J. Sheridan Le Fanu - The House by the Church Yard

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THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD

by

J. SHERIDAN LE FANU

Author of 'Uncle Silas' and 'Torlogh O'brien'

Dublin:
James Duffy and Co., Ltd. New York: The MacMillan Company.
1904.
Printed by Edmund Burke & Co., 61 & 62 Great Strand
Street, Dublin.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. Page

A Prologue--being a dish of village chat 1

I.--The rector's night-walk to his church 9

II.--The nameless coffin 12

III.--Mr. Mervyn in his inn 15

IV.--The Fair-green of Palmerstown 18

V.--How the Royal Artillery entertained some of the
neighbours at dinner 25

VI.--In which the minstrelsy proceeds 32

VII.--Showing how two gentlemen may misunderstand one another,
without enabling the company to understand their quarrel 35

VIII.--Relating how Doctor Toole and Captain Devereux went
on a moonlight errand 40

IX.--How a squire was found for the knight of the rueful
countenance 44

X.--The dead secret, showing how the fireworker proved
to Puddock that Nutter had spied out the nakedness
of the land 48

XI.--Some talk about the haunted house--being, as I suppose,
only old woman's tales 53

XII.--Some odd facts about the Tiled House--being an
authentic narrative of the ghost of a hand 57

XIII.--In which the rector visits the Tiled House,
and Doctor Toole looks after the Brass Castle 63

XIV.--Relating how Puddock purged O'Flaherty's head--a
chapter which, it is hoped, no genteel person will read 66

XV.--AEsculapius to the rescue 69

XVI.--The ordeal by battle 73

XVII.--Lieutenant Puddock receives an invitation and a rap
over the knuckles 81

XVIII.--Relating how the gentlemen sat over their claret,
and how Doctor Sturk saw a face 86

XIX.--In which the gentlemen follow the ladies 91

XX.--In which Mr. Dangerfield visits the church of Chapelizod,
and Zekiel Irons goes a-fishing 94

XXI.--Relating among other things how Doctor Toole walked
up to the Tiled House, and of his pleasant discourse with
Mr. Mervyn 100

XXII.--Telling how Mr. Mervyn fared at Belmont, and of a pleasant
little dejeuner by the margin of the Liffey 104

XXIII.--Which concerns the grand dinner at the King's House, and
who were there, and something of their talk, reveries,
disputes, and general jollity 108

XXIV.--In which two young persons understand one another better,
perhaps, than ever they did before, without saying so 113

XXV.--In which the sun sets, and the merry-making is kept up
by candle-light in the King's House, and Lily receives a
warning which she does not comprehend 116

XXVI.--Relating how the band of the Royal Irish Artillery played,
and, while the music was going on, how variously different
people were moved 122

XXVII.--Concerning the troubles and the shapes that began to gather
about Doctor Sturk 125

XXVIII.--In which Mr. Irons recounts some old recollections about
the Pied-horse and the Flower de Luce 129

XXIX.--Showing how poor Mrs. Macnamara was troubled and
haunted too, and opening a budget of gossip 132

XXX.--Concerning a certain woman in black 137

XXXI.--Being a short history of the great battle of Belmont that
lasted for so many days, wherein the belligerents showed
so much constancy and valour, and sometimes one side
and sometimes t'other was victorious 141

XXXII.--Narrating how Lieutenant Puddock and Captain Devereux
brewed a bowl of punch, and how they sang and discoursed
together 143

XXXIII.--In which Captain Devereux's fiddle plays a prelude to
'Over the hills and far away' 146

XXXIV.--In which Lilias hears a stave of an old song and
there is a leave-taking beside the river 148

XXXV.--In which Aunt Becky and Doctor Toole, in full blow,
with Dominick the footman, behind, visit Miss Lily at
the Elms 152

XXXVI.--Narrating how Miss Lilias visited Belmont, and saw a
strange cocked-hat in the shadow by the window 155

XXXVII.--Showing how some of the feuds in Chapelizod wared
fiercer, and others were solemnly condoned 158

XXXVIII.--Dreams and troubles, and a dark look-out 161

XXXIX.--Telling how Lilias Walsingham found two ladies awaiting
her arrival at the Elms 166

XL.--Of a messenger from Chapelizod vault who waited in the
Tiled House for Mr. Mervyn 168

XLI.--In which the rector comes home, and Lily speaks her
mind, and time glides on, and Aunt Rebecca calls at
the Elms 173

XLII.--In which Doctor Sturk tries this way and that for
a reprieve on the eve of execution 177

XLIII.--Showing how Charles Nutter's blow descended, and what
part the silver spectacles bore in the crisis 180

XLIV.--Relating how, in the watches of the night, a vision came
to Sturk, and his eyes were opened 184

XLV.--Concerning a little rehearsal in Captain Cluffe's lodging,
and a certain confidence between Doctor Sturk and Mr.
Dangerfield 187

XLVI.--The closet scene, with the part of Polonius omitted 191

XLVII.--In which pale Hecate visits the Mills, and Charles Nutter,
Esq., orders tea 195

XLVIII.--Swans on the water 202

XLIX.--Swans in the water 206

L.--Treating of some confusion, in consequence, in the
club-room of the Phoenix and elsewhere, and
of a hat that was picked up 208

LI.--How Charles Nutter's tea, pipe, and tobacco-box were
all set out for him in the small parlour at the
Mills, and how that night was passed in the house
by the church-yard 213

LII.--Concerning a rouleau of guineas and the crack
of a pistol 218

LIII.--Relating after what fashion Doctor Sturk came home 221

LIV.--In which Miss Magnolia and Doctor Toole, in different
scenes, prove themselves Good Samaritans; and the
great Doctor Pell mounts the stairs of the House by the
Church-yard 225

LV.--In which Doctor Toole, in full costume, stands upon the
hearth-stone of the club, and illuminates the company
with his back to the fire 230

LVI.--Doctor Walsingham and the Chapelizod Christians meet
to the sound of the holy bell, and a vampire sits in the
church 233

LVII.--In which Doctor Toole and Mr. Lowe make a visit at
the Mills, and recognise something remarkable while
there 235

LVIII.--In which one of little Bopeep's sheep comes home again,
and various theories are entertained respecting Charles
Nutter and Lieutenant Puddock 235

LIX.--Telling How a Coach Drew Up at the Elms, and Two Fine
Ladies, Dressed For the Ball, Stepped in. 244

LX.--Being a Chapter of Hoops, Feathers, and Brilliants,
and Bucks And Fiddlers. 249

LXI.--In Which the Ghosts of a By-gone Sin Keep Tryst. 254

LXII.--Of a Solemn Resolution Which Captain Devereux Registered
Among His Household Gods, With a Libation. 257

LXIII.--In Which a Liberty Is Taken With Mr. Nutter's Name,
and Mr. Dangerfield Stands at the Altar. 261

LXIV.--Being a Night Scene, in Which Miss Gertrude Chattesworth,
Being Adjured By Aunt Becky, Makes Answer. 266

LXV.--Relating Some Awful News That Reached the Village,
and How Dr. Walsingham Visited Captain Richard Devereux
at His Lodgings. 271

LXVI.--Of a Certain Tempest That Arose and Shook the
Captain's Spoons And Tea-cups; and How the Wind
Suddenly Went Down. 274

LXVII.--In Which a Certain Troubled Spirit Walks. 278

LXVIII.--How an Evening Passes at the Elms, and Dr. Toole Makes
a Little Excursion; and Two Choice Spirits Discourse,
and Hebe Trips in With The Nectar. 281

LXIX.--Concerning a Second Hurricane That Raged in Captain
Devereux's Drawing-room, and Relating How Mrs. Irons
Was Attacked With a Sort Of Choking in Her Bed. 285

LXX.--In Which an Unexpected Visitor Is Seen in the
Cedar-parlour of The Tiled House, and the Story of
Mr. Beauclerc and the 'flower de Luce' Begins To
Be Unfolded. 290

LXXI.--In Which Mr. Irons's Narrative Reaches Merton Moor. 295

LXXII.--In Which the Apparition of Mr. Irons Is Swallowed in
Darkness. 300

LXXIII.--Concerning a Certain Gentleman, with a Black Patch
Over His Eye, who made some Visits with a Lady,
in Chapelizod and its Neighbourhood. 304

LXXIV.--In Which Doctor Toole, in His Boots, Visits Mr. Gamble,
and Sees an Ugly Client of That Gentleman's; and
Something Crosses an Empty Room. 307

LXXV.--How a Gentleman Paid a Visit at the Brass Castle, and
There Read A Paragraph in an Old Newspaper. 311

LXXVI.--Relating How the Castle Was Taken, and How Mistress
Moggy Took Heart Of Grace. 316

LXXVII.--In Which Irish Melody Prevails. 321

LXXVIII.--In Which, While the Harmony Continues in Father Roach's
Front Parlour, A Few Discords Are Introduced Elsewhere;
and Doctor Toole Arrives in The Morning With a
Marvellous Budget of News. 325

LXXIX.--Showing How Little Lily's Life Began To Change Into
a Retrospect; And How on a Sudden She Began To Feel
Better. 330

LXXX.--In Which Two Acquaintances Become, on a Sudden,
Marvellously Friendly In The Church-yard; and Mr.
Dangerfield Smokes a Pipe in the Brass Castle,
and Resolves That the Dumb Shall Speak. 333

LXXXI.--In Which Mr. Dangerfield Receives a Visitor, and Makes
a Call. 339

LXXXII.--In Which Mr. Paul Dangerfield Pays His Respects and
Compliments At Belmont; Where Other Visitors Also
Present Themselves. 343

LXXXIII.--In Which the Knight of the Silver Spectacles Makes the
Acquaintance Of The Sage 'black Dillon,' and Confers
With Him in His Retreat. 349

LXXXIV.--In Which Christiana Goes Over; and Dan Loftus
Comes Home. 353

LXXXV.--In Which Captain Devereux Hears the News; and Mr.
Dangerfield Meets An Old Friend After Dinner. 357

LXXXVI.--In Which Mr. Paul Dangerfield Mounts the Stairs of the
House by The Church-yard, and Makes Some Arrangements. 364

LXXXVII.--In Which Two Comrades Are Tete-a-tete in Their Old
Quarters, and Doctor Sturk's Cue Is Cut Off, and a
Consultation Commences. 370

LXXXVIII.--In Which Mr. Moore the Barber Arrives, and the Medical
Gentlemen Lock The Door. 376

LXXXIX.--In Which a Certain Songster Treats the Company To a
Dolorous Ballad Whereby Mr. Irons Is Somewhat Moved. 384

XC.--Mr. Paul Dangerfield Has Something on His Mind, and
Captain Devereux Receives a Message. 390

XCI.--Concerning Certain Documents Which Reached Mr. Mervyn,
and the Witches' Revels at the Mills. 396

XCII.--The Wher-wolf. 401

XCIII.--In Which Doctor Toole and Dirty Davy Confer in
the Blue-room. 408

XCIV.--What Doctor Sturk Brought To Mind, and All That
Doctor Toole Heard At Mr. Luke Gamble's. 414

XCV.--In Which Doctor Pell Declines a Fee, and Doctor Sturk
a Prescription. 422

XCVI.--About the Rightful Mrs. Nutter of the Mills, and How
Mr. Mervyn Received The News. 427

XCVII.--In Which Obediah Arrives. 436

XCVIII.--In Which Charles Archer Puts Himself Upon the Country. 441

XCIX.--The Story Ends. 452

[Illustration]

THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD.

A PROLOGUE--BEING A DISH OF VILLAGE CHAT.

We are going to talk, if you please, in the ensuing chapters, of what
was going on in Chapelizod about a hundred years ago. A hundred years,
to be sure, is a good while; but though fashions have changed, some old
phrases dropped out, and new ones come in; and snuff and hair-powder,
and sacques and solitaires quite passed away--yet men and women were men
and women all the same--as elderly fellows, like your humble servant,
who have seen and talked with rearward stragglers of that
generation--now all and long marched off--can testify, if they will.

In those days Chapelizod was about the gayest and prettiest of the
outpost villages in which old Dublin took a complacent pride. The
poplars which stood, in military rows, here and there, just showed a
glimpse of formality among the orchards and old timber that lined the
banks of the river and the valley of the Liffey, with a lively sort of
richness. The broad old street looked hospitable and merry, with steep
roofs and many coloured hall-doors. The jolly old inn, just beyond the
turnpike at the sweep of the road, leading over the buttressed bridge by
the mill, was first to welcome the excursionist from Dublin, under the
sign of the Phoenix. There, in the grand wainscoted back-parlour, with
'the great and good King William,' in his robe, garter, periwig, and
sceptre presiding in the panel over the chimneypiece, and confronting
the large projecting window, through which the river, and the daffodils,
and the summer foliage looked so bright and quiet, the Aldermen of
Skinner's Alley--a club of the 'true blue' dye, as old as the Jacobite
wars of the previous century--the corporation of shoemakers, or of
tailors, or the freemasons, or the musical clubs, loved to dine at the
stately hour of five, and deliver their jokes, sentiments, songs, and
wisdom, on a pleasant summer's evening. Alas! the inn is as clean gone
as the guests--a dream of the shadow of smoke.

Lately, too, came down the old 'Salmon House'--so called from the
blazonry of that noble fish upon its painted sign-board--at the other
end of the town, that, with a couple more, wheeled out at right angles
from the line of the broad street, and directly confronting the
passenger from Dublin, gave to it something of the character of a
square, and just left room for the high road and Martin's Row to slip
between its flank and the orchard that overtopped the river wall. Well!
it is gone. I blame nobody. I suppose it was quite rotten, and that the
rats would soon have thrown up their lease of it; and that it was taken
down, in short, chiefly, as one of the players said of 'Old Drury,' to
prevent the inconvenience of its coming down of itself. Still a peevish
but harmless old fellow--who hates change, and would wish things to stay
as they were just a little, till his own great change comes; who haunts
the places where his childhood was passed, and reverences the homeliest
relics of by-gone generations--may be allowed to grumble a little at the
impertinences of improving proprietors with a taste for accurate
parallelograms and pale new brick.

Then there was the village church, with its tower dark and rustling from
base to summit, with thick piled, bowering ivy. The royal arms cut in
bold relief in the broad stone over the porch--where, pray, is that
stone now, the memento of its old viceregal dignity? Where is the
elevated pew, where many a lord lieutenant, in point, and gold lace, and
thunder-cloud periwig, sate in awful isolation, and listened to orthodox
and loyal sermons, and took French rappee; whence too, he stepped forth
between the files of the guard of honour of the Royal Irish Artillery
from the barrack over the way, in their courtly uniform, white, scarlet,
and blue, cocked hats, and cues, and ruffles, presenting arms--into his
emblazoned coach and six, with hanging footmen, as wonderful as
Cinderella's, and out-riders out-blazing the liveries of the troops, and
rolling grandly away in sunshine and dust.

The 'Ecclesiastical Commissioners' have done their office here. The
tower, indeed, remains, with half its antique growth of ivy gone; but
the body of the church is new, and I, and perhaps an elderly fellow or
two more, miss the old-fashioned square pews, distributed by a
traditional tenure among the families and dignitaries of the town and
vicinage (who are they now?), and sigh for the queer, old, clumsy
reading-desk and pulpit, grown dearer from the long and hopeless
separation; and wonder where the tables of the Ten Commandments, in long
gold letters of Queen Anne's date, upon a vivid blue ground, arched
above, and flanking the communion-table, with its tall thin rails, and
fifty other things that appeared to me in my nonage, as stable as the
earth, and as sacred as the heavens, are gone to.

As for the barrack of the Royal Irish Artillery, the great gate leading
into the parade ground, by the river side, and all that, I believe the
earth, or rather that grim giant factory, which is now the grand feature
and centre of Chapelizod, throbbing all over with steam, and whizzing
with wheels, and vomiting pitchy smoke, has swallowed them up.

A line of houses fronting this--old familiar faces--still look blank and
regretfully forth, through their glassy eyes, upon the changed scene.
How different the company they kept some ninety or a hundred years ago!

Where is the mill, too, standing fast by the bridge, the manorial
appendage of the town, which I loved in my boyhood for its gaunt and
crazy aspect and dim interior, whence the clapper kept time mysteriously
to the drone of the mill-sluice? I think it is gone. Surely _that_
confounded thing can't be my venerable old friend in masquerade!

But I can't expect you, my reader--polite and patient as you manifestly
are--to potter about with me, all the summer day, through this
melancholy and mangled old town, with a canopy of factory soot between
your head and the pleasant sky. One glance, however, before you go, you
will vouchsafe at the village tree--that stalworth elm. It has not grown
an inch these hundred years. It does not look a day older than it did
fifty years ago, _I_ can tell you. There he stands the same; and yet a
stranger in the place of his birth, in a new order of things, joyless,
busy, transformed Chapelizod, listening, as it seems to me, always to
the unchanged song and prattle of the river, with his reveries and
affections far away among by-gone times and a buried race. Thou hast a
story, too, to tell, thou slighted and solitary sage, if only the winds
would steal it musically forth, like the secret of Mildas from the
moaning reeds.

The palmy days of Chapelizod were just about a hundred years ago, and
those days--though I am jealous of their pleasant and kindly fame, and
specially for the preservation of the few memorials they have left
behind, were yet, I may say, in your ear, with all their colour and
adventure--perhaps, on the whole, more pleasant to read about, and dream
of, than they were to live in. Still their violence, follies, and
hospitalities, softened by distance, and illuminated with a sort of
barbaric splendour, have long presented to my fancy the glowing and
ever-shifting combinations upon which, as on the red embers, in a
winter's gloaming, I love to gaze, propping my white head upon my hand,
in a lazy luxury of reverie, from my own arm-chair, while they drop,
ever and anon, into new shapes, and silently tell their 'winter's
tales.'

When your humble servant, Charles de Cresseron, the compiler of this
narrative, was a boy some fourteen years old--how long ago precisely
that was, is nothing to the purpose, 'tis enough to say he remembers
what he then saw and heard a good deal better than what happened a week
ago--it came to pass that he was spending a pleasant week of his
holidays with his benign uncle and godfather, the curate of Chapelizod.
On the second day of his, or rather _my_ sojourn (I take leave to return
to the first person), there was a notable funeral of an old lady. Her
name was Darby, and her journey to her last home was very considerable,
being made in a hearse, by easy stages, from her house of Lisnabane, in
the county of Sligo, to the church-yard of Chapelizod. There was a great
flat stone over that small parcel of the rector's freehold, which the
family held by a tenure, not of lives, but of deaths, renewable for
ever. So that my uncle, who was a man of an anxious temperament, had
little trouble in satisfying himself of the meerings and identity of
this narrow tenement, to which Lemuel Mattocks, the sexton, led him as
straight and confidently as he could have done to the communion-table.

My uncle, therefore, fiated the sexton's presentment, and the work
commenced forthwith. I don't know whether all boys have the same liking
for horrors which I am conscious of having possessed--I only know that I
liked the churchyard, and deciphering tombstones, and watching the
labours of the sexton, and hearing the old world village talk that often
got up over the relics.

When this particular grave was pretty nearly finished--it lay from east
to west--a lot of earth fell out at the northern side, where an old
coffin had lain, and good store of brown dust and grimy bones, and the
yellow skull itself came tumbling about the sexton's feet. These
fossils, after his wont, he lifted decently with the point of his
shovel, and pitched into a little nook beside the great mound of mould
at top.

'Be the powers o' war! here's a battered head-piece for yez,' said young
Tim Moran, who had picked up the cranium, and was eyeing it curiously,
turning it round the while.

'Show it here, Tim;' 'let _me_ look,' cried two or three neighbours,
getting round as quickly as they could.

'Oh! murdher;' said one.

'Oh! be the powers o' Moll Kelly!' cried another.

'Oh! bloody wars!' exclaimed a third.