Jacob Faithful. Фредерик Марриет

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СКАЧАТЬ feature was his nose, which, large as were the others, bore them down into insignificance. It was a prodigy—a ridicule; but he consoled himself—Ovid was called Naso. It was not an aquiline nose, nor was it an aquiline nose reversed. It was not a nose snubbed at the extremity, gross, heavy, or carbuncled, or fluting. In all its magnitude of proportions, it was an intellectual nose. It was thin, horny, transparent, and sonorous. Its snuffle was consequential and its sneeze oracular. The very sight of it was impressive; its sound, when blown in school hours, was ominous. But the scholars loved the nose for the warning which it gave: like the rattle of the dreaded snake, which announces its presence, so did the nose indicate to the scholars that they were to be on their guard. The Dominie would attend to this world and its duties for an hour or two, and then forget his scholars and his school-room, while he took a journey into the world of Greek or algebra. Then, when he marked x, y, and z, in his calculations, the boys knew that he was safe, and their studies were neglected.

      Reader, did you ever witness the magic effects of a drum in a small village, when the recruiting party, with many-coloured ribbons, rouse it up with a spirit-stirring tattoo? Matrons leave their domestic cares, and run to the cottage door: peeping over their shoulders, the maidens admire and fear. The shuffling clowns raise up their heads gradually, until they stand erect and proud; the slouch in the back is taken out, their heavy walk is changed to a firm yet elastic tread, every muscle appears more braced, every nerve, by degrees, new strung; the blood circulates rapidly: pulses quicken, hearts throb, eyes brighten, and as the martial sound pervades their rustic frames, the Cimons of the plough are converted, as if by magic, into incipient heroes for the field;—and all this is produced by beating the skin of the most gentle, most harmless animal of creation.

      Not having at hand the simile synthetical, we have resorted to the antithetical. The blowing of the Dominie’s nose produced the very contrary effects. It was a signal that he had returned from his intellectual journal, and was once more in his school-room—that the master had finished with his x, y, z’s, and it was time for scholars to mind their p’s and q’s. At this note of warning, like the minute-roll among the troops, every one fell into his place; half-munched apples were thrust into the first pocket—popguns disappeared—battles were left to be decided elsewhere—books were opened, and eyes directed to them—forms that were fidgeting and twisting in all directions, now took one regimental inclined position over the desk—silence was restored, order resumed her reign, and Mr. Knapps, the usher, who always availed himself of these interregnums, as well as the scholars, by deserting to the matron’s room, warned by the well-known sound, hastened to the desk of toil; such were the astonishing effects of a blow from Dominie Dobiensis’ sonorous and peace-restoring nose.

      “Jacob Faithful, draw near,” were the first words which struck upon my tympanum the next morning, when I had taken my seat at the further end of the school-room. I rose and threaded my way through two lines of boys, who put out their legs to trip me up in my passage through their ranks; and surmounting all difficulties, found myself within three feet of the master’s high desk, or pulpit, from which he looked down upon me like the Olympian Jupiter upon mortals, in ancient time.

      “Jacob Faithful, canst thou read?”

      “No, I can’t,” replied I; “I wish I could.”

      “A well-disposed answer, Jacob; thy wishes shall be gratified. Knowest thou thine alphabet?”

      “I don’t know what that is.”

      “Then thou knowest it not. Mr. Knapps shall forthwith instruct thee. Thou shall forthwith go to Mr. Knapps, who inculcateth the rudiments. Levior Puer, lighter-boy, thou hast a crafty look.” And then I heard a noise in his throat that resembled the “cluck, cluck” when my poor mother poured the gin out of the great stone bottle.

      “My little navilculator,” continued he, “thou art a weed washed on shore, one of Father Thames’ cast-up wrecks. ‘Fluviorum rex Eridanus,’ (Chuck, cluck.) To thy studies; be thyself—that is, be Faithful. Mr. Knapps, let the Cadmean art proceed forthwith.” So saying, Dominie Dobiensis thrust his large hand into his right coat pocket, in which he kept his snuff loose, and taking a large pinch (the major part of which, the stock being low, was composed of hair and cotton abrasions which had collected in the corners of his pocket), he called up the first class, while Mr. Knapps called me to my first lesson.

      Mr. Knapps was a thin, hectic-looking young man, apparently nineteen or twenty years of age, very small in all his proportions, red ferret eyes, and without the least sign of incipient manhood; but he was very savage, nevertheless. Not being permitted to pummel the boys when the Dominie was in the school-room, he played the tyrant most effectually when he was left commanding officer. The noise and hubbub certainly warranted his interference—the respect paid to him was positively nil. His practice was to select the most glaring delinquent, and let fly his ruler at him, with immediate orders to bring it back. These orders were complied with for more than one reason; in the first place, was the offender hit, he was glad that another should have his turn; in the second, Mr. Knapps being a very bad shot (never having drove a Kamschatdale team of dogs), he generally missed the one he aimed at, and hit some other, who, if he did not exactly deserve it at that moment, certainly did for previous, or would for subsequent, delinquencies. In the latter case, the ruler was brought back to him because there was no injury inflicted, although intended. However, be it as it may, the ruler was always returned to him; and thus did Mr. Knapps pelt the boys as if they were cocks on Shrove Tuesday, to the great risk of their heads and limbs. I have little further to say of Mr. Knapps, except that he wore a black shalloon loose coat; on the left sleeve of which he wiped his pen, and upon the right, but too often, his ever-snivelling nose.

      “What is that, boy?” said Mr. Knapps, pointing to the letter A.

      I looked attentively, and recognising, as I thought, one of my father’s hieroglyphics, replied, “That’s half-a-bushel;” and I was certainly warranted in my supposition.

      “Half-a-bushel! You’re more than half a fool. That’s the letter A.”

      “No; it’s half-a-bushel; father told me so.”

      “Then your father was as big a fool as yourself.”

      “Father knew what half-a-bushel was, and so do I: that’s half-a-bushel.”

      “I tell you it’s the letter A,” cried Mr. Knapps, in a rage.

      “It’s half-a-bushel,” replied I, doggedly. I persisted in my assertion: and Mr. Knapps, who dared not punish me while the Dominie was present, descended his throne of one step, and led me up to the master.

      “I can do nothing with this boy, sir,” said he, red as fire; “he denies the first letter in the alphabet, and insists upon it that the letter A is not A, but half-a-bushel.”

      “Dost thou, in thine ignorance, pretend to teach when thou comest here to learn, Jacob Faithful?”

      “Father always told me that that thing there meant half-a-bushel.”

      “Thy father might, perhaps, have used that letter to signify the measure which thou speakest of, in the same way as I, in my mathematics, use divers letters for known and unknown quantities; but thou must forget that which thy father taught thee, and commence de novo. Dost thou understand?”

      “No, I don’t.”

      “Then, little Jacob, that represents the letter A, and whatever else Mr. Knapps may tell thee, thou wilt believe. Return, Jacob, and be docile.”

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