew flying in all directions, while a host of porters followed them in hot pursuit.

“Who are you, sir? What brought you here?” said a tall old gentleman I at once surmised to be the Dean.

“The devil himself, I believe!” replied I, rising with difficulty under the weight of my soaked garments.

“Turn him outside the gates, Hawkins!” said the Dean to a porter behind him. “Take care, too, he never reenters them.”

“I 'll take good care of it, sir,” said the fellow, as with one strong hand on my collar, and the closed fingers of the other administering gentle admonitions to the back of my head, he proceeded to march me before him through the square; revolving as I went thoughts which, certes, evinced not one sentiment of gratitude to the learned university.

My college career was, therefore, more brief than brilliant, for I was “expelled” on the very same day that I “entered.”

With the “world before me where to choose,” I stepped out into the classic precincts of College Green, fully assured of one fact, that “Town” could scarcely treat me more harshly than “Gown.” I felt, too, that I had passed through a kind of ordeal; that my ducking, like the ceremonies on crossing the line, was a kind of masonic ordinance, indispensable to my opening career; and that thus I had got successfully through one at least of my “trials.”

A species of filial instinct suggested to me the propriety of seeing Newgate, where my father lay, awaiting the arrival of the convict ship that was to convey him to Van Diemen's Land; and thither I accordingly repaired, not to enter, but simply to gaze, with a very awestruck imagination, upon that double-barred cage of human ferocity and crime.

In itself the circumstance has nothing worthy of record, nor should I mention it, save that to the deep impression of that morning do I owe a certain shrinking horror of all great crime; that impression has been of incalculable benefit to me through life.

I strained my eyes to mark if, amid the faces closely pressed against the strong bars, I could recognize that of my parent, but in vain; there was a terrible sameness in their features, as if the individual had sunk in the criminal, that left all discrimination difficult; and so I turned away satisfied that I had done a son's part most completely.