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- Herausgeber: Kerry Butters
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Charles Dickens' brilliant comic adventure of a lamplighter, Tom Grig, who is called into the house of an eccentric astronomer who is searching for the philosopher's stone. He declares that the stars have foretold that Tom will marry the astronomer's niece and inherit the secret of the philosopher's stone, which will make him the richest man on earth. Unfortunately, this good fortune will be time-limited, as the stars have also forecast Tom's death in exactly two months. But the niece, the astronomer's son and daughter, together with their maid and the laboratory assistant all have other ideas...with hilarious consequences.
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Charles Dickens
The Lamplighter Preview
A Short Story
Table of contents
THE LAMPLIGHTER
By
Charles Dickens
Table of Contents
THE LAMPLIGHTER
THE LAMPLIGHTER
‘ If you talk of Murphy and Francis Moore, gentlemen,’ said the lamplighter who was in the chair, ‘I mean to say that neither of ’em ever had any more to do with the stars than Tom Grig had.’
‘ And what had he to do with ’em?’ asked the lamplighter who officiated as vice.
‘ Nothing at all,’ replied the other; ‘just exactly nothing at all.’
‘ Do you mean to say you don’t believe in Murphy, then?’ demanded the lamplighter who had opened the discussion.
‘ I mean to say I believe in Tom Grig,’ replied the chairman. ‘Whether I believe in Murphy, or not, is a matter between me and my conscience; and whether Murphy believes in himself, or not, is a matter between him and his conscience. Gentlemen, I drink your healths.’
The lamplighter who did the company this honour, was seated in the chimney-corner of a certain tavern, which has been, time out of mind, the Lamplighters’ House of Call. He sat in the midst of a circle of lamplighters, and was the cacique, or chief of the tribe.
If any of our readers have had the good fortune to behold a lamplighter’s funeral, they will not be surprised to learn that lamplighters are a strange and primitive people; that they rigidly adhere to old ceremonies and customs which have been handed down among them from father to son since the first public lamp was lighted out of doors; that they intermarry, and betroth their children in infancy; that they enter into no plots or conspiracies (for who ever heard of a traitorous lamplighter?); that they commit no crimes against the laws of their country (there being no instance of a murderous or burglarious lamplighter); that they are, in short, notwithstanding their apparently volatile and restless character, a highly moral and reflective people: having among themselves as many traditional observances as the Jews, and being, as a body, if not as old as the hills, at least as old as the streets. It is an article of their creed that the first faint glimmering of true civilisation shone in the first street-light maintained at the public expense. They trace their existence and high position in the public esteem, in a direct line to the heathen mythology; and hold that the history of Prometheus himself is but a pleasant fable, whereof the true hero is a lamplighter.
‘ Gentlemen,’ said the lamplighter in the chair, ‘I drink your healths.’
‘ And perhaps, Sir,’ said the vice, holding up his glass, and rising a little way off his seat and sitting down again, in token that he recognised and returned the compliment, ‘perhaps you will add to that condescension by telling us who Tom Grig was, and how he came to be connected in your mind with Francis Moore, Physician.’
‘ Hear, hear, hear!’ cried the lamplighters generally.
‘ Tom Grig, gentlemen,’ said the chairman, ‘was one of us; and it happened to him, as it don’t often happen to a public character in our line, that he had his what-you-may-call-it cast.’
‘ His head?’ said the vice.
‘ No,’ replied the chairman, ‘not his head.’
‘ His face, perhaps?’ said the vice. ‘No, not his face.’ ‘His legs?’ ‘No, not his legs.’ Nor yet his arms, nor his hands, nor his feet, nor his chest, all of which were severally suggested.
‘ His nativity, perhaps?’
‘ That’s it,’ said the chairman, awakening from his thoughtful attitude at the suggestion. ‘His nativity. That’s what Tom had cast, gentlemen.’
‘ In plaster?’ asked the vice.
‘ I don’t rightly know how it’s done,’ returned the chairman. ‘But I suppose it was.’
And there he stopped as if that were all he had to say; whereupon there arose a murmur among the company, which at length resolved itself into a request, conveyed through the vice, that he would go on. This being exactly what the chairman wanted, he mused for a little time, performed that agreeable ceremony which is popularly termed wetting one’s whistle, and went on thus:
‘ Tom Grig, gentlemen, was, as I have said, one of us; and I may go further, and say he was an ornament to us, and such a one as only the good old times of oil and cotton could have produced. Tom’s family, gentlemen, were all lamplighters.’
‘ Not the ladies, I hope?’ asked the vice.
‘ They had talent enough for it, Sir,’ rejoined the chairman, ‘and would have been, but for the prejudices of society. Let women have their rights, Sir, and the females of Tom’s family would have been every one of ’em in office. But that emancipation hasn’t come yet, and hadn’t then, and consequently they confined themselves to the bosoms of their families, cooked the dinners, mended the clothes, minded the children, comforted their husbands, and attended to the house-keeping generally. It’s a hard thing upon the women, gentlemen, that they are limited to such a sphere of action as this; very hard.
