Jessie Trim

As my earliest remembrances are associated with my grandmother's wedding, it takes natural precedence here of all other matter. I was not there, of course, but I seem to see it through a mist, and I have a distinct impression of certain actors in the scene. These are: a smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone, my grandmother, my grandfather (whom I never saw in the flesh), and a man with a knob on the top of his head, making a meal off his finger-nails.

Naturally, this man's head is bald. Naturally, this man's nails are eaten down to the quick. I am unable to state how I come to the knowledge of these details, but I know them, and am prepared to stand by them. Sitting, as I see myself, in a very low armchair--in which I am such an exact fit that when I rise it rises with me, much to my discomfort--I hear my grandmother say:

'He had a knob on the top of his head, and he was always eating his nails.'

Then a solemn pause ensues, broken by my grandmother adding, in a dismal tone:

'And the last time I set eyes on him was on my wedding-day.'

The words are addressed not so much to me as to the smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone, which had occupied the place of honour on the mantelpiece in my grandmother's house, and which she had brought with her as a precious relic--(Jane Painter, I remember, always called it a relict)--when she came to live with us. The head of this stone figure is loose, and wags upon the slightest provocation. When something falls in the room, when the door is slammed, when a person walks sharply towards it, when it is merely looked at I sometimes fancy. I am not prepossessed in its favour, and I regard it with uneasy feelings, as probably possessing a power for evil, like a malevolently-inclined idol. But my grandmother, for some mysterious reason, values it as a very precious possession, and sits staring dumbly at it for hours. I watch her and it until, in my imagination, its monkey-face begins to twitch and its monkey-lips to move. At a certain point of my watch, I fancy that its eyes roll and glare at me, and I cover mine with my hands to shut out the disturbing sight. But I have not sufficient courage to remain blind for more than a very few moments, and I am soon fascinated into peeping at the figure through the lattice of my fingers. My grandmother observes me, and says:

'I see you, child! Take your fingers away.'

I obey her timidly, and with many a doubtful glance at the monkey-man, I ask:

'Does it see me, grandmother?'

My grandmother regards it with a gloomy air; evidently she has doubts. She does not commit herself, however, but says:

'It will belong to you, child, when I am gone. It must be kept always in the family.'

The tone in which she utters these words denotes that evil will fall upon the family when this heirloom is lost sight of. I am not grateful for the prospective gift. It has already become a frightful incubus; it weighs me down, and is a future as well as a present torment. I think it has lived long enough--too long--and that when my grandmother goes, she ought to take it with her. Happening to catch the eye of the figure while this thought is in my mind, I am convinced that it shows in its ugly face a consciousness of my bad feeling towards it; its eyes and lips threaten me. It would have terrified, but it would not have surprised me to find it suddenly gifted with the power of speech, and to hear it utter dreadful words. But happily for my peace of mind no such miracle happens. I look at my grandmother, and I begin to fancy that she, from long staring at it, bears in her face a resemblance to the face of the monkey-man. For how much longer will my grandmother sit and stare at it? For how many more days and weeks and years? She has frequently told me that naughty boys were invariably 'fetched away' to a dismal place by Some One wearing horns and a tail. She made no mention of naughty girls; and sometimes when she has been delighting me with these wholesome lessons, a sort of rebellion has possessed me that I was not born a girl. Now, if Some One were to come and 'fetch' my grandmother away, it would not grieve me; I should rejoice. But I dare not for my life give utterance to my thought. Says my grandmother, with a nod at the stone figure, which, suddenly animated by a mysterious influence, returns the nod:

'I had it in my pocket on my wedding-day.'

The circumstance of its being a guest at my grandmother's wedding invests it with an additional claim to my protection when she is gone. How happy I should be if it would fall into the fireplace, and break into a thousand pieces!

'Grandmother!'

'Well, child.'

Was the man with the knob on the top of his head----'

My grandmother interrupts me.

'You mean the gentleman, child.'

'Yes, I mean the gentleman--and who was always eating his nails,--was he like that?' Pointing to the stone monkey-figure.

'Like that, child! How can such an idea have entered your head? No; he was a very handsome man.'

A pure fiction, I am convinced, if nothing worse. How could a man with a knob on his head, and who was always eating his nails, be handsome?

'Your grandfather used to be very jealous of him; he was one of my sweethearts. I had several, and nine proposals of marriage before I was twenty years of age. Some girls that I knew were ready to scratch their eyes out with vexation. He proposed, and wished to run away with me, but my family stepped in between us, and prevented him. You can never be sufficiently grateful to me, child; for what would have become of you if I had run away and married him, goodness only knows!'

The reflection which is thus forced upon me involves such wild entanglements of possibilities that I am lost in the contemplation of them. What would have become of me? Supposing it had occurred--should I ever have been?

'He told me,' continues my grandmother, revelling in these honey-sweet reminiscences, 'after I had accepted your grandfather, that life was valueless without me, and that as he had lost me, he would be sure to go to the Devil. I don't know the end of him, for I only saw him once after that; but he was a man of his word. He told me so in Lovers' Walk, where I happened to be strolling one evening--quite by accident, child, I assure you, for I burnt the letter I received from him in the morning, for fear your grandfather should see it. Your grandfather had a frightfully jealous disposition--as if I could help the men looking at me! When we were first married he used to smash a deal of crockery, with his quick temper. I hope he is forgiven for it in the place he has gone to. He was an auctioneer and valuer; he had an immense reputation as a valuer. It was not undeserved; he fell in love with me. Oh, he was clever, child, in his way!'

Although I am positive that I never saw my grandfather, I have, in some strange way, a perfect remembrance of him as a little man, very dapper, and very precisely dressed in a snuff-coloured coat and black breeches and stockings. Now, my grandmother was a very large woman; side by side they are, to my mind, a ridiculous match. I have grown quite curious concerning my grandmother's lover, and I venture to recall her from a moody contemplation of the monkey-figure into which she is falling.

'But about the man with the knob, grandmother?' I commence.

'Child, you are disrespectful! The man with the knob, indeed!'

'The gentleman, I mean, who wanted to marry you. What was his name?'

'Bullpit. He was connected with the law, and might have become Lord Chancellor if I hadn't blighted him.'

'Did he behave himself at your wedding, grandmother?'

'Save the child!' she exclaims. 'You don't suppose that Mr. Bullpit was at my wedding, do you? Why, there would have been murder done! Your grandfather and he would have torn each other to pieces!' These latter words are spoken in a tone of positive satisfaction, as adding immensely to my grandmother's reputation.

'But I thought you said that the last time you saw him was on your wedding-day?'

'So I did, child; but I didn't say he was at the wedding. We were coming out of church---- Deary, deary me! I can see it as if it was only yesterday that it took place! The church was scarcely three minutes' walk from mother's house, and the expense would not have been great, but your grandfather, who was a very mean man, did not provide carriages, and we had to go on foot. It was the talk of the whole neighbourhood for months afterwards. I never forgave him for it, and I can't forget it, although he is in his grave now, where all things ought to be forgotten and forgiven. Remember that, child, and if you have anything to forget and forgive, forget and forgive it. Animosity is a bad thing.'

My grandmother gives me time to remember if I have anything to forget and forgive. I feel somewhat remorseful because of the hard thoughts I have borne towards her, and I mentally resolve that when she is in her grave I will endeavour to forget and forgive.

'We walked,' she continues, from mother's house to the church, and from the church back again. It was like a procession. There were five bridesmaids, and mother and father, and your grandfather's mother and father,'--(I am a little confused here with so many mothers and fathers, and, notwithstanding my efforts to prevent it, they all get jumbled up with one another)--'whom we could very well have done without, and the Best Man, who did not know how to behave himself, making the bridesmaids giggle as he did, as if my wedding was a thing to be laughed at! and a great number of guests with white favours in their coats--all but one, who ought to have known better, and who was properly punished afterwards by being jilted by Mary Morgan. Everybody in the town came to see us walk to church, and when the fatal knot was tied, the crowd round the church door was so large that we could scarcely make our way through it. The Best Man misbehaved himself shamefully. He pretended to be overcome by grief, and he sobbed in such a violent manner as to make the mob laugh at him, and the bridesmaids giggle more than ever. I knew what they did it for, the hussies! They thought he was a catch; a nice husband he turned out to be afterwards! When we were half way between the church and mother's house, our procession met another procession, and for a minute or two there was a stoppage and great confusion, and several vulgar boys hurrayed. What do you think that other procession was, child?'

I ponder deeply, but am unable to guess.

That other procession, child, was made up of policemen and riff-raff. And in the middle of it, with handcuffs on, was Anthony Bullpit. He had been arrested on a warrant for forgery. What with the confusion and the struggling, the processions got mixed up together, and as I raised my eyes I saw the eyes of Anthony Bullpit fixed upon me. Such a shock as that look of his gave me I shall never forget--never! I knew the meaning of it too well. It meant that all this had occurred through me; that life without me was a mockery; that he had arranged everything so that we should meet immediately the fatal knot was tied; and that he was on his road to ---- where he said he would go.'