Murad the Unlucky and Other Tales

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Murad the Unlucky and Other Tales


"Think no more of the sultana's looking-glass or of the broken vase,"
exclaimed the sultan, throwing aside his merchant's habit, and showing
beneath it his own imperial vest. "Saladin, I rejoice to have heard,
from your own lips, the history of your life. I acknowledge, vizier, I
have been in the wrong in our argument," continued the sultan, turning to
his vizier. "I acknowledge that the histories of Saladin the Lucky and
Murad the Unlucky favour your opinion, that prudence has more influence
than chance in human affairs. The success and happiness of Saladin seem
to me to have arisen from his prudence: by that prudence Constantinople
has been saved from flames and from the plague. Had Murad possessed his
brother's discretion, he would not have been on the point of losing his
head, for selling rolls which he did not bake: he would not have been
kicked by a mule or bastinadoed for finding a ring: he would not have
been robbed by one party of soldiers, or shot by another: he would not
have been lost in a desert, or cheated by a Jew: he would not have set a
ship on fire; nor would he have caught the plague, and spread it through
Grand Cairo: he would not have run my sultana's looking-glass through the
body, instead of a robber: he would not have believed that the fate of
his life depended on certain verses on a china vase: nor would he, at
last, have broken this precious talisman, by washing it with hot water.
Henceforward, let Murad the Unlucky be named Murad the Imprudent: let
Saladin preserve the surname he merits, and be henceforth called Saladin
the Prudent."

So spake the sultan, who, unlike the generality of monarchs, could bear
to find himself in the wrong, and could discover his vizier to be in the
right without cutting off his head. History farther informs us that the
sultan offered to make Saladin a pacha, and to commit to him the
government of a province; but, Saladin the Prudent declined this honour,
saying he had no ambition, was perfectly happy in his present situation,
and that, when this was the case, it would be folly to change, because no
one can be more than happy. What farther adventures befell Murad the
Imprudent are not recorded; it is known only that he became a daily
visitor to the Teriaky, and that he died a martyr to the immoderate use
of opium.




THE LIMERICK GLOVES


CHAPTER I


It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn; the bells of Hereford
Cathedral rang, and all the world, smartly dressed, were flocking to
church.

"Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill!--Phoebe! Phoebe! There's the cathedral bell, I
say, and neither of you ready for church, and I a verger," cried Mr.
Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the bottom of his own staircase. "I'm
ready, papa," replied Phoebe; and down she came, looking so clean, so
fresh, and so gay, that her stern father's brows unbent, and he could
only say to her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, "Child, you
ought to have had those gloves on before this time of day."

"Before this time of day!" cried Mrs. Hill, who was now coming downstairs
completely equipped--"before this time of day! She should know better, I
say, than to put on those gloves at all: more especially when going to
the cathedral."

"The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see," replied Mr. Hill.
"But no matter now. It is more fitting that we should be in proper time
in our pew, to set an example, as becomes us, than to stand here talking
of gloves and nonsense."

He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out for the
cathedral; but Phoebe was too busy in drawing on her new gloves, and her
mother was too angry at the sight of them, to accept of Mr. Hill's
courtesy. "What I say is always nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill," resumed the
matron: "but I can see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was it
not I that first gave you a hint of what became of the great dog that we
lost out of our tan-yard last winter? And was it not I who first took
notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral? Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill?"

"But, my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with Phoebe's gloves?"

"Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don't you see that they are Limerick gloves?"

"What of that?" said Mr. Hill, still preserving his composure, as it was
his custom to do as long as he could, when he saw his wife was ruffled.

"What of that, Mr. Hill! why, don't you know that Limerick is in Ireland,
Mr. Hill?"

"With all my heart, my dear."

"Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr. Hill, you would see our
cathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and your own daughter married
to the person that did it; and you a verger, Mr. Hill."

"God forbid!" cried Mr, Hill; and he stopped short and settled his wig.
Presently recovering himself, he added, "But, Mrs. Hill, the cathedral is
not yet blown up; and our Phoebe is not yet married."

"No; but what of that, Mr. Hill? Forewarned is forearmed, as I told you
before your dog was gone; but you would not believe me, and you see how
it turned out in that case; and so it will in this case, you'll see, Mr.
Hill."

"But you puzzle and frighten me out of my wits, Mrs. Hill," said the
verger, again settling his wig. "_In that case and in this case_! I
can't understand a syllable of what you've been saying to me this half-
hour. In plain English, what is there the matter about Phoebe's gloves?"

"In plain English, then, Mr. Hill, since you can understand nothing else,
please to ask your daughter Phoebe who gave her those gloves. Phoebe,
who gave you those gloves?"

"I wish they were burnt," said the husband, whose patience could endure
no longer. "Who gave you those cursed gloves, Phoebe?"

"Papa," answered Phoebe, in a low voice, "they were a present from Mr.
Brian O'Neill."

"The Irish glover!" cried Mr. Hill, with a look of terror.

"Yes," resumed the mother; "very true, Mr. Hill, I assure you. Now, you
see, I had my reasons."

"Take off the gloves directly: I order you, Phoebe," said her father, in
his most peremptory tone. "I took a mortal dislike to that Mr. Brian
O'Neill the first time I ever saw him. He's an Irishman, and that's
enough, and too much for me. Off with the gloves, Phoebe! When I order
a thing, it must be done."

Phoebe seemed to find some difficulty in getting off the gloves, and
gently urged that she could not well go into the cathedral without them.
This objection was immediately removed by her mother's pulling from her
pocket a pair of mittens, which had once been brown, and once been whole,
but which were now rent in sundry places; and which, having been long
stretched by one who was twice the size of Phoebe, now hung in huge
wrinkles upon her well-turned arms.

"But, papa," said Phoebe, "why should we take a dislike to him because he
is an Irishman? Cannot an Irishman be a good man?"

The verger made no answer to this question, but a few seconds after it
was put to him observed that the cathedral bell had just done ringing;
and, as they were now got to the church door, Mrs. Hill, with a
significant look at Phoebe, remarked that it was no proper time to talk
or think of good men, or bad men, or Irishmen, or any men, especially for
a verger's daughter.

We pass over in silence the many conjectures that were made by several of
the congregation concerning the reason why Miss Phoebe Hill should appear
in such a shameful shabby pair of gloves on a Sunday. After service was
ended, the verger went, with great mystery, to examine the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral; and Mrs. Hill repaired, with the grocer's
and the stationer's ladies, to take a walk in the Close, where she
boasted to all her female acquaintance, whom she called her friends, of
her maternal discretion in prevailing upon Mr. Hill to forbid her
daughter Phoebe to wear the Limerick gloves.

In the meantime, Phoebe walked pensively homewards, endeavouring to
discover why her father should take a mortal dislike to a man at first
sight, merely because he was an Irishman: and why her mother had talked
so much of the great dog which had been lost last year out of the tan-
yard; and of the hole under the foundation of the cathedral! "What has
all this to do with my Limerick gloves?" thought she. The more she
thought, the less connection she could perceive between these things: for
as she had not taken a dislike to Mr. Brian O'Neill at first sight,
because he was an Irishman, she could not think it quite reasonable to
suspect him of making away with her father's dog, nor yet of a design to
blow up Hereford Cathedral. As she was pondering upon these matters, she
came within sight of the ruins of a poor woman's house, which a few
months before this time had been burnt down. She recollected that her
first acquaintance with her lover began at the time of this fire; and she
thought that the courage and humanity he showed, in exerting himself to
save this unfortunate woman and her children, justified her notion of the
possibility that an Irishman might be a good man.

The name of the poor woman whose house had been burnt down was Smith: she
was a widow, and she now lived at the extremity of a narrow lane in a
wretched habitation. Why Phoebe thought of her with more concern than
usual at this instant we need not examine, but she did; and, reproaching
herself for having neglected it for some weeks past, she resolved to go
directly to see the widow Smith, and to give her a crown which she had
long had in her pocket, with which she had intended to have bought play
tickets.

It happened that the first person she saw in the poor widow's kitchen was
the identical Mr. O'Neill. "I did not expect to see anybody here but
you, Mrs. Smith," said Phoebe, blushing.

"So much the greater the pleasure of the meeting; to me, I mean, Miss
Hill," said O'Neill, rising, and putting down a little boy, with whom he
had been playing. Phoebe went on talking to the poor woman; and, after
slipping the crown into her hand, said she would call again. O'Neill,
surprised at the change in her manner, followed her when she left the
house, and said, "It would be a great misfortune to me to have done
anything to offend Miss Hill, especially if I could not conceive how or
what it was, which is my case at this present speaking." And as the
spruce glover spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Phoebe's ragged gloves. She
drew them up in vain; and then said, with her natural simplicity and
gentleness, "You have not done anything to offend me, Mr. O'Neill; but
you are some way or other displeasing to my father and mother, and they
have forbid me to wear the Limerick gloves."

"And sure Miss Hill would not be after changing her opinion of her humble
servant for no reason in life but because her father and mother, who have
taken a prejudice against him, are a little contrary."

"No," replied Phoebe; "I should not change my opinion without any reason;
but I have not yet had time to fix my opinion of you, Mr. O'Neill."

"To let you know a piece of my mind, then, my dear Miss Hill," resumed
he, "the more contrary they are, the more pride and joy it would give me
to win and wear you, in spite of 'em all; and if without a farthing in
your pocket, so much the more I should rejoice in the opportunity of
proving to your dear self, and all else whom it may consarn, that Brian
O'Neill is no fortune-hunter, and scorns them that are so narrow-minded
as to think that no other kind of cattle but them there fortune-hunters
can come out of all Ireland. So, my dear Phoebe, now we understand one
another, I hope you will not be paining my eyes any longer with the sight
of these odious brown bags, which are not fit to be worn by any Christian
arms, to say nothing of Miss Hill's, which are the handsomest, without
any compliment, that ever I saw, and, to my mind, would become a pair of
Limerick gloves beyond anything: and I expect she'll show her generosity
and proper spirit by putting them on immediately."

"You expect, sir!" repeated Miss Hill, with a look of more indignation
than her gentle countenance had ever before been seen to assume.
"Expect!" "If he had said hope," thought she, "it would have been
another thing: but expect! what right has he to expect?"

Now Miss Hill, unfortunately, was not sufficiently acquainted with the
Irish idiom to know that to expect, in Ireland, is the same thing as to
hope in England; and, when her Irish admirer said "I expect," he meant
only, in plain English, "I hope." But thus it is that a poor Irishman,
often, for want of understanding the niceties of the English language,
says the rudest when he means to say the civillest things imaginable.

Miss Hill's feelings were so much hurt by this unlucky "I expect" that
the whole of his speech, which had before made some favourable impression
upon her, now lost its effect: and she replied with proper spirit, as she
thought, "You expect a great deal too much, Mr. O'Neill; and more than
ever I gave you reason to do. It would be neither pleasure nor pride to
me to be won and worn, as you were pleased to say, in spite of them all;
and to be thrown, without a farthing in my pocket, upon the protection of
one who expects so much at first setting out.--So I assure you, sir,
whatever you may expect, I shall not put on the Limerick gloves."

Mr. O'Neill was not without his share of pride and proper spirit; nay, he
had, it must be confessed, in common with some others of his countrymen,
an improper share of pride and spirit. Fired by the lady's coldness, he
poured forth a volley of reproaches; and ended by wishing, as he said, a
good morning, for ever and ever, to one who could change her opinion,
point blank, like the weathercock. "I am, miss, your most obedient; and
I expect you'll never think no more of poor Brian O'Neill and the
Limerick gloves."

If he had not been in too great a passion to observe anything, poor Brian
O'Neill would have found out that Phoebe was not a weathercock: but he
left her abruptly, and hurried away, imagining all the while that it was
Phoebe, and not himself, who was in a rage. Thus, to the horseman who is
galloping at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses seem rapidly to
recede, whilst, in reality, they never move from their places. It is he
that flies from them, and not they from him.

On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's daughter, came to pay
Phoebe a morning visit, with face of busy joy.

"So, my dear!" said she: "fine doings in Hereford! But what makes you
look so downcast? To be sure you are invited, as well as the rest of
us."

"Invited where?" cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who could never
endure to hear of an invitation in which she was not included. "Invited
where, pray, Miss Jenny?"

"La! have not you heard? Why, we all took it for granted that you and
Miss Phoebe would have been the first and foremost to have been asked to
Mr. O'Neill's ball."

"Ball!" cried Mrs. Hill; and luckily saved Phoebe, who was in some
agitation, the trouble of speaking. "Why, this is a mighty sudden thing:
I never heard a tittle of it before."

"Well, this is really extraordinary! And, Phoebe, have you not received
a pair of Limerick gloves?"

"Yes, I have," said Phoebe, "but what then? What have my Limerick gloves
to do with the ball?"

"A great deal," replied Jenny. "Don't you know that a pair of Limerick
gloves is, as one may say, a ticket to this ball? for every lady that has
been asked has had a pair sent to her along with the card; and I believe
as many as twenty, besides myself, have been asked this morning."

Jenny then produced her new pair of Limerick gloves, and as she tried
them on, and showed how well they fitted, she counted up the names of the
ladies who, to her knowledge, were to be at this ball. When she had
finished the catalogue, she expatiated upon the grand preparations which
it was said the widow O'Neill, Mr. O'Neill's mother, was making for the
supper, and concluded by condoling with Mrs. Hill for her misfortune in
not having been invited. Jenny took her leave to get her dress in
readiness: "for," added she, "Mr. O'Neill has engaged me to open the ball
in case Phoebe does not go; but I suppose she will cheer up and go, as
she has a pair of Limerick gloves as well as the rest of us."

There was a silence for some minutes after Jenny's departure, which was
broken by Phoebe, who told her mother that, early in the morning, a note
had been brought to her, which she had returned unopened, because she
knew, from the handwriting of the direction, that it came from Mr.
O'Neill.

We must observe that Phoebe had already told her mother of her meeting
with this gentleman at the poor widow's, and of all that had passed
between them afterwards. This openness on her part had softened the
heart of Mrs. Hill, who was really inclined to be good-natured, provided
people would allow that she had more penetration than any one else in
Hereford. She was, moreover, a good deal piqued and alarmed by the idea
that the perfumer's daughter might rival and outshine her own. Whilst
she had thought herself sure of Mr. O'Neill's attachment to Phoebe, she
had looked higher, especially as she was persuaded by the perfumer's lady
to think that an Irishman could not but be a bad match; but now she began
to suspect that the perfumer's lady had changed her opinion of Irishmen,
since she did not object to her own Jenny's leading up the ball at Mr.
O'Neill's.

All these thoughts passed rapidly in the mother's mind, and, with her
fear of losing an admirer for her Phoebe, the value of that admirer
suddenly rose in her estimation. Thus, at an auction, if a lot is going
to be knocked down to a lady who is the only person that has bid for it,
even she feels discontented, and despises that which nobody covets; but
if, as the hammer is falling, many voices answer to the question, "Who
bids more?" then her anxiety to secure the prize suddenly rises, and,
rather than be outbid, she will give far beyond its value.

"Why, child," said Mrs. Hill, "since you have a pair of Limerick gloves;
and since certainly that note was an invitation to us to this ball; and
since it is much more fitting that you should open the ball than Jenny
Brown; and since, after all, it was very handsome and genteel of the
young man to say he would take you without a farthing in your pocket,
which shows that those were misinformed who talked of him as an Irish
adventurer; and since we are not certain 'twas he made away with the dog,
although he said its barking was a great nuisance; there is no great
reason to suppose he was the person who made the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral, or that he could have such a wicked thought
as to blow it up; and since he must be in a very good way of business to
be able to afford giving away four or five guineas' worth of Limerick
gloves, and balls and suppers; and since, after all, it is no fault of
his to be an Irishman, I give it as my vote and opinion, my dear, that
you put on your Limerick gloves and go to this ball; and I'll go and
speak to your father, and bring him round to our opinion, and then I'll
pay the morning visit I owe to the widow O'Neill and make up your quarrel
with Brian. Love quarrels are easy to make up, you know, and then we
shall have things all upon velvet again, and Jenny Brown need not come
with her hypocritical condoling face to us any more."

After running this speech glibly off, Mrs. Hill, without waiting to hear
a syllable from poor Phoebe, trotted off in search of her consort. It
was not, however, quite so easy a task as his wife expected, to bring Mr.
Hill round to her opinion. He was slow in declaring himself of any
opinion; but when once he had said a thing, there was but little chance
of altering his notions. On this occasion Mr. Hill was doubly bound to
his prejudice against our unlucky Irishman; for he had mentioned with
great solemnity at the club which he frequented the grand affair of the
hole under the foundation of the cathedral, and his suspicions that there
was a design to blow it up. Several of the club had laughed at this
idea; others, who supposed that Mr. O'Neill was a Roman Catholic, and who
had a confused notion that a Roman Catholic must be a very wicked,
dangerous being, thought that there might be a great deal in the verger's
suggestions, and observed that a very watchful eye ought to be kept upon
this Irish glover, who had come to settle at Hereford nobody knew why,
and who seemed to have money at command nobody knew how.

The news of this ball sounded to Mr. Hill's prejudiced imagination like
the news of a conspiracy. "Ay! ay!" thought he; "the Irishman is cunning
enough! But we shall be too many for him: he wants to throw all the good
sober folks of Hereford off their guard by feasting, and dancing, and
carousing, I take it, and so to perpetrate his evil design when it is
least suspected; but we shall be prepared for him, fools as he takes us
plain Englishmen to be, I warrant."

In consequence of these most shrewd cogitations, our verger silenced his
wife with a peremptory nod when she came to persuade him to let Phoebe
put on the Limerick gloves and go to the ball. "To this ball she shall
not go, and I charge her not to put on those Limerick gloves as she
values my blessing," said Mr. Hill. "Please to tell her so, Mrs. Hill,
and trust to my judgment and discretion in all things, Mrs. Hill. Strange
work may be in Hereford yet: but I'll say no more; I must go and consult
with knowing men who are of my opinion."

He sallied forth, and Mrs. Hill was left in a state which only those who
are troubled with the disease of excessive curiosity can rightly
comprehend or compassionate. She hied her back to Phoebe, to whom she
announced her father's answer, and then went gossiping to all her female
acquaintance in Hereford, to tell them all that she knew, and all that
she did not know, and to endeavour to find out a secret where there was
none to be found.

There are trials of temper in all conditions, and no lady, in high or low
life, could endure them with a better grace than Phoebe. Whilst Mr. and
Mrs. Hill were busied abroad, there came to see Phoebe one of the widow
Smith's children. With artless expressions of gratitude to Phoebe this
little girl mixed the praises of O'Neill, who, she said, had been the
constant friend of her mother, and had given her money every week since
the fire happened. "Mammy loves him dearly for being so good-natured,"
continued the child; "and he has been good to other people as well as to
us."

"To whom?" said Phoebe.

"To a poor man who has lodged for these few days past next door to us,"
replied the child; "I don't know his name rightly, but he is an Irishman,
and he goes out a-haymaking in the daytime along with a number of others.
He knew Mr. O'Neill in his own country, and he told mammy a great deal
about his goodness."

As the child finished these words, Phoebe took out of a drawer some
clothes, which she had made for the poor woman's children, and gave them
to the little girl. It happened that the Limerick gloves had been thrown
into this drawer; and Phoebe's favourable sentiments of the giver of
those gloves were revived by what she had just heard, and by the
confession Mrs. Hill had made, that she had no reasons, and but vague
suspicious, for thinking ill of him. She laid the gloves perfectly
smooth, and strewed over them, whilst the little girl went on talking of
Mr. O'Neill, the leaves of a rose which she had worn on Sunday.

Mr. Hill was all this time in deep conference with those prudent men of
Hereford who were of his own opinion, about the perilous hole under the
cathedral. The ominous circumstance of this ball was also considered,
the great expense at which the Irish glover lived, and his giving away
gloves, which was a sure sign he was not under any necessity to sell
them, and consequently a proof that, though he pretended to be a glover,
he was something wrong in disguise. Upon putting all these things
together, it was resolved by these over-wise politicians that the best
thing that could be done for Hereford, and the only possible means of
preventing the immediate destruction of its cathedral, would be to take
Mr. O'Neill into custody. Upon recollection, however, it was perceived
that there was no legal ground on which he could be attacked. At length,
after consulting an attorney, they devised what they thought an admirable
mode of proceeding.

Our Irish hero had not that punctuality which English tradesmen usually
observe in the payment of bills; he had, the preceding year, run up a
long bill with a grocer in Hereford, and, as he had not at Christmas cash
in hand to pay it, he had given a note, payable six months after date.
The grocer, at Mr. Hill's request, made over the note to him, and it was
determined that the money should be demanded, as it was now due, and
that, if it was not paid directly, O'Neill should be that night arrested.
How Mr. Hill made the discovery of this debt to the grocer agree with his
former notion that the Irish glover had always money at command we cannot
well conceive, but anger and prejudice will swallow down the grossest
contradictions without difficulty.