CHAPTER XII.
A DELICATE TASK.
Great as had been Mr. Erin’s joy when he first looked on Shakespeare’s love-lock and love letter, it by no means wore off—as our violent delights are apt to do—as time went on. What was wanting in the way of novelty was made up to him perhaps—for we may be sure Margaret did not insist upon her rights in the matter—by the sense of possession. For what was the position of the man who had in his cupboard some unique pieces of china, or even in his coffers the biggest ruby or diamond in the world, as compared with his own? Only, as in the latter case, he grew not a little nervous for the safety of his unrivalled treasure. He was a virtuoso and antiquary himself, and therefore recognised the full extent of his danger. In his iron press he caused a little well to be sunk, in which the lock of hair was placed under glass, for the contemplation of the faithful, and none was ever permitted to behold it save in his presence. Even then he did not feel safe, but compelled himself to adopt a plan to ensure security which galled him to the quick. Just as in old times black mail was wont to be given by the rich to leading and powerful robbers as an insurance on their goods, so Mr. Samuel Erin did not hesitate to offer to the more audacious and formidable of his learned brethren bribes, and those of the most precious kind imaginable. Though every thread taken from Shakespeare’s lock gave him a pang infinitely keener than the drawing out of his own beard with pincers would have done, he actually distributed a few of these precious hairs among his friends, which they placed reverently in rings and lockets. We may be sure that Sir Frederick Eden had a genuine hair or two; but it was whispered by the envious (who were many) that upon applications becoming numerous Mr. Erin’s favours grew in proportion, which, as the lock did not diminish, could only arise from some other source of supply.
Among the recipients who entertained this doubt, or among those who received no such sacred relic at all, there were some who had the hardihood to assert that no human hair could have resisted the lapse of time since Shakespeare’s days. They even produced a Mr. Collett, a hair merchant, who came to inspect the lock—from a distance of several feet, however—and who had the hardihood to express this opinion in the proprietor’s presence. To describe the effect of anger in aged persons, especially when accompanied with personal violence, is painful to one who, like the present writer, has a respect for the dignity of human nature, so we will draw a veil over what ensued, but it is certain that Mr. Collett left Norfolk Street on that occasion with much precipitation—taking the four steps that led to the front door at a bound: he also left his hat behind him, which was thrown after him into the street. It must be admitted that his objections were as absurd as they were impertinent, since it is well known that human hair has survived many centuries of burial; indeed, when the vault of Edward IV., who died in 1483, was opened at Windsor, the hair of the head was found flowing, and as strong as hair cut from the head of a living person. This Sir Frederick Eden privately assured Mr. Erin to be true, since he was not only present at the exhumation, but had been so fortunate, by means of a heavy bribe to the sexton, as to get some of the said hair for his private collection.
Partly from reasons that have been suggested, but chiefly from William Henry’s remonstrance upon his patron’s account—who he felt confident would lay an embargo upon all future treasure troves, if he should find the report of what had happened to interfere with his own ease and privacy—Mr. Samuel Erin took little pains to circulate the news of his son’s second discovery; but nevertheless it oozed out, and in spite of himself William Henry found himself to be in some respects a public character. Whoever called to see the manuscripts inquired also if the young gentleman was at home, to receive from his own lips the oft-told tale of their discovery. This was exceedingly irksome to him; he would much rather have been reading and talking to his fair cousin, and let his father have all the glory of exhibition and explanation to himself. But Maggie never grudged him to these inquirers; she was pleased to find he was so much sought after, and took a greater pride in it than even her uncle. William Henry went to New Inn, as usual, but it was well understood that the time he spent there was of little consequence, as compared with his visits to the Temple. Mr. Erin ever thirsted for new discoveries, not only on their own account, but because, as he justly observed, the greater the bulk of them, the more probable would their genuineness appear to those inclined to question it. The antiquary demands not only treasure but credit, and though Mr. Erin himself entertained no doubts, he would rather that other people had none; just as the gentleman who kept the thousand-pound note framed and glazed upon his mantelpiece, not content with knowing it was from the Bank of England, resented the imputation from his friends of its having been issued from the Bank of Elegance.
Moreover, Mr. Erin was secretly troubled at the continued absence of Frank Dennis. He could, as we have seen, on occasion, and even when there was no occasion, give him the rough side of his tongue, but in his heart he greatly respected him. The old man, thanks to himself, or rather to his temper, had few friends; the bond that united him to those he possessed was itself a source of rivalry and disagreement. But Dennis’s father and himself had been as brothers, and after the former died, Mr. Erin had allowed the young man some familiarity, to which certainly none of his years had been admitted before or since.
He professed just now to be absent on business, but business had never detained him from Norfolk Street so long before. Mr. Erin reproached himself with having driven him away by his harsh behaviour, and even went so far as to confess as much to his niece.
‘Of course it annoyed me, wench, to see Frank so obstinate in his incredulity, for that he was incredulous about that note of hand I am certain.’