Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 69, No. 423, January 1851Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 69, No. 423, January 1851
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Dr Riccabocca, awakened out of his reverie by the sound of
footsteps--was still so little sensible of the indignity of his
position, that he enjoyed exceedingly, and with all the malice of
his natural humour, the astonishment and stupor manifested by Stirn,
when that functionary beheld the extraordinary substitute which fate
and philosophy had found for Lenny Fairfield. Instead of the weeping,
crushed, broken-hearted captive whom he had reluctantly come to
deliver, he stared, speechless and aghast, upon the grotesque but
tranquil figure of the Doctor, enjoying his pipe and cooling himself
under his umbrella, with a _sang-froid_ that was truly appalling
and diabolical. Indeed, considering that Stirn always suspected the
Papisher of having had a hand in the whole of that black and midnight
business, in which the Stocks had been broken, bunged up, and consigned
to perdition, and that the Papisher had the evil reputation of dabbling
in the Black Art, the hocus-pocus way in which the Lenny he had
incarcerated was transformed into the Doctor he found, conjoined with
the peculiarly strange, eldritch, and Mephistophelean physiognomy and
person of Riccabocca, could not but strike a thrill of superstitious
dismay into the breast of the parochial tyrant. While to his first
confused and stammered exclamations and interrogatories, Riccabocca
replied with so tragic an air, such ominous shakes of the head, such
mysterious, equivocating, long-worded sentences, that Stirn every
moment felt more and more convinced that the boy had sold himself to
the Powers of Darkness; and that he himself, prematurely, and in the
flesh, stood face to face with the Arch-Enemy.
Mr Stirn had not yet recovered his wonted intelligence, which, to do
him justice, was usually prompt enough--when the Squire, followed hard
by the Parson, arrived at the spot. Indeed, Mrs Hazeldean's report of
the Squire's urgent message, disturbed manner, and most unparalleled
invitation to the parishioners, had given wings to Parson Dale's
ordinarily slow and sedate movements. And while the Squire, sharing
Stirn's amazement, beheld indeed a great pair of feet projecting from
the stocks, and saw behind them the grave face of Doctor Riccabocca,
under the majestic shade of the umbrella, but not a vestige of the only
being his mind could identify with the tenancy of the Stocks, Mr Dale,
catching him by the arm, and panting hard, exclaimed with a petulance
he had never before been known to display--except at the whist-table,--
"Mr Hazeldean, Mr Hazeldean, I am scandalised--I am shocked at you.
I can bear a great deal from you, sir, as I ought to do; but to ask
my whole congregation, the moment after divine service, to go up and
guzzle ale at the Hall, and drink my health, as if a clergyman's sermon
had been a speech at a cattle-fair! I am ashamed of you, and of the
parish! What on earth has come to you all?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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