The Jervaise Comedy

The Jervaise Comedy

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Title: The Jervaise Comedy
Author: J. D. Beresford
Release Date: February 20, 2005 [EBook #15116]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE JERVAISE COMEDY
BY
J.D. BERESFORD

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1919

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
THE FIRST HOUR II ANNE III FRANK JERVAISE IV IN THE
HALL V DAYBREAK VI MORNING VII NOTES AND QUERIES
VIII THE OUTCAST IX BANKS X THE HOME FARM XI THE
STORY XII CONVERSION XIII FARMER BANKS XIV MRS.
BANKS XV REMEMBRANCE POSTSCRIPT--THE TRUE STORY

THE JERVAISE COMEDY
I
THE FIRST HOUR
When I was actually experiencing the thrill, it came delightfully,
however, blended with a threat that proclaimed the imminent
consequence of dismay. I appreciated the coming of the thrill, as a rare
and unexpected "dramatic moment." I savoured and enjoyed it as a real
adventure suddenly presented in the midst of the common business of
life. I imaginatively transplanted the scene from the Hall of
Thorp-Jervaise to a West-End theatre; and in my instant part of
unoccupied spectator I admired the art with which the affair had been
staged. It is so seldom that we are given an opportunity to witness one
of these "high moments," and naturally enough I began instinctively to
turn the scene into literature; admitting without hesitation, as I am often
forced to admit, that the detail of reality is so much better and more
typical than any I can invent.
But, having said that, I wonder how far one does invent in such an
experience? The same night I hinted something of my appreciation of
the dramatic quality of the stir at the Hall door to Frank Jervaise,
Brenda's brother, and he, quite obviously, had altogether missed that
aspect of the affair. He scowled with that forensic, bullying air he is so
successfully practising at the Junior Bar, as he said, "I suppose you
realise just what this may mean, to all of us?"
Jervaise evidently had failed to appreciate the detail that I had relished
with such delight. He had certainly not savoured the quality of it. And
in one sense I may claim to have invented the business of the scene. I
may have added to it by my imaginative participation. In any case my
understanding as interpreter was the prime essential--a fact that shows

how absurd it is to speak of "photographic detail" in literature, or
indeed to attempt a proper differentiation between realism and
romance.
We were all of us in the Hall, an inattentive, chattering audience of
between twenty and thirty people. The last dance had been stopped at
ten minutes to twelve, in order that the local parson and his wife--their
name was Sturton--might be out of the house of entertainment before
the first stroke of Sunday morning. Every one was wound up to a pitch
of satisfied excitement. The Cinderella had been a success. The floor
and the music and the supper had been good, Mrs. Jervaise had thrown
off her air of pre-occupation with some distasteful suspicion, and we
had all been entertained and happy. And yet these causes for
satisfaction had been nothing more than a setting for Brenda Jervaise. It
was she who had stimulated us, given us a lead and kept us dancing to
the tune of her exciting personality. She had made all the difference
between an ordinarily successful dance and what Mrs. Sturton at the
open door continually described as "a really delightful evening."
She had to repeat the phrase, because with the first stroke of midnight
ringing out from the big clock over the stables, came also the first
intimation of the new movement. Mrs. Sturton's fly was mysteriously
delayed; and I had a premonition even then, that the delay promised
some diversion. The tone of the stable clock had its influence, perhaps.
It was so precisely the tone of a stage clock--high and pretentious, and
with a disturbing suggestion of being unmelodiously flawed.
Miss Tattersall, Olive Jervaise's friend, a rather abundant fair young
woman, warmed by excitement to the realisation that she must flirt with
some one, also noticed the theatrical sound of that announcement of
midnight. She giggled a little nervously as stroke succeeded stroke in
an apparently unending succession.
"It seems as if it were going on all night," she said to me, in