[ Fitzgerald / "The Reverend Alfred Hoblush's Statement" ]
Percy Hetherington Fitzgerald (1834–1925) was an Irish lawyer, artist, and writer, primarily of novels, biographies, theatrical reviews, and short fiction.
This comic story was part of a series of short pieces featuring the Rev. Hoblush, which Fitgerald eventually published in novel form. This short story first appeared in Charles Dickens' weekly literary magazine Household Words for 17 July 1858.
This particular story, told by the main character (who often talks about himself in the third person), begins with the Rev. Hoblush explaining his "mysterious repulsion to most of the animal creation." He is afraid of cats and horses, he explains, but of all animals the ones that most terrified him were dogs.
Their presence filled me with terror; I scented them afar off, and was warned of their approach by a sort of instinct. Everyway
my presence seemed to have the effect of inflaming them, and even dogs of inoffensive natures have been known to growl and glance furiously from their eyes and to display other marks of irritation. (XVIII: 113)
The story's main concern, however, is the Reverend's awkward relationship with "the fairer sex," including his passion for a young Irish woman visiting relatives in his parish. Smitten with her, the Rev. visits her at the house where she is staying. The young woman teases him by speaking of an acquaintance of hers, the "fine, handsome fellow" Mr. Nairo. The good Reverend is immediately jealous:
"Wouldn't ye like to know him now?" she said.
"I had no particular desire," I answered, in freezing tones.
"Now, are you going to be jealous of the poor fellow before seeing him? Then, I can tell you, I like him better than anybody I
have ever seen yet."
I went home that night filled with a new trouble. "Who was this wretched Nairo that had come between me and my love? Cold, hollow-hearted woman! Why torture this faithful bosom? Nairo. What a name! Italian, doubtless: some fellow with jet, glossy moustaches and rings. A curled and oiled Assyrian bull, like the man in Maud. Pah! But let him beware—beware, I say! Lambs have been known to cast their skin and become lions! Nairo! indeed, — ha! ha! the (what was the Irish word ?) the spalpeen! — ha! ha! The spalpeen! Och! whilliloo!" I continued, starting up, with Hibernian associations crowding fast upon me, "will anybody tread upon the tail of my coat?" and I drew an imaginary garment round the room triumphantly.
[The Rev. continues to pay visits to the young woman, who continues to tease him.]
Mr. Nairo was already arrived, she told me. He saw her every day. But, with my penetration, it was easy to know that this was but a blind: one of her little tricks for plaguing my loving heart. I have a secret feeling that I have grown to be beloved in turn.
[The Rev. decides to declare his love, though his awkwardness gets him off to a clumsy start. ]
"Be quick, then, Mr. Hoblush. I have to go out with Mr. Nairo."
My lip curled. "Mr. Nairo's claims, I suppose, are paramount?"
"They are," she said, quietly.
I regarded her fixedly for an instant. "Go, false one!" I said.
"What do you mean, sir?" she returned, rising.
"Ah, stay!" I said, frantically. "Forgive me! I knew not what I said. Nay, you must hear me; I have been silent too long." And, sinking on my knees, I poured out all my loves, hopes, and sorrows: how I had worshipped her, and every particle of dust or earth upon which she trod: how she was my pearl of Shiraz, my opal of great price, my Prince Regent, or Pitt diamond: how I was but a body, and she the soul: how she was my breath of life, my sustenance, my hope, my joy, my –
The door was violently pushed open, and then came bounding in something shaggy – something panting. Two paws were on my
shoulder in an instant; and there was a great black and white head and ivory jaws beside my cheek. I could have died at that
moment. "Take him away!" I shrieked, feebly.
"Down, Nairo!" she said, with her handkerchief to her mouth.
But the horrible Newfoundland brute kept on me still. His bark came as thunder to my ears, and then I was grovelling on the floor
beneath him. There was an icy suffusion on my brow. All I recollect afterwards, was his cold nose sniffing at my throat; his two fiery eyes glaring at me, and his hot breath upon my cheeks.
Yes, I saw more than that. I saw the cruel Irish maiden falling back on the sofa in convulsions of laughter. For all that, it nearly threw me into a fit, as might be expected from my constitutional antipathy to ferocious animals.
Speaking now as a third party, I may mention the fact, that the Reverend Alfred Hoblush has exchanged his curacy for one
in the west of England. But cślum non animum mutant is the unalterable law. His spirits are utterly broken, and he is but the wreck of his former self.
This story concludes with those words.