The Verger
There had been a christening that afternoon at St Peter’s, Neville Square,
and Albert Edward Foreman still wore his verger’s gown. He kept his new one,
its folds as full and stiff as though it were made not of alpaca but of
perennial bronze, for funerals and weddings (St Peter’s, Neville Square, was a
church much favoured by the fashionable for these ceremonies)
and now he wore only his second–best. He wore it with complacence,
for it was the dignified symbol of his office, and without it (when he took it
off to go home) he had the disconcerting sensation of being somewhat
insufficiently clad. He took pains with it; he pressed it and
ironed it himself. During the sixteen years he had been verger of this church
he had had a succession of such gowns, but he had never been able to throw them
away when they were worn out and the complete series, neatly wrapped up in
brown paper, lay in the bottom drawers of the wardrobe in his bedroom.
The verger busied himself
quietly, replacing the painted wooden cover on the marble font, taking away a
chair that had been brought for an infirm old lady, and waited for the vicar to
have finished in the vestry so that he could tidy up in there
and go home. Presently he saw him walk across the chancel, genuflect in front
of the high altar, and come down the aisle; but he still wore his cassock.
‘What’s he ’anging about for?’
the verger said to himself. ‘Don’t ’e know I want my tea?’
The vicar had been but
recently appointed, a red–faced energetic man in the early forties,
and Albert Edward still regretted his predecessor, a clergyman of the old
school who preached leisurely sermons in a silvery voice and dined out a great
deal with his more aristocratic parishioners. He liked things in church to be
just so, but he never fussed; he was not like this new man who wanted to have
his finger in every pie. But Albert Edward was tolerant. St Peter’s was in a
very good neighbourhood and the parishioners were a very nice class of people.
The new vicar had come from the East End and he couldn’t be expected to fall in
all at once with the discreet ways of his fashionable congregation.
‘All this ’ustle,’ said Albert
Edward. ‘But give ’im time, he’ll learn.’
When the vicar had walked down
the aisle so far that he could address the verger without raising his voice
more than was becoming in a place of worship he stopped.
‘Foreman, will you come into
the vestry for a minute. I have something to say to you.’
‘Very good, sir.’
The vicar waited for him to
come up and they walked up the church together. ‘A very nice christening, I
thought, sir. Funny ’ow the baby stopped cryin’ the moment you took him.’
‘I’ve noticed they very often
do,’ said the vicar, with a little smile. ‘After all I’ve had a good deal of
practice with them.’
It was a source of subdued pride
to him that he could nearly always quiet a whimpering infant by the manner in
which he held it and he was not unconscious of the amused
admiration with which mothers and nurses watched him settle the baby in the
crook of his surpliced arm. The verger knew that it pleased him to be
complimented on his talent.
The vicar preceded Albert
Edward into the vestry. Albert Edward was a trifle surprised
to find the two churchwardens there. He had not seen them come in. They gave
him pleasant nods.
‘Good afternoon, my lord. Good
afternoon, sir,’ he said to one after the other.
They were elderly men, both of
them, and they had been churchwardens almost as long as Albert Edward had been
verger. They were sitting now at a handsome refectory table that the old vicar
had brought many years before from Italy and the vicar sat down in the vacant
chair between them. Albert Edward faced them, the table between him and them,
and wondered with slight uneasiness what was the matter. He remembered still
the occasion on which the organist had got into trouble and
the bother they had all had to hush things up. In a church like St
Peter’s, Neville Square, they couldn’t afford a scandal. On the vicar’s red
face was a look of resolute benignity, but the others bore an expression that
was slightly troubled.
‘He’s been naggin’ them, he
’as,’ said the verger to himself. ‘He’s jockeyed them into doin’ something, but
they don’t ’alf like it. That’s what it is, you mark my words.’
But his thoughts did not
appear on Albert Edward’s clean–cut and distinguished features. He stood in a
respectful but not obsequious attitude. He had been in service before he was
appointed to his ecclesiastical office, but only in very good houses, and his
deportment was irreproachable. Starting as a page–boy in the household of a
merchant–prince, he had risen by due degrees from the position of fourth to
first footman, for a year he had been single–handed butler to a widowed
peeress, and, till the vacancy occurred at St Peter’s, butler with two men
under him in the house of a retired ambassador. He was tall, spare, grave, and
dignified. He looked, if not like a duke, at least like an actor of the old
school who specialized in dukes’ parts. He had tact, firmness, and
self–assurance. His character was unimpeachable. The vicar began briskly.
‘Foreman, we’ve got
something rather unpleasant to say to you. You’ve been here a great many years
and I think his lordship and the general agree with me that you’ve fulfilled
the duties of your office to the satisfaction of everybody concerned.’
The two churchwardens nodded.
‘But a most extraordinary
circumstance came to my knowledge the other day and I felt it my duty to impart it
to the churchwardens. I discovered to my astonishment that you could neither
read nor write.’
The verger’s face betrayed no
sign of embarrassment.
‘The last vicar knew that,
sir,’ he replied. ‘He said it didn’t make no difference. He always said there
was a great deal too much education in the world for ’is taste.’
‘It’s the most amazing thing I
ever heard,’ cried the general. ‘Do you mean to say that you’ve been verger of
this church for sixteen years and never learned to read or write?’
‘I went into service when I
was twelve, sir. The cook in the first place tried to teach me once, but I
didn’t seem to ’ave the knack for it, and then what with one thing
and another I never seemed to ’ave the time. I’ve never really found the want of
it. I think a lot of these young fellows waste a rare lot of time readin’ when
they might be doin’ something useful.’
‘But don’t you want to know
the news?’ said the other churchwarden. ‘Don’t you ever want to write a
letter?’
‘No, me lord, I seem to manage
very well without. And of late years now they’ve all these pictures in the
papers I get to know what’s goin’ on pretty well. Me wife’s quite a scholar and
if I want to write a letter she writes it for me. It’s not as if I was a
bettin’ man.’
The two churchwardens gave the
vicar a troubled glance and then looked down at the table.
‘Well, Foreman, I’ve talked
the matter over with these gentlemen and they quite agree with me that the
situation is impossible. At a church like St Peter’s, Neville Square, we cannot
have a verger who can neither read nor write.’
Albert Edward’s thin, sallow
face reddened and he moved uneasily on his feet, but he made no reply.
‘Understand me, Foreman, I
have no complaint to make against you. You do your work quite satisfactorily; I
have the highest opinion both of your character and of your capacity; but we
haven’t the right to take the risk of some accident that might happen owing to
your lamentable ignorance. It’s a matter of prudence as well as of
principle.’
‘But couldn’t you learn, Foreman?’ asked the general.
‘No, sir, I’m afraid I
couldn’t, not now. You see, I’m not as young as I was and if I couldn’t seem
able to get the letters in me ’ead when I was a nipper I don’t think there’s
much chance of it now.’
‘We don’t want to be harsh
with you, Foreman,’ said the vicar. ‘But the churchwardens and I have quite
made up our minds. We’ll give you three months and if at the end of that time
you cannot read and write I’m afraid you’ll have to go.’
Albert Edward had never liked
the new vicar. He’d said from the beginning that they’d made a mistake when
they gave him St Peter’s. He wasn’t the type of man they wanted with a classy
congregation like that. And now he straightened himself a little. He knew his
value and he wasn’t going to allow himself to be put upon.
‘I’m very sorry, sir, I’m
afraid it’s no good. I’m too old a dog to learn new tricks. I’ve lived a good
many years without knowin’ ’ow to read and write, and without wishin’ to praise
myself, self–praise is no recommendation, I don’t mind sayin’ I’ve done my duty
in that state of life in which it ’as pleased a merciful providence to place
me, and if I could learn now I don’t know as I’d want to.’
‘In that case, Foreman, I’m
afraid you must go.’
‘Yes, sir, I quite understand.
I shall be ’appy to ’and in my resignation as soon as you’ve
found somebody to take my place.’
But when Albert Edward with
his usual politeness had closed the church door behind the vicar and the two
churchwardens he could not sustain the air of unruffled dignity with which he
had borne the blow inflicted upon him and his lips quivered. He walked slowly
back to the vestry and hung up on its proper peg his verger’s gown. He sighed
as he thought of all the grand funerals and smart weddings it had seen. He
tidied everything up, put on his coat, and hat in hand walked down the aisle.
He locked the church door behind him. He strolled across the square, but deep
in his sad thoughts he did not take the street that led him home, where a nice
strong cup of tea awaited him; he took the wrong turning. He walked slowly
along. His heart was heavy. He did not know what he should do with himself. He
did not fancy the notion of going back to domestic service;
after being his own master for so many years, for the vicar and churchwardens
could say what they liked, it was he that had run St Peter’s, Neville Square,
he could scarcely demean himself by accepting a situation. He
had saved a tidy sum, but not enough to live on without doing something, and
life seemed to cost more every year. He had never thought to be troubled with
such questions. The vergers of St Peter’s, like the popes of Rome, were there
for life. He had often thought of the pleasant reference the vicar would make
in his sermon at evensong the first Sunday after his death to the long and
faithful service, and the exemplary character of their late verger, Albert
Edward Foreman. He sighed deeply. Albert Edward was a non–smoker and a total
abstainer, but with a certain latitude; that is to say he liked a
glass of beer with his dinner and when he was tired he enjoyed a cigarette. It
occurred to him now that one would comfort him and since he did not carry them
he looked about him for a shop where he could buy a packet of Gold Flake. He
did not at once see one and walked on a little. It was a long street, with all
sorts of shops in it, but there was not a single one where you could buy
cigarettes.
‘That’s strange,’ said Albert
Edward.
To make sure he walked right
up the street again. No, there was no doubt about it. He stopped and looked
reflectively up and down.
‘I can’t be the only man as
walks along this street and wants a fag,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t wonder but what
a fellow might do very well with a little shop here. Tobacco
and sweets, you know.’
He gave a sudden start.
‘That’s an idea,’ he said.
‘Strange ’ow things come to you when you least expect it.’
He turned, walked home, and
had his tea.
‘You’re very silent this
afternoon, Albert,’ his wife remarked.
‘I’m thinkin’,’ he said.
He considered the matter from
every point of view and next day he went along the street and by good luck
found a little shop to let that looked as though it would exactly suit him.
Twenty–four hours later he had taken it, and when a month after that he left St
Peter’s, Neville Square, for ever, Albert Edward Foreman set up in business as
a tobacconist and newsagent. His wife said it was a dreadful come–down after
being verger of St Peter’s, but he answered that you had to move with the
times, the church wasn’t what it was, and ’enceforward he was going to
render unto Caesar what was Caesar’s. Albert Edward did very well. He did
so well that in a year or so it struck him that he might take a second shop and
put a manager in. He looked for another long street that hadn’t got a
tobacconist in it and when he found it, and a shop to let, took it and stocked
it. This was a success too. Then it occurred to him that if he could run two he
could run half a dozen, so he began walking about London, and whenever he found
a long street that had no tobacconist and a shop to let he took it. In the course
of ten years he had acquired no less than ten shops and he was making
money hand over fist. He went round to all of them himself every
Monday, collected the week’s takings, and took them to the bank.
One morning when he was there
paying in a bundle of notes and a heavy bag of silver the cashier told him that
the manager would like to see him. He was shown into an office and the manager
shook hands with him.
‘Mr Foreman, I wanted to have
a talk to you about the money you’ve got on deposit with us. D’you know exactly
how much it is?’
‘Not within a pound or two,
sir; but I’ve got a pretty rough idea.’
‘Apart from what you paid in
this morning it’s a little over thirty thousand pounds. That’s a very large sum
to have on deposit and I should have thought you’d do better to invest it.’
‘I wouldn’t want to take no
risk, sir. I know it’s safe in the bank.’
‘You needn’t have the least
anxiety. We’ll make you out a list of absolutely gilt–edged securities. They’ll
bring you in a better rate of interest than we can possibly afford to give
you.’
A troubled look settled on Mr
Foreman’s distinguished face. ‘I’ve never ’ad anything to do with stocks and
shares and I’d ’ave to leave it all in your ’ands,’ he said.
The manager smiled. ‘We’ll do
everything. All you’ll have to do next time you come in is just to sign the
transfers.’
‘I could do that all right,’
said Albert uncertainly. ‘But ’ow should I know what I was signin’?’
‘I suppose you can read,’ said
the manager a trifle sharply.
Mr Foreman gave him a
disarming smile.
‘Well, sir, that’s just it. I
can’t. I know it sounds funny–like, but there it is, I can’t read or write,
only me name, an’ I only learnt to do that when I went into business.’
The manager was so surprised
that he jumped up from his chair.
‘That’s the most extraordinary thing
I ever heard.’
‘You see, it’s like this, sir,
I never ’ad the opportunity until it was too late and then some’ow I wouldn’t.
I got obstinate–like.’
The manager stared at him as
though he were a prehistoric monster.
‘And do you mean to say that
you’ve built up this important business and amassed a fortune of thirty
thousand pounds without being able to read or write? Good God, man, what would
you be now if you had been able to?’
‘I can tell you that, sir,’
said Mr Foreman, a little smile on his still aristocratic features. ‘I’d be verger of St Peter’s, Neville
Square.’
Vocabulary
Exercises:
ex. 1 Find the English equivalents from the text
убирать, немного, второсортный, благоволить, сообщать, ответ, прилагать
усилия, невежество, увольняться, обманывать, чуть старше сорока, умалчивать,
попасть в беду, подавлять, не осознающий чего-либо, смыслить в чем-либо,
необыкновенный, поступить низко, терпимость, быстро и легко, преуспевать,
кесарево кесарю, любить
ex. 2 Complete the sentences with words and expressions from the text
- Do you _______ a dessert?
It's delicious!
- There are a lot of
politicians who are involved in corruption but the government prefers to
_______.
- He never had _______ in
maths, so even for his own business he hired an accountant.
- John _______ his feelings
and decided not to _______ how disappointed he really was.
- She laughed and laughed
_______ of all the rumors about her.
- Of all two children that
my mother had she seemed to _______ the oldest son. To her I was _______.
- The woman had some
_______ abilities - she was a psychic.
- She didn't want to
_______ herself by apologizing to everybody.
- I called you but you
haven't _______!
- They were famous for
their _______ towards drinking and smoking.
- He really worked hard and
_______ in his business.
- He _______ with the
zipper - it was old and broken.
- From the very first day
his shop opened he started to make money _______.
- Before the guests came,
we _______ the apartment and prepared dinner.
- The man was not young but
not yet old, maybe in his _______.
- He was a _______
surprised when she said she was pregnant.
- My friend can't hold his
tongue in his mouth and always _______ because of it.
- We must fight with
_______ among teenaged today!
- I am fed up with this
work. I
_______!
- For many years he was
_______ by his family, so no wonder he had a heart attack when they
imparted him the truth.
ex. 3 Create future sentences
Example:
(if/she/continue
to favor him) ...
If she continues
to favor him, I will leave the house.
- (when/you/tidy
up/apartment)...
- (if/your child/have knack
in languages)...
- (if/you/get into
trouble)...
- (if/you/resign)...
- (when/you/start to do
well in your business)...
- (if/he/make money hand
over fist)...
- (when/you/reply to my
messages)...
Comprehension Exercises:
ex. 1 Answer the questions
- Who was Albert Edward?
What can you say about him?
- Did he like the newly
appointed vicar? How was he different from the previous one?
- What did the Albert think
about the church and its parishioners? Why does he repeat that their
congregation was "fashionable" and "aristocratic"?
- What do you know about
Albert's career?
- What did the vicar want
to talk with Albert about? What did the verger reply to it?
- Did the verger regret his
resignation? What was he worried about after receiving the news?
- Was
Albert an abstainer?
- What happened when he was
walking the street after his resignation?
- What was his wife
attitude towards his business? What did Albert say to it?
- Was
Albert successful?
- Why did he have to go to
the bank? How did the manager find out about Albert's story? What happened in the end?
ex. 2 Discuss the following
- Why were gowns so
important for the verger? Why was he never able to throw the old gowns
away?
- What was the peculiarity
of the verger's speech? Why does the author emphasize it?
- Why does the author say
the following about the verger: "The verger knew that it pleased him
to be complimented on his talent."
- Why was it important for
the church to have a verger who could read and write? What was the true reason behind it?
- How does Albert's
attitude towards drinking and smoking characterize him?
- Why did Albert succeed in
business as a tobacconist and newsagent? What traits of character made him successful?
- Do you have any
prejudices about people who don't have proper education? Can it really say
something about a person? Does it immediately make them "ignorant"?
Is diploma a guarantee of
success in life?
- Do you believe that
people's misfortunes are their own fault? Do you think that when one
door closes, another opens? Are you
an optimist?
- What is the message of
this story?
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