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Title: Nightmare Abbey

Author: Thomas Love Peacock

Release date: February 1, 2006 [eBook #9909]
                Most recently updated: December 27, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Tom Allen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NIGHTMARE ABBEY ***




Produced by Suzanne Shell, Tom Allen, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.










NIGHTMARE ABBEY

By

_Thomas Love Peacock_



CONTENTS

  NIGHTMARE ABBEY

  NOTES TO _Nightmare Abbey_




NIGHTMARE ABBEY:

BY

THE AUTHOR OF HEADLONG HALL.

       *       *       *       *       *

  There's a dark lantern of the spirit,
  Which none see by but those who bear it,
  That makes them in the dark see visions
  And hag themselves with apparitions,
  Find racks for their own minds, and vaunt
  Of their own misery and want.
  BUTLER.

       *       *       *       *       *

LONDON:

1818.


MATTHEW. Oh! it's your only fine humour, sir. Your true melancholy
breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am melancholy myself, divers
times, sir; and then do I no more but take pen and paper presently,
and overflow you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.

STEPHEN. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure.

MATTHEW. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study: it's at your
service.

STEPHEN. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you. Have you a
stool there, to be melancholy upon?

BEN JONSON, _Every Man in his Humour_, Act 3, Sc. I

  Ay esleu gazouiller et siffler oye, comme dit le commun
  proverbe, entre les cygnes, plutoust que d'estre entre
  tant de gentils poëtes et faconds orateurs mut du tout
  estimé.

  RABELAIS, _Prol. L_. 5

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER I


Nightmare Abbey, a venerable family-mansion, in a highly picturesque
state of semi-dilapidation, pleasantly situated on a strip of dry land
between the sea and the fens, at the verge of the county of Lincoln,
had the honour to be the seat of Christopher Glowry, Esquire. This
gentleman was naturally of an atrabilarious temperament, and much
troubled with those phantoms of indigestion which are commonly called
_blue devils_. He had been deceived in an early friendship: he had
been crossed in love; and had offered his hand, from pique, to a lady,
who accepted it from interest, and who, in so doing, violently tore
asunder the bonds of a tried and youthful attachment. Her vanity was
gratified by being the mistress of a very extensive, if not very
lively, establishment; but all the springs of her sympathies were
frozen. Riches she possessed, but that which enriches them, the
participation of affection, was wanting. All that they could purchase
for her became indifferent to her, because that which they could not
purchase, and which was more valuable than themselves, she had, for
their sake, thrown away. She discovered, when it was too late, that
she had mistaken the means for the end--that riches, rightly used, are
instruments of happiness, but are not in themselves happiness. In this
wilful blight of her affections, she found them valueless as means:
they had been the end to which she had immolated all her affections,
and were now the only end that remained to her. She did not confess
this to herself as a principle of action, but it operated through the
medium of unconscious self-deception, and terminated in inveterate
avarice. She laid on external things the blame of her mind's internal
disorder, and thus became by degrees an accomplished scold. She often
went her daily rounds through a series of deserted apartments, every
creature in the house vanishing at the creak of her shoe, much more
at the sound of her voice, to which the nature of things affords no
simile; for, as far as the voice of woman, when attuned by gentleness
and love, transcends all other sounds in harmony, so far does
it surpass all others in discord, when stretched into unnatural
shrillness by anger and impatience.

Mr Glowry used to say that his house was no better than a spacious
kennel, for every one in it led the life of a dog. Disappointed both
in love and in friendship, and looking upon human learning as vanity,
he had come to a conclusion that there was but one good thing in the
world, _videlicet_, a good dinner; and this his parsimonious lady
seldom suffered him to enjoy: but, one morning, like Sir Leoline in
Christabel, 'he woke and found his lady dead,' and remained a very
consolate widower, with one small child.

This only son and heir Mr Glowry had christened Scythrop, from the
name of a maternal ancestor, who had hanged himself one rainy day in a
fit of _toedium vitae_, and had been eulogised by a coroner's jury in
the comprehensive phrase of _felo de se_; on which account, Mr Glowry
held his memory in high honour, and made a punchbowl of his skull.

When Scythrop grew up, he was sent, as usual, to a public school,
where a little learning was painfully beaten into him, and from thence
to the university, where it was carefully taken out of him; and he was
sent home like a well-threshed ear of corn, with nothing in his head:
having finished his education to the high satisfaction of the
master and fellows of his college, who had, in testimony of their
approbation, presented him with a silver fish-slice, on which his name
figured at the head of a laudatory inscription in some semi-barbarous
dialect of Anglo-Saxonised Latin.

His fellow-students, however, who drove tandem and random in great
perfection, and were connoisseurs in good inns, had taught him to
drink deep ere he departed. He had passed much of his time with these
choice spirits, and had seen the rays of the midnight lamp tremble
on many a lengthening file of empty bottles. He passed his vacations
sometimes at Nightmare Abbey, sometimes in London, at the house of
his uncle, Mr Hilary, a very cheerful and elastic gentleman, who had
married the sister of the melancholy Mr Glowry. The company that
frequented his house was the gayest of the gay. Scythrop danced with
the ladies and drank with the gentlemen, and was pronounced by both a
very accomplished charming fellow, and an honour to the university.

At the house of Mr Hilary, Scythrop first saw the beautiful Miss Emily
Girouette. He fell in love; which is nothing new. He was favourably
received; which is nothing strange. Mr Glowry and Mr Girouette had
a meeting on the occasion, and quarrelled about the terms of the
bargain; which is neither new nor strange. The lovers were torn
asunder, weeping and vowing everlasting constancy; and, in three weeks
after this tragical event, the lady was led a smiling bride to the
altar, by the Honourable Mr Lackwit; which is neither strange nor new.

Scythrop received this intelligence at Nightmare Abbey, and was half
distracted on the occasion. It was his first disappointment, and
preyed deeply on his sensitive spirit. His father, to comfort him,
read him a Commentary on Ecclesiastes, which he had himself composed,
and which demonstrated incontrovertibly that all is vanity. He
insisted particularly on the text, 'One man among a thousand have I
found, but a woman amongst all those have I not found.'

'How could he expect it,' said Scythrop, 'when the whole thousand were
locked up in his seraglio? His experience is no precedent for a free
state of society like that in which we live.'

'Locked up or at large,' said Mr Glowry, 'the result is the same:
their minds are always locked up, and vanity and interest keep the
key. I speak feelingly, Scythrop.'

'I am sorry for it, sir,' said Scythrop. 'But how is it that their
minds are locked up? The fault is in their artificial education, which
studiously models them into mere musical dolls, to be set out for sale
in the great toy-shop of society.'

'To be sure,' said Mr Glowry, 'their education is not so well finished
as yours has been; and your idea of a musical doll is good. I bought
one myself, but it was confoundedly out of tune; but, whatever be the
cause, Scythrop, the effect is certainly this, that one is pretty
nearly as good as another, as far as any judgment can be formed of
them before marriage. It is only after marriage that they show
their true qualities, as I know by bitter experience. Marriage is,
therefore, a lottery, and the less choice and selection a man bestows
on his ticket the better; for, if he has incurred considerable pains
and expense to obtain a lucky number, and his lucky number proves a
blank, he experiences not a simple, but a complicated disappointment;
the loss of labour and money being superadded to the disappointment of
drawing a blank, which, constituting simply and entirely the grievance
of him who has chosen his ticket at random, is, from its simplicity,
the more endurable.' This very excellent reasoning was thrown away
upon Scythrop, who retired to his tower as dismal and disconsolate as
before.

The tower which Scythrop inhabited stood at the south-eastern angle of
the Abbey; and, on the southern side, the foot of the tower opened on
a terrace, which was called the garden, though nothing grew on it but
ivy, and a few amphibious weeds. The south-western tower, which was
ruinous and full of owls, might, with equal propriety, have been
called the aviary. This terrace or garden, or terrace-garden, or
garden-terrace (the reader may name it _ad libitum_), took in an
oblique view of the open sea, and fronted a long tract of level
sea-coast, and a fine monotony of fens and windmills.

The reader will judge, from what we have said, that this building was
a sort of castellated abbey; and it will, probably, occur to him to
inquire if it had been one of the strong-holds of the ancient church
militant. Whether this was the case, or how far it had been indebted
to the taste of Mr Glowry's ancestors for any transmutations from its
original state, are, unfortunately, circumstances not within the pale
of our knowledge.

The north-western tower contained the apartments of Mr Glowry. The
moat at its base, and the fens beyond, comprised the whole of his
prospect. This moat surrounded the Abbey, and was in immediate contact
with the walls on every side but the south.

The north-eastern tower was appropriated to the domestics, whom Mr
Glowry always chose by one of two criterions,--a long face, or a
dismal name. His butler was Raven; his steward was Crow; his valet was
Skellet. Mr Glowry maintained that the valet was of French extraction,
and that his name was Squelette. His grooms were Mattocks and Graves.
On one occasion, being in want of a footman, he received a letter
from a person signing himself Diggory Deathshead, and lost no time in
securing this acquisition; but on Diggory's arrival, Mr Glowry was
horror-struck by the sight of a round ruddy face, and a pair of
laughing eyes. Deathshead was always grinning,--not a ghastly smile,
but the grin of a comic mask; and disturbed the echoes of the hall
with so much unhallowed laughter, that Mr Glowry gave him his
discharge. Diggory, however, had staid long enough to make conquests
of all the old gentleman's maids, and left him a flourishing colony of
young Deathsheads to join chorus with the owls, that had before been
the exclusive choristers of Nightmare Abbey.

The main body of the building was divided into rooms of state,
spacious apartments for feasting, and numerous bed-rooms for visitors,
who, however, were few and far between.

Family interests compelled Mr Glowry to receive occasional visits from
Mr and Mrs Hilary, who paid them from the same motive; and, as the
lively gentleman on these occasions found few conductors for his
exuberant gaiety, he became like a double-charged electric jar, which
often exploded in some burst of outrageous merriment to the signal
discomposure of Mr Glowry's nerves.

Another occasional visitor, much more to Mr Glowry's taste, was Mr
Flosky,[1] a very lachrymose and morbid gentleman, of some note in
the literary world, but in his own estimation of much more merit than
name. The part of his character which recommended him to Mr Glowry
was his very fine sense of the grim and the tearful. No one could
relate a dismal story with so many minutiæ of supererogatory
wretchedness. No one could call up a _raw-head and bloody-bones_ with
so many adjuncts and circumstances of ghastliness. Mystery was his
mental element. He lived in the midst of that visionary world in which
nothing is but what is not. He dreamed with his eyes open, and saw
ghosts dancing round him at noontide. He had been in his youth
an enthusiast for liberty, and had hailed the dawn of the French
Revolution as the promise of a day that was to banish war and slavery,
and every form of vice and misery, from the face of the earth. Because
all this was not done, he deduced that nothing was done; and from this
deduction, according to his system of logic, he drew a conclusion
that worse than nothing was done; that the overthrow of the feudal
fortresses of tyranny and superstition was the greatest calamity that
had ever befallen mankind; and that their only hope now was to rake
the rubbish together, and rebuild it without any of those loopholes
by which the light had originally crept in. To qualify himself for a
coadjutor in this laudable task, he plunged into the central
opacity of Kantian metaphysics, and lay _perdu_ several years in
transcendental darkness, till the common daylight of common sense
became intolerable to his eyes. He called the sun an _ignis fatuus_;
and exhorted all who would listen to his friendly voice, which were
about as many as called 'God save King Richard,' to shelter themselves
from its delusive radiance in the obscure haunt of Old Philosophy.
This word Old had great charms for him. The good old times were always
on his lips; meaning the days when polemic theology was in its prime,
and rival prelates beat the drum ecclesiastic with Herculean vigour,
till the one wound up his series of syllogisms with the very orthodox
conclusion of roasting the other.

But the dearest friend of Mr Glowry, and his most welcome guest,
was Mr Toobad, the Manichaean Millenarian. The twelfth verse of the
twelfth chapter of Revelations was always in his mouth: 'Woe to the
inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come among
you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short
time.' He maintained that the supreme dominion of the world was, for
wise purposes, given over for a while to the Evil Principle; and that
this precise period of time, commonly called the enlightened age, was
the point of his plenitude of power. He used to add that by and by he
would be cast down, and a high and happy order of things succeed; but
he never omitted the saving clause, 'Not in our time'; which last
words were always echoed in doleful response by the sympathetic Mr
Glowry.

Another and very frequent visitor, was the Reverend Mr Larynx, the
vicar of Claydyke, a village about ten miles distant;--a good-natured
accommodating divine, who was always most obligingly ready to take a
dinner and a bed at the house of any country gentleman in distress
for a companion. Nothing came amiss to him,--a game at billiards, at
chess, at draughts, at backgammon, at piquet, or at all-fours in
a _tête-à-tête_,--or any game on the cards, round, square, or
triangular, in a party of any number exceeding two. He would even
dance among friends, rather than that a lady, even if she were on the
wrong side of thirty, should sit still for want of a partner. For a
ride, a walk, or a sail, in the morning,--a song after dinner, a ghost
story after supper,--a bottle of port with the squire, or a cup of
green tea with his lady,--for all or any of these, or for any thing
else that was agreeable to any one else, consistently with the dye of
his coat, the Reverend Mr Larynx was at all times equally ready. When
at Nightmare Abbey, he would condole with Mr Glowry,--drink Madeira
with Scythrop,--crack jokes with Mr Hilary,--hand Mrs Hilary to the
piano, take charge of her fan and gloves, and turn over her music with
surprising dexterity,--quote Revelations with Mr Toobad,--and lament
the good old times of feudal darkness with the transcendental Mr
Flosky.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER II


Shortly after the disastrous termination of Scythrop's passion for
Miss Emily Girouette, Mr Glowry found himself, much against his will,
involved in a lawsuit, which compelled him to dance attendance on the
High Court of Chancery. Scythrop was left alone at Nightmare Abbey. He
was a burnt child, and dreaded the fire of female eyes. He wandered
about the ample pile, or along the garden-terrace, with 'his
cogitative faculties immersed in cogibundity of cogitation.' The
terrace terminated at the south-western tower, which, as we have said,
was ruinous and full of owls. Here would Scythrop take his evening
seat, on a fallen fragment of mossy stone, with his back resting
against the ruined wall,--a thick canopy of ivy, with an owl in it,
over his head,--and the Sorrows of Werter in his hand. He had some
taste for romance reading before he went to the university, where, we
must confess, in justice to his college, he was cured of the love of
reading in all its shapes; and the cure would have been radical, if
disappointment in love, and total solitude, had not conspired to bring
on a relapse. He began to devour romances and German tragedies, and,
by the recommendation of Mr Flosky, to pore over ponderous tomes of
transcendental philosophy, which reconciled him to the labour of
studying them by their mystical jargon and necromantic imagery. In
the congenial solitude of Nightmare Abbey, the distempered ideas of
metaphysical romance and romantic metaphysics had ample time and space
to germinate into a fertile crop of chimeras, which rapidly shot up
into vigorous and abundant vegetation.

He now became troubled with the _passion for reforming the world_.[2]
He built many castles in the air, and peopled them with secret
tribunals, and bands of illuminati, who were always the imaginary
instruments of his projected regeneration of the human species. As he
intended to institute a perfect republic, he invested himself with
absolute sovereignty over these mystical dispensers of liberty. He
slept with Horrid Mysteries under his pillow, and dreamed of venerable
eleutherarchs and ghastly confederates holding midnight conventions in
subterranean caves. He passed whole mornings in his study, immersed
in gloomy reverie, stalking about the room in his nightcap, which
he pulled over his eyes like a cowl, and folding his striped calico
dressing-gown about him like the mantle of a conspirator.

'Action,' thus he soliloquised, 'is the result of opinion, and to
new-model opinion would be to new-model society. Knowledge is power;
it is in the hands of a few, who employ it to mislead the many, for
their own selfish purposes of aggrandisement and appropriation. What
if it were in the hands of a few who should employ it to lead the
many? What if it were universal, and the multitude were enlightened?
No. The many must be always in leading-strings; but let them have wise
and honest conductors. A few to think, and many to act; that is the
only basis of perfect society. So thought the ancient philosophers:
they had their esoterical and exoterical doctrines. So thinks the
sublime Kant, who delivers his oracles in language which none but
the initiated can comprehend. Such were the views of those secret
associations of illuminati, which were the terror of superstition and
tyranny, and which, carefully selecting wisdom and genius from the
great wilderness of society, as the bee selects honey from the flowers
of the thorn and the nettle, bound all human excellence in a chain,
which, if it had not been prematurely broken, would have commanded
opinion, and regenerated the world.'

Scythrop proceeded to meditate on the practicability of reviving a
confederation of regenerators. To get a clear view of his own ideas,
and to feel the pulse of the wisdom and genius of the age, he wrote
and published a treatise, in which his meanings were carefully wrapt
up in the monk's hood of transcendental technology, but filled with
hints of matter deep and dangerous, which he thought would set
the whole nation in a ferment; and he awaited the result in awful
expectation, as a miner who has fired a train awaits the explosion of
a rock. However, he listened and heard nothing; for the explosion, if
any ensued, was not sufficiently loud to shake a single leaf of the
ivy on the towers of Nightmare Abbey; and some months afterwards he
received a letter from his bookseller, informing him that only seven
copies had been sold, and concluding with a polite request for the
balance.

Scythrop did not despair. 'Seven copies,' he thought, 'have been sold.
Seven is a mystical number, and the omen is good. Let me find the
seven purchasers of my seven copies, and they shall be the seven
golden candle-sticks with which I will illuminate the world.'

Scythrop had a certain portion of mechanical genius, which his
romantic projects tended to develope. He constructed models of cells
and recesses, sliding panels and secret passages, that would have
baffled the skill of the Parisian police. He took the opportunity of
his father's absence to smuggle a dumb carpenter into the Abbey, and
between them they gave reality to one of these models in Scythrop's
tower. Scythrop foresaw that a great leader of human regeneration
would be involved in fearful dilemmas, and determined, for the benefit
of mankind in general, to adopt all possible precautions for the
preservation of himself.

The servants, even the women, had been tutored into silence. Profound
stillness reigned throughout and around the Abbey, except when the
occasional shutting of a door would peal in long reverberations
through the galleries, or the heavy tread of the pensive butler would
wake the hollow echoes of the hall. Scythrop stalked about like the
grand inquisitor, and the servants flitted past him like familiars. In
his evening meditations on the terrace, under the ivy of the ruined
tower, the only sounds that came to his ear were the rustling of the
wind in the ivy, the plaintive voices of the feathered choristers, the
owls, the occasional striking of the Abbey clock, and the monotonous
dash of the sea on its low and level shore. In the mean time, he drank
Madeira, and laid deep schemes for a thorough repair of the crazy
fabric of human nature.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER III


Mr Glowry returned from London with the loss of his lawsuit. Justice
was with him, but the law was against him. He found Scythrop in a
mood most sympathetically tragic; and they vied with each other in
enlivening their cups by lamenting the depravity of this degenerate
age, and occasionally interspersing divers grim jokes about graves,
worms, and epitaphs. Mr Glowry's friends, whom we have mentioned in
the first chapter, availed themselves of his return to pay him a
simultaneous visit. At the same time arrived Scythrop's friend and
fellow-collegian, the Honourable Mr Listless. Mr Glowry had discovered
this fashionable young gentleman in London, 'stretched on the rack of
a too easy chair,' and devoured with a gloomy and misanthropical _nil
curo_, and had pressed him so earnestly to take the benefit of the
pure country air, at Nightmare Abbey, that Mr Listless, finding it
would give him more trouble to refuse than to comply, summoned his
French valet, Fatout, and told him he was going to Lincolnshire. On
this simple hint, Fatout went to work, and the imperials were packed,
and the post-chariot was at the door, without the Honourable Mr
Listless having said or thought another syllable on the subject.

Mr and Mrs Hilary brought with them an orphan niece, a daughter of Mr
Glowry's youngest sister, who had made a runaway love-match with an
Irish officer. The lady's fortune disappeared in the first year: love,
by a natural consequence, disappeared in the second: the Irishman
himself, by a still more natural consequence, disappeared in the
third. Mr Glowry had allowed his sister an annuity, and she had lived
in retirement with her only daughter, whom, at her death, which had
recently happened, she commended to the care of Mrs Hilary.

Miss Marionetta Celestina O'Carroll was a very blooming and
accomplished young lady. Being a compound of the _Allegro Vivace_ of
the O'Carrolls, and of the _Andante Doloroso_ of the Glowries, she
exhibited in her own character all the diversities of an April sky.
Her hair was light-brown; her eyes hazel, and sparkling with a mild
but fluctuating light; her features regular; her lips full, and of
equal size; and her person surpassingly graceful. She was a proficient
in music. Her conversation was sprightly, but always on subjects light
in their nature and limited in their interest: for moral sympathies,
in any general sense, had no place in her mind. She had some coquetry,
and more caprice, liking and disliking almost in the same moment;
pursuing an object with earnestness while it seemed unattainable, and
rejecting it when in her power as not worth the trouble of possession.

Whether she was touched with a _penchant_ for her cousin Scythrop, or
was merely curious to see what effect the tender passion would have on
so _outré_ a person, she had not been three days in the Abbey before
she threw out all the lures of her beauty and accomplishments to make
a prize of his heart. Scythrop proved an easy conquest. The image of
Miss Emily Girouette was already sufficiently dimmed by the power of
philosophy and the exercise of reason: for to these influences, or to
any influence but the true one, are usually ascribed the mental cures
performed by the great physician Time. Scythrop's romantic dreams had
indeed given him many _pure anticipated cognitions_ of combinations
of beauty and intelligence, which, he had some misgivings, were not
exactly realised in his cousin Marionetta; but, in spite of these
misgivings, he soon became distractedly in love; which, when the young
lady clearly perceived, she altered her tactics, and assumed as much
coldness and reserve as she had before shown ardent and ingenuous
attachment. Scythrop was confounded at the sudden change; but, instead
of falling at her feet and requesting an explanation, he retreated
to his tower, muffled himself in his nightcap, seated himself in
the president's chair of his imaginary secret tribunal, summoned
Marionetta with all terrible formalities, frightened her out of her
wits, disclosed himself, and clasped the beautiful penitent to his
bosom.

While he was acting this reverie--in the moment in which the awful
president of the secret tribunal was throwing back his cowl and his
mantle, and discovering himself to the lovely culprit as her adoring
and magnanimous lover, the door of the study opened, and the real
Marionetta appeared.

The motives which had led her to the tower were a little penitence, a
little concern, a little affection, and a little fear as to what the
sudden secession of Scythrop, occasioned by her sudden change of
manner, might portend. She had tapped several times unheard, and of
course unanswered; and at length, timidly and cautiously opening the
door, she discovered him standing up before a black velvet chair,
which was mounted on an old oak table, in the act of throwing open his
striped calico dressing-gown, and flinging away his nightcap--which is
what the French call an imposing attitude.

Each stood a few moments fixed in their respective places--the lady in
astonishment, and the gentleman in confusion. Marionetta was the first
to break silence. 'For heaven's sake,' said she, 'my dear Scythrop,
what is the matter?'

'For heaven's sake, indeed!' said Scythrop, springing from the table;
'for your sake, Marionetta, and you are my heaven,--distraction is the
matter. I adore you, Marionetta, and your cruelty drives me mad.'
He threw himself at her knees, devoured her hand with kisses, and
breathed a thousand vows in the most passionate language of romance.

Marionetta listened a long time in silence, till her lover had
exhausted his eloquence and paused for a reply. She then said, with a
very arch look, 'I prithee deliver thyself like a man of this world.'
The levity of this quotation, and of the manner in which it was
delivered, jarred so discordantly on the high-wrought enthusiasm of
the romantic inamorato, that he sprang upon his feet, and beat his
forehead with his clenched fist. The young lady was terrified; and,
deeming it expedient to soothe him, took one of his hands in hers,
placed the other hand on his shoulder, looked up in his face with a
winning seriousness, and said, in the tenderest possible tone, 'What
would you have, Scythrop?'

Scythrop was in heaven again. 'What would I have? What but you,
Marionetta? You, for the companion of my studies, the partner of my
thoughts, the auxiliary of my great designs for the emancipation of
mankind.'

'I am afraid I should be but a poor auxiliary, Scythrop. What would
you have me do?'

'Do as Rosalia does with Carlos, divine Marionetta. Let us each open
a vein in the other's arm, mix our blood in a bowl, and drink it as
a sacrament of love. Then we shall see visions of transcendental
illumination, and soar on the wings of ideas into the space of pure
intelligence.'

Marionetta could not reply; she had not so strong a stomach as
Rosalia, and turned sick at the proposition. She disengaged herself
suddenly from Scythrop, sprang through the door of the tower, and fled
with precipitation along the corridors. Scythrop pursued her, crying,
'Stop, stop, Marionetta--my life, my love!' and was gaining rapidly on
her flight, when, at an ill-omened corner, where two corridors ended
in an angle, at the head of a staircase, he came into sudden and
violent contact with Mr Toobad, and they both plunged together to the
foot of the stairs, like two billiard-balls into one pocket. This gave
the young lady time to escape, and enclose herself in her chamber;
while Mr Toobad, rising slowly, and rubbing his knees and shoulders,
said, 'You see, my dear Scythrop, in this little incident, one of the
innumerable proofs of the temporary supremacy of the devil; for what
but a systematic design and concurrent contrivance of evil could have
made the angles of time and place coincide in our unfortunate persons
at the head of this accursed staircase?'

'Nothing else, certainly,' said Scythrop: 'you are perfectly in the
right, Mr Toobad. Evil, and mischief, and misery, and confusion,
and vanity, and vexation of spirit, and death, and disease, and
assassination, and war, and poverty, and pestilence, and famine, and
avarice, and selfishness, and rancour, and jealousy, and spleen,
and malevolence, and the disappointments of philanthropy, and the
faithlessness of friendship, and the crosses of love--all prove the
accuracy of your views, and the truth of your system; and it is not
impossible that the infernal interruption of this fall downstairs may
throw a colour of evil on the whole of my future existence.'

'My dear boy,' said Mr Toobad, 'you have a fine eye for consequences.'

So saying, he embraced Scythrop, who retired, with a disconsolate
step, to dress for dinner; while Mr Toobad stalked across the hall,
repeating, 'Woe to the inhabiters of the earth, and of the sea, for
the devil is come among you, having great wrath.'

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER IV


The flight of Marionetta, and the pursuit of Scythrop, had been
witnessed by Mr Glowry, who, in consequence, narrowly observed his son
and his niece in the evening; and, concluding from their manner, that
there was a better understanding between them than he wished to see,
he determined on obtaining the next morning from Scythrop a full and
satisfactory explanation. He, therefore, shortly after breakfast,
entered Scythrop's tower, with a very grave face, and said, without
ceremony or preface, 'So, sir, you are in love with your cousin.'

Scythrop, with as little hesitation, answered, 'Yes, sir.'

'That is candid, at least; and she is in love with you.'

'I wish she were, sir.'

'You know she is, sir.'

'Indeed, sir, I do not.'

'But you hope she is.'

'I do, from my soul.'

'Now that is very provoking, Scythrop, and very disappointing: I could
not have supposed that you, Scythrop Glowry, of Nightmare Abbey,
would have been infatuated with such a dancing, laughing, singing,
thoughtless, careless, merry-hearted thing, as Marionetta--in all
respects the reverse of you and me. It is very disappointing,
Scythrop. And do you know, sir, that Marionetta has no fortune?'

'It is the more reason, sir, that her husband should have one.'

'The more reason for her; but not for you. My wife had no fortune, and
I had no consolation in my calamity. And do you reflect, sir, what an
enormous slice this lawsuit has cut out of our family estate? we who
used to be the greatest landed proprietors in Lincolnshire.'

'To be sure, sir, we had more acres of fen than any man on this
coast: but what are fens to love? What are dykes and windmills to
Marionetta?'

'And what, sir, is love to a windmill? Not grist, I am certain:
besides, sir, I have made a choice for you. I have made a choice for
you, Scythrop. Beauty, genius, accomplishments, and a great fortune
into the bargain. Such a lovely, serious creature, in a fine state of
high dissatisfaction with the world, and every thing in it. Such a
delightful surprise I had prepared for you. Sir, I have pledged my
honour to the contract--the honour of the Glowries of Nightmare Abbey:
and now, sir, what is to be done?'

'Indeed, sir, I cannot say. I claim, on this occasion, that liberty of
action which is the co-natal prerogative of every rational being.'

'Liberty of action, sir? there is no such thing as liberty of action.
We are all slaves and puppets of a blind and unpathetic necessity.'

'Very true, sir; but liberty of action, between individuals, consists
in their being differently influenced, or modified, by the same
universal necessity; so that the results are unconsentaneous, and
their respective necessitated volitions clash and fly off in a
tangent.'

'Your logic is good, sir: but you are aware, too, that one individual
may be a medium of adhibiting to another a mode or form of necessity,
which may have more or less influence in the production of
consentaneity; and, therefore, sir, if you do not comply with my
wishes in this instance (you have had your own way in every thing
else), I shall be under the necessity of disinheriting you, though
I shall do it with tears in my eyes.' Having said these words, he
vanished suddenly, in the dread of Scythrop's logic.

Mr Glowry immediately sought Mrs Hilary, and communicated to her his
views of the case in point. Mrs Hilary, as the phrase is, was as fond
of Marionetta as if she had been her own child: but--there is always a
_but_ on these occasions--she could do nothing for her in the way
of fortune, as she had two hopeful sons, who were finishing their
education at Brazen-nose, and who would not like to encounter any
diminution of their prospects, when they should be brought out of the
house of mental bondage--i.e. the university--to the land flowing with
milk and honey--i.e. the west end of London.

Mrs Hilary hinted to Marionetta, that propriety, and delicacy, and
decorum, and dignity, &c. &c. &c.,[3] would require them to leave the
Abbey immediately. Marionetta listened in silent submission, for she
knew that her inheritance was passive obedience; but, when Scythrop,
who had watched the opportunity of Mrs Hilary's departure, entered,
and, without speaking a word, threw himself at her feet in a paroxysm
of grief, the young lady, in equal silence and sorrow, threw her arms
round his neck and burst into tears. A very tender scene ensued, which
the sympathetic susceptibilities of the soft-hearted reader can more
accurately imagine than we can delineate. But when Marionetta hinted
that she was to leave the Abbey immediately, Scythrop snatched from
its repository his ancestor's skull, filled it with Madeira, and
presenting himself before Mr Glowry, threatened to drink off the
contents if Mr Glowry did not immediately promise that Marionetta
should not be taken from the Abbey without her own consent. Mr Glowry,
who took the Madeira to be some deadly brewage, gave the required
promise in dismal panic. Scythrop returned to Marionetta with a joyful
heart, and drank the Madeira by the way.

Mr Glowry, during his residence in London, had come to an agreement
with his friend Mr Toobad, that a match between Scythrop and Mr
Toobad's daughter would be a very desirable occurrence. She was
finishing her education in a German convent, but Mr Toobad described
her as being fully impressed with the truth of his Ahrimanic
philosophy,[4] and being altogether as gloomy and antithalian a young
lady as Mr Glowry himself could desire for the future mistress of
Nightmare Abbey. She had a great fortune in her own right, which was
not, as we have seen, without its weight in inducing Mr Glowry to
set his heart upon her as his daughter-in-law that was to be; he was
therefore very much disturbed by Scythrop's untoward attachment to
Marionetta. He condoled on the occasion with Mr Toobad; who said, that
he had been too long accustomed to the intermeddling of the devil in
all his affairs, to be astonished at this new trace of his cloven
claw; but that he hoped to outwit him yet, for he was sure there could
be no comparison between his daughter and Marionetta in the mind of
any one who had a proper perception of the fact, that, the world
being a great theatre of evil, seriousness and solemnity are the
characteristics of wisdom, and laughter and merriment make a human
being no better than a baboon. Mr Glowry comforted himself with this
view of the subject, and urged Mr Toobad to expedite his daughter's
return from Germany. Mr Toobad said he was in daily expectation of her
arrival in London, and would set off immediately to meet her, that
he might lose no time in bringing her to Nightmare Abbey. 'Then,' he
added, 'we shall see whether Thalia or Melpomene--whether the Allegra
or the Penserosa--will carry off the symbol of victory.'--'There can
be no doubt,' said Mr Glowry, 'which way the scale will incline, or
Scythrop is no true scion of the venerable stem of the Glowries.'

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER V


Marionetta felt secure of Scythrop's heart; and notwithstanding the
difficulties that surrounded her, she could not debar herself from the
pleasure of tormenting her lover, whom she kept in a perpetual fever.
Sometimes she would meet him with the most unqualified affection;
sometimes with the most chilling indifference; rousing him to anger by
artificial coldness--softening him to love by eloquent tenderness--or
inflaming him to jealousy by coquetting with the Honourable Mr
Listless, who seemed, under her magical influence, to burst into
sudden life, like the bud of the evening primrose. Sometimes she would
sit by the piano, and listen with becoming attention to Scythrop's
pathetic remonstrances; but, in the most impassioned part of his
oratory, she would convert all his ideas into a chaos, by striking up
some Rondo Allegro, and saying, 'Is it not pretty?' Scythrop would
begin to storm; and she would answer him with,

  'Zitti, zitti, piano, piano,
  Non facciamo confusione,'

or some similar _facezia_, till he would start away from her, and
enclose himself in his tower, in an agony of agitation, vowing to
renounce her, and her whole sex, for ever; and returning to her
presence at the summons of the billet, which she never failed to
send with many expressions of penitence and promises of amendment.
Scythrop's schemes for regenerating the world, and detecting his seven
golden candle-sticks, went on very slowly in this fever of his spirit.

Things proceeded in this train for several days; and Mr Glowry began
to be uneasy at receiving no intelligence from Mr Toobad; when one
evening the latter rushed into the library, where the family and the
visitors were assembled, vociferating, 'The devil is come among
you, having great wrath!' He then drew Mr Glowry aside into another
apartment, and after remaining some time together, they re-entered the
library with faces of great dismay, but did not condescend to explain
to any one the cause of their discomfiture.

The next morning, early, Mr Toobad departed. Mr Glowry sighed and
groaned all day, and said not a word to any one. Scythrop had
quarrelled, as usual, with Marionetta, and was enclosed in his tower,
in a fit of morbid sensibility. Marionetta was comforting herself at
the piano, with singing the airs of _Nina pazza per amore_; and the
Honourable Mr Listless was listening to the harmony, as he lay
supine on the sofa, with a book in his hand, into which he peeped at
intervals. The Reverend Mr Larynx approached the sofa, and proposed a
game at billiards.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Billiards! Really I should be very happy; but, in my present exhausted
state, the exertion is too much for me. I do not know when I have been
equal to such an effort. (_He rang the bell for his valet. Fatout
entered_.) Fatout! when did I play at billiards last?


FATOUT

De fourteen December de last year, Monsieur. (_Fatout bowed and
retired_.)


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

So it was. Seven months ago. You see, Mr Larynx; you see, sir. My
nerves, Miss O'Carroll, my nerves are shattered. I have been advised
to try Bath. Some of the faculty recommend Cheltenham. I think of
trying both, as the seasons don't clash. The season, you know, Mr
Larynx--the season, Miss O'Carroll--the season is every thing.


MARIONETTA

And health is something. _N'est-ce pas_, Mr Larynx?


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

Most assuredly, Miss O'Carroll. For, however reasoners may dispute
about the _summum bonum_, none of them will deny that a very good
dinner is a very good thing: and what is a good dinner without a good
appetite? and whence is a good appetite but from good health? Now,
Cheltenham, Mr Listless, is famous for good appetites.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

The best piece of logic I ever heard, Mr Larynx; the very best,
I assure you. I have thought very seriously of Cheltenham: very
seriously and profoundly. I thought of it--let me see--when did I
think of it? (_He rang again, and Fatout reappeared._) Fatout! when
did I think of going to Cheltenham, and did not go?


FATOUT

De Juillet twenty-von, de last summer, Monsieur. (_Fatout retired._)


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

So it was. An invaluable fellow that, Mr Larynx--invaluable, Miss
O'Carroll.


MARIONETTA

So I should judge, indeed. He seems to serve you as a walking memory,
and to be a living chronicle, not of your actions only, but of your
thoughts.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

An excellent definition of the fellow, Miss O'Carroll,--excellent,
upon my honour. Ha! ha! he! Heigho! Laughter is pleasant, but the
exertion is too much for me.


A parcel was brought in for Mr Listless; it had been sent express.
Fatout was summoned to unpack it; and it proved to contain a new
novel, and a new poem, both of which had long been anxiously expected
by the whole host of fashionable readers; and the last number of a
popular Review, of which the editor and his coadjutors were in high
favour at court, and enjoyed ample pensions[5] for their services to
church and state. As Fatout left the room, Mr Flosky entered, and
curiously inspected the literary arrivals.


MR FLOSKY

(_Turning over the leaves._) 'Devilman, a novel.' Hm. Hatred--revenge--
misanthropy--and quotations from the Bible. Hm. This is the morbid
anatomy of black bile.--'Paul Jones, a poem.' Hm. I see how it is.
Paul Jones, an amiable enthusiast--disappointed in his affections--
turns pirate from ennui and magnanimity--cuts various masculine
throats, wins various feminine hearts--is hanged at the yard-arm! The
catastrophe is very awkward, and very unpoetical.--'The Downing Street
Review.' Hm. First article--An Ode to the Red Book, by Roderick
Sackbut, Esquire. Hm. His own poem reviewed by himself. Hm--m--m.


(_Mr Flosky proceeded in silence to look over the other articles
of the review; Marionetta inspected the novel, and Mr Listless the
poem._)


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

For a young man of fashion and family, Mr Listless, you seem to be of
a very studious turn.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Studious! You are pleased to be facetious, Mr Larynx. I hope you do
not suspect me of being studious. I have finished my education. But
there are some fashionable books that one must read, because they are
ingredients of the talk of the day; otherwise, I am no fonder of books
than I dare say you yourself are, Mr Larynx.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

Why, sir, I cannot say that I am indeed particularly fond of books;
yet neither can I say that I never do read. A tale or a poem, now and
then, to a circle of ladies over their work, is no very heterodox
employment of the vocal energy. And I must say, for myself, that
few men have a more Job-like endurance of the eternally recurring
questions and answers that interweave themselves, on these occasions,
with the crisis of an adventure, and heighten the distress of a
tragedy.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

And very often make the distress when the author has omitted it.


MARIONETTA

I shall try your patience some rainy morning, Mr Larynx; and Mr
Listless shall recommend us the very newest new book, that every body
reads.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

You shall receive it, Miss O'Carroll, with all the gloss of novelty;
fresh as a ripe green-gage in all the downiness of its bloom. A
mail-coach copy from Edinburgh, forwarded express from London.


MR FLOSKY

This rage for novelty is the bane of literature. Except my works and
those of my particular friends, nothing is good that is not as old as
Jeremy Taylor: and, _entre nous_, the best parts of my friends' books
were either written or suggested by myself.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Sir, I reverence you. But I must say, modern books are very
consolatory and congenial to my feelings. There is, as it were, a
delightful north-east wind, an intellectual blight breathing through
them; a delicious misanthropy and discontent, that demonstrates the
nullity of virtue and energy, and puts me in good humour with myself
and my sofa.


MR FLOSKY

Very true, sir. Modern literature is a north-east wind--a blight of
the human soul. I take credit to myself for having helped to make it
so. The way to produce fine fruit is to blight the flower. You call
this a paradox. Marry, so be it. Ponder thereon.


The conversation was interrupted by the re-appearance of Mr Toobad,
covered with mud. He just showed himself at the door, muttered 'The
devil is come among you!' and vanished. The road which connected
Nightmare Abbey with the civilised world, was artificially raised
above the level of the fens, and ran through them in a straight line
as far as the eye could reach, with a ditch on each side, of which the
water was rendered invisible by the aquatic vegetation that covered
the surface. Into one of these ditches the sudden action of a
shy horse, which took fright at a windmill, had precipitated the
travelling chariot of Mr Toobad, who had been reduced to the necessity
of scrambling in dismal plight through the window. One of the wheels
was found to be broken; and Mr Toobad, leaving the postilion to
get the chariot as well as he could to Claydyke for the purpose of
cleaning and repairing, had walked back to Nightmare Abbey, followed
by his servant with the imperial, and repeating all the way his
favourite quotation from the Revelations.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER VI


Mr Toobad had found his daughter Celinda in London, and after the
first joy of meeting was over, told her he had a husband ready for
her. The young lady replied, very gravely, that she should take the
liberty to choose for herself. Mr Toobad said he saw the devil was
determined to interfere with all his projects, but he was resolved
on his own part, not to have on his conscience the crime of passive
obedience and non-resistance to Lucifer, and therefore she should
marry the person he had chosen for her. Miss Toobad replied, _très
posément_, she assuredly would not. 'Celinda, Celinda,' said Mr
Toobad, 'you most assuredly shall.'--'Have I not a fortune in my own
right, sir?' said Celinda. 'The more is the pity,' said Mr Toobad:
'but I can find means, miss; I can find means. There are more ways
than one of breaking in obstinate girls.' They parted for the night
with the expression of opposite resolutions, and in the morning the
young lady's chamber was found empty, and what was become of her Mr
Toobad had no clue to conjecture. He continued to investigate town and
country in search of her; visiting and revisiting Nightmare Abbey at
intervals, to consult with his friend, Mr Glowry. Mr Glowry agreed
with Mr Toobad that this was a very flagrant instance of filial
disobedience and rebellion; and Mr Toobad declared, that when he
discovered the fugitive, she should find that 'the devil was come unto
her, having great wrath.'

In the evening, the whole party met, as usual, in the library.
Marionetta sat at the harp; the Honourable Mr Listless sat by her and
turned over her music, though the exertion was almost too much
for him. The Reverend Mr Larynx relieved him occasionally in this
delightful labour. Scythrop, tormented by the demon Jealousy, sat in
the corner biting his lips and fingers. Marionetta looked at him every
now and then with a smile of most provoking good humour, which he
pretended not to see, and which only the more exasperated his troubled
spirit. He took down a volume of Dante, and pretended to be deeply
interested in the Purgatorio, though he knew not a word he was
reading, as Marionetta was well aware; who, tripping across the room,
peeped into his book, and said to him, 'I see you are in the middle of
Purgatory.'--'I am in the middle of hell,' said Scythrop furiously.
'Are you?' said she; 'then come across the room, and I will sing you
the finale of Don Giovanni.'

'Let me alone,' said Scythrop. Marionetta looked at him with a
deprecating smile, and said, 'You unjust, cross creature, you.'--'Let
me alone,' said Scythrop, but much less emphatically than at first,
and by no means wishing to be taken at his word. Marionetta left him
immediately, and returning to the harp, said, just loud enough for
Scythrop to hear--'Did you ever read Dante, Mr Listless? Scythrop
is reading Dante, and is just now in Purgatory.'--'And I' said the
Honourable Mr Listless, 'am not reading Dante, and am just now in
Paradise,' bowing to Marionetta.


MARIONETTA

You are very gallant, Mr Listless; and I dare say you are very fond of
reading Dante.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

I don't know how it is, but Dante never came in my way till lately. I
never had him in my collection, and if I had had him I should not have
read him. But I find he is growing fashionable, and I am afraid I must
read him some wet morning.


MARIONETTA

No, read him some evening, by all means. Were you ever in love, Mr
Listless?


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

I assure you, Miss O'Carroll, never--till I came to Nightmare Abbey.
I dare say it is very pleasant; but it seems to give so much trouble
that I fear the exertion would be too much for me.


MARIONETTA

Shall I teach you a compendious method of courtship, that will give
you no trouble whatever?


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

You will confer on me an inexpressible obligation. I am all impatience
to learn it.


MARIONETTA

Sit with your back to the lady and read Dante; only be sure to begin
in the middle, and turn over three or four pages at once--backwards
as well as forwards, and she will immediately perceive that you are
desperately in love with her--desperately.


_(The Honourable Mr Listless sitting between Scythrop and Marionetta,
and fixing all his attention on the beautiful speaker, did not observe
Scythrop, who was doing as she described.)_


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

You are pleased to be facetious, Miss O'Carroll. The lady would
infallibly conclude that I was the greatest brute in town.


MARIONETTA

Far from it. She would say, perhaps, some people have odd methods of
showing their affection.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

But I should think, with submission--


MR FLOSKY (_joining them from another part of the room_)

Did I not hear Mr Listless observe that Dante is becoming fashionable?


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

I did hazard a remark to that effect, Mr Flosky, though I speak on
such subjects with a consciousness of my own nothingness, in the
presence of so great a man as Mr Flosky. I know not what is the colour
of Dante's devils, but as he is certainly becoming fashionable I
conclude they are blue; for the blue devils, as it seems to me, Mr
Flosky, constitute the fundamental feature of fashionable literature.


MR FLOSKY

The blue are, indeed, the staple commodity; but as they will not
always be commanded, the black, red, and grey may be admitted as
substitutes. Tea, late dinners, and the French Revolution, have played
the devil, Mr Listless, and brought the devil into play.


MR TOOBAD (_starting up_)

Having great wrath.


MR FLOSKY

This is no play upon words, but the sober sadness of veritable fact.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Tea, late dinners, and the French Revolution. I cannot exactly see the
connection of ideas.


MR FLOSKY

I should be sorry if you could; I pity the man who can see the
connection of his own ideas. Still more do I pity him, the connection
of whose ideas any other person can see. Sir, the great evil is,
that there is too much common-place light in our moral and political
literature; and light is a great enemy to mystery, and mystery is a
great friend to enthusiasm. Now the enthusiasm for abstract truth is
an exceedingly fine thing, as long as the truth, which is the object
of the enthusiasm, is so completely abstract as to be altogether out
of the reach of the human faculties; and, in that sense, I have
myself an enthusiasm for truth, but in no other, for the pleasure of
metaphysical investigation lies in the means, not in the end; and if
the end could be found, the pleasure of the means would cease. The
mind, to be kept in health, must be kept in exercise. The proper
exercise of the mind is elaborate reasoning. Analytical reasoning is a
base and mechanical process, which takes to pieces and examines, bit
by bit, the rude material of knowledge, and extracts therefrom a few
hard and obstinate things called facts, every thing in the shape of
which I cordially hate. But synthetical reasoning, setting up as its
goal some unattainable abstraction, like an imaginary quantity in
algebra, and commencing its course with taking for granted some two
assertions which cannot be proved, from the union of these two assumed
truths produces a third assumption, and so on in infinite series, to
the unspeakable benefit of the human intellect. The beauty of this
process is, that at every step it strikes out into two branches, in
a compound ratio of ramification; so that you are perfectly sure of
losing your way, and keeping your mind in perfect health, by the
perpetual exercise of an interminable quest; and for these reasons I
have christened my eldest son Emanuel Kant Flosky.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

Nothing can be more luminous.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

And what has all that to do with Dante, and the blue devils?


MR HILARY

Not much, I should think, with Dante, but a great deal with the blue
devils.


MR FLOSKY

It is very certain, and much to be rejoiced at, that our literature is
hag-ridden. Tea has shattered our nerves; late dinners make us slaves
of indigestion; the French Revolution has made us shrink from the name
of philosophy, and has destroyed, in the more refined part of the
community (of which number I am one), all enthusiasm for political
liberty. That part of the _reading public_ which shuns the solid
food of reason for the light diet of fiction, requires a perpetual
adhibition of _sauce piquante_ to the palate of its depraved
imagination. It lived upon ghosts, goblins, and skeletons (I and my
friend Mr Sackbut served up a few of the best), till even the devil
himself, though magnified to the size of Mount Athos, became too base,
common, and popular, for its surfeited appetite. The ghosts have
therefore been laid, and the devil has been cast into outer darkness,
and now the delight of our spirits is to dwell on all the vices and
blackest passions of our nature, tricked out in a masquerade dress of
heroism and disappointed benevolence; the whole secret of which lies
in forming combinations that contradict all our experience, and
affixing the purple shred of some particular virtue to that precise
character, in which we should be most certain not to find it in the
living world; and making this single virtue not only redeem all the
real and manifest vices of the character, but make them actually
pass for necessary adjuncts, and indispensable accompaniments and
characteristics of the said virtue.


MR TOOBAD

That is, because the devil is come among us, and finds it for his
interest to destroy all our perceptions of the distinctions of right
and wrong.


MARIONETTA

I do not precisely enter into your meaning, Mr Flosky, and should be
glad if you would make it a little more plain to me.


MR FLOSKY

One or two examples will do it, Miss O'Carroll. If I were to take all
the mean and sordid qualities of a money-dealing Jew, and tack on to
them, as with a nail, the quality of extreme benevolence, I should
have a very decent hero for a modern novel; and should contribute my
quota to the fashionable method of administering a mass of vice, under
a thin and unnatural covering of virtue, like a spider wrapt in a
bit of gold leaf, and administered as a wholesome pill. On the same
principle, if a man knocks me down, and takes my purse and watch by
main force, I turn him to account, and set him forth in a tragedy as
a dashing young fellow, disinherited for his romantic generosity, and
full of a most amiable hatred of the world in general, and his own
country in particular, and of a most enlightened and chivalrous
affection for himself: then, with the addition of a wild girl to fall
in love with him, and a series of adventures in which they break all
the Ten Commandments in succession (always, you will observe, for some
sublime motive, which must be carefully analysed in its progress), I
have as amiable a pair of tragic characters as ever issued from that
new region of the belles lettres, which I have called the Morbid
Anatomy of Black Bile, and which is greatly to be admired and rejoiced
at, as affording a fine scope for the exhibition of mental power.


MR HILARY

Which is about as well employed as the power of a hothouse would be in
forcing up a nettle to the size of an elm. If we go on in this way, we
shall have a new art of poetry, of which one of the first rules will
be: To remember to forget that there are any such things as sunshine
and music in the world.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

It seems to be the case with us at present, or we should not have
interrupted Miss O'Carroll's music with this exceedingly dry
conversation.


MR FLOSKY

I should be most happy if Miss O'Carroll would remind us that there
are yet both music and sunshine--


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

In the voice and the smile of beauty. May I entreat the favour
of--(_turning over the pages of music._)


All were silent, and Marionetta sung:

  Why are thy looks so blank, grey friar?
  Why are thy looks so blue?
  Thou seem'st more pale and lank, grey friar,
  Than thou wast used to do:--
  Say, what has made thee rue?

  Thy form was plump, and a light did shine
  In thy round and ruby face,
  Which showed an outward visible sign
  Of an inward spiritual grace:--
  Say, what has changed thy case?

  Yet will I tell thee true, grey friar,
  I very well can see,
  That, if thy looks are blue, grey friar,
  'Tis all for love of me,--
  'Tis all for love of me.

  But breathe not thy vows to me, grey friar,
  Oh, breathe them not, I pray;
  For ill beseems in a reverend friar,
  The love of a mortal may;
  And I needs must say thee nay.

  But, could'st thou think my heart to move
  With that pale and silent scowl?
  Know, he who would win a maiden's love,
  Whether clad in cap or cowl,
  Must be more of a lark than an owl.


Scythrop immediately replaced Dante on the shelf, and joined the
circle round the beautiful singer. Marionetta gave him a smile of
approbation that fully restored his complacency, and they continued
on the best possible terms during the remainder of the evening. The
Honourable Mr Listless turned over the leaves with double alacrity,
saying, 'You are severe upon invalids, Miss O'Carroll: to escape your
satire, I must try to be sprightly, though the exertion is too much
for me.'

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER VII


A new visitor arrived at the Abbey, in the person of Mr Asterias,
the ichthyologist. This gentleman had passed his life in seeking the
living wonders of the deep through the four quarters of the world;
he had a cabinet of stuffed and dried fishes, of shells, sea-weeds,
corals, and madrepores, that was the admiration and envy of the Royal
Society. He had penetrated into the watery den of the Sepia Octopus,
disturbed the conjugal happiness of that turtle-dove of the ocean, and
come off victorious in a sanguinary conflict. He had been becalmed
in the tropical seas, and had watched, in eager expectation, though
unhappily always in vain, to see the colossal polypus rise from the
water, and entwine its enormous arms round the masts and the rigging.
He maintained the origin of all things from water, and insisted that
the polypodes were the first of animated things, and that, from their
round bodies and many-shooting arms, the Hindoos had taken their gods,
the most ancient of deities. But the chief object of his ambition, the
end and aim of his researches, was to discover a triton and a mermaid,
the existence of which he most potently and implicitly believed, and
was prepared to demonstrate, _à priori, à posteriori, à fortiori_,
synthetically and analytically, syllogistically and inductively,
by arguments deduced both from acknowledged facts and plausible
hypotheses. A report that a mermaid had been seen 'sleeking her soft
alluring locks' on the sea-coast of Lincolnshire, had brought him in
great haste from London, to pay a long-promised and often-postponed
visit to his old acquaintance, Mr Glowry.

Mr Asterias was accompanied by his son, to whom he had given the name
of Aquarius--flattering himself that he would, in the process of time,
become a constellation among the stars of ichthyological science. What
charitable female had lent him the mould in which this son was cast,
no one pretended to know; and, as he never dropped the most distant
allusion to Aquarius's mother, some of the wags of London maintained
that he had received the favours of a mermaid, and that the scientific
perquisitions which kept him always prowling about the sea-shore, were
directed by the less philosophical motive of regaining his lost love.

Mr Asterias perlustrated the sea-coast for several days, and reaped
disappointment, but not despair. One night, shortly after his arrival,
he was sitting in one of the windows of the library, looking towards
the sea, when his attention was attracted by a figure which was moving
near the edge of the surf, and which was dimly visible through the
moonless summer night. Its motions were irregular, like those of a
person in a state of indecision. It had extremely long hair, which
floated in the wind. Whatever else it might be, it certainly was not a
fisherman. It might be a lady; but it was neither Mrs Hilary nor Miss
O'Carroll, for they were both in the library. It might be one of the
female servants; but it had too much grace, and too striking an air of
habitual liberty, to render it probable. Besides, what should one of
the female servants be doing there at this hour, moving to and fro,
as it seemed, without any visible purpose? It could scarcely be a
stranger; for Claydyke, the nearest village, was ten miles distant;
and what female would come ten miles across the fens, for no purpose
but to hover over the surf under the walls of Nightmare Abbey? Might
it not be a mermaid? It was possibly a mermaid. It was probably a
mermaid. It was very probably a mermaid. Nay, what else could it be
but a mermaid? It certainly was a mermaid. Mr Asterias stole out of
the library on tiptoe, with his finger on his lips, having beckoned
Aquarius to follow him.

The rest of the party was in great surprise at Mr Asterias's movement,
and some of them approached the window to see if the locality would
tend to elucidate the mystery. Presently they saw him and Aquarius
cautiously stealing along on the other side of the moat, but they saw
nothing more; and Mr Asterias returning, told them, with accents of
great disappointment, that he had had a glimpse of a mermaid, but she
had eluded him in the darkness, and was gone, he presumed, to sup with
some enamoured triton, in a submarine grotto.

'But, seriously, Mr Asterias,' said the Honourable Mr Listless, 'do
you positively believe there are such things as mermaids?'


MR ASTERIAS

Most assuredly; and tritons too.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

What! things that are half human and half fish?


MR ASTERIAS

Precisely. They are the oran-outangs of the sea. But I am persuaded
that there are also complete sea men, differing in no respect from us,
but that they are stupid, and covered with scales; for, though our
organisation seems to exclude us essentially from the class of
amphibious animals, yet anatomists well know that the _foramen ovale_
may remain open in an adult, and that respiration is, in that case,
not necessary to life: and how can it be otherwise explained that the
Indian divers, employed in the pearl fishery, pass whole hours under
the water; and that the famous Swedish gardener of Troningholm lived
a day and a half under the ice without being drowned? A nereid, or
mermaid, was taken in the year 1403 in a Dutch lake, and was in every
respect like a French woman, except that she did not speak. Towards
the end of the seventeenth century, an English ship, a hundred and
fifty leagues from land, in the Greenland seas, discovered a flotilla
of sixty or seventy little skiffs, in each of which was a triton, or
sea man: at the approach of the English vessel the whole of them,
seized with simultaneous fear, disappeared, skiffs and all, under
the water, as if they had been a human variety of the nautilus. The
illustrious Don Feijoo has preserved an authentic and well-attested
story of a young Spaniard, named Francis de la Vega, who, bathing with
some of his friends in June, 1674, suddenly dived under the sea and
rose no more. His friends thought him drowned; they were plebeians and
pious Catholics; but a philosopher might very legitimately have drawn
the same conclusion.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

Nothing could be more logical.


MR ASTERIAS

Five years afterwards, some fishermen near Cadiz found in their nets a
triton, or sea man; they spoke to him in several languages--


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

They were very learned fishermen.


MR HILARY

They had the gift of tongues by especial favour of their brother
fisherman, Saint Peter.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Is Saint Peter the tutelar saint of Cadiz?


(_None of the company could answer this question, and_ MR ASTERIAS
_proceeded_.)

They spoke to him in several languages, but he was as mute as a fish.
They handed him over to some holy friars, who exorcised him; but the
devil was mute too. After some days he pronounced the name Lierganes.
A monk took him to that village. His mother and brothers recognised
and embraced him; but he was as insensible to their caresses as any
other fish would have been. He had some scales on his body, which
dropped off by degrees; but his skin was as hard and rough as
shagreen. He stayed at home nine years, without recovering his
speech or his reason: he then disappeared again; and one of his old
acquaintance, some years after, saw him pop his head out of the water
near the coast of the Asturias. These facts were certified by his
brothers, and by Don Gaspardo de la Riba Aguero, Knight of Saint
James, who lived near Lierganes, and often had the pleasure of
our triton's company to dinner.--Pliny mentions an embassy of the
Olyssiponians to Tiberius, to give him intelligence of a triton which
had been heard playing on its shell in a certain cave; with several
other authenticated facts on the subject of tritons and nereids.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

You astonish me. I have been much on the sea-shore, in the season, but
I do not think I ever saw a mermaid. (_He rang, and summoned Fatout,
who made his appearance half-seas-over_.) Fatout! did I ever see a
mermaid?


FATOUT

Mermaid! mer-r-m-m-aid! Ah! merry maid! Oui, monsieur! Yes, sir, very
many. I vish dere vas von or two here in de kitchen--ma foi! Dey be
all as melancholic as so many tombstone.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

I mean, Fatout, an odd kind of human fish.


FATOUT

De odd fish! Ah, oui! I understand de phrase: ve have seen nothing
else since ve left town--ma foi!


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

You seem to have a cup too much, sir.


FATOUT

Non, monsieur: de cup too little. De fen be very unwholesome, and I
drink-a-de ponch vid Raven de butler, to keep out de bad air.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Fatout! I insist on your being sober.


FATOUT

Oui, monsieur; I vil be as sober as de révérendissime père Jean. I
should be ver glad of de merry maid; but de butler be de odd fish,
and he swim in de bowl de ponch. Ah! ah! I do recollect de leetle-a
song:--'About fair maids, and about fair maids, and about my merry
maids all.' (_Fatout reeled out, singing_.)


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

I am overwhelmed: I never saw the rascal in such a condition before.
But will you allow me, Mr Asterias, to inquire into the _cui bono_ of
all the pains and expense you have incurred to discover a mermaid? The
_cui bono_, sir, is the question I always take the liberty to ask when
I see any one taking much trouble for any object. I am myself a sort
of Signor Pococurante, and should like to know if there be any thing
better or pleasanter, than the state of existing and doing nothing?


MR ASTERIAS

I have made many voyages, Mr Listless, to remote and barren shores:
I have travelled over desert and inhospitable lands: I have defied
danger--I have endured fatigue--I have submitted to privation. In the
midst of these I have experienced pleasures which I would not at any
time have exchanged for that of existing and doing nothing. I have
known many evils, but I have never known the worst of all, which, as
it seems to me, are those which are comprehended in the inexhaustible
varieties of _ennui_: spleen, chagrin, vapours, blue devils,
time-killing, discontent, misanthropy, and all their interminable
train of fretfulness, querulousness, suspicions, jealousies, and
fears, which have alike infected society, and the literature of
society; and which would make an arctic ocean of the human mind, if
the more humane pursuits of philosophy and science did not keep alive
the better feelings and more valuable energies of our nature.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

You are pleased to be severe upon our fashionable belles lettres.


MR ASTERIAS

Surely not without reason, when pirates, highwaymen, and other
varieties of the extensive genus Marauder, are the only _beau idéal_
of the active, as splenetic and railing misanthropy is of the
speculative energy. A gloomy brow and a tragical voice seem to have
been of late the characteristics of fashionable manners: and a morbid,
withering, deadly, antisocial sirocco, loaded with moral and political
despair, breathes through all the groves and valleys of the modern
Parnassus; while science moves on in the calm dignity of its course,
affording to youth delights equally pure and vivid--to maturity, calm
and grateful occupation--to old age, the most pleasing recollections
and inexhaustible materials of agreeable and salutary reflection; and,
while its votary enjoys the disinterested pleasure of enlarging the
intellect and increasing the comforts of society, he is himself
independent of the caprices of human intercourse and the accidents of
human fortune. Nature is his great and inexhaustible treasure. His
days are always too short for his enjoyment: _ennui_ is a stranger to
his door. At peace with the world and with his own mind, he suffices
to himself, makes all around him happy, and the close of his pleasing
and beneficial existence is the evening of a beautiful day.[6]


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Really I should like very well to lead such a life myself, but the
exertion would be too much for me. Besides, I have been at college.
I contrive to get through my day by sinking the morning in bed,
and killing the evening in company; dressing and dining in the
intermediate space, and stopping the chinks and crevices of the few
vacant moments that remain with a little easy reading. And that
amiable discontent and antisociality which you reprobate in our
present drawing-room-table literature, I find, I do assure you, a very
fine mental tonic, which reconciles me to my favourite pursuit of
doing nothing, by showing me that nobody is worth doing any thing for.


MARIONETTA

But is there not in such compositions a kind of unconscious
self-detection, which seems to carry their own antidote with them? For
surely no one who cordially and truly either hates or despises the
world will publish a volume every three months to say so.


MR FLOSKY

There is a secret in all this, which I will elucidate with a dusky
remark. According to Berkeley, the _esse_ of things is _percipi_. They
exist as they are perceived. But, leaving for the present, as far
as relates to the material world, the materialists, hyloists, and
antihyloists, to settle this point among them, which is indeed

  A subtle question, raised among
  Those out o' their wits, and those i' the wrong:

for only we transcendentalists are in the right: we may very safely
assert that the _esse_ of happiness is _percipi_. It exists as it is
perceived. 'It is the mind that maketh well or ill.' The elements of
pleasure and pain are every where. The degree of happiness that any
circumstances or objects can confer on us depends on the mental
disposition with which we approach them. If you consider what is meant
by the common phrases, a happy disposition and a discontented temper,
you will perceive that the truth for which I am contending is
universally admitted.


_(Mr Flosky suddenly stopped: he found himself unintentionally
trespassing within the limits of common sense.)_


MR HILARY

It is very true; a happy disposition finds materials of enjoyment
every where. In the city, or the country--in society, or in
solitude--in the theatre, or the forest--in the hum of the multitude,
or in the silence of the mountains, are alike materials of reflection
and elements of pleasure. It is one mode of pleasure to listen to
the music of 'Don Giovanni,' in a theatre glittering with light, and
crowded with elegance and beauty: it is another to glide at sunset
over the bosom of a lonely lake, where no sound disturbs the silence
but the motion of the boat through the waters. A happy disposition
derives pleasure from both, a discontented temper from neither, but
is always busy in detecting deficiencies, and feeding dissatisfaction
with comparisons. The one gathers all the flowers, the other all the
nettles, in its path. The one has the faculty of enjoying every thing,
the other of enjoying nothing. The one realises all the pleasure of
the present good; the other converts it into pain, by pining after
something better, which is only better because it is not present, and
which, if it were present, would not be enjoyed. These morbid spirits
are in life what professed critics are in literature; they see nothing
but faults, because they are predetermined to shut their eyes to
beauties. The critic does his utmost to blight genius in its infancy;
that which rises in spite of him he will not see; and then he
complains of the decline of literature. In like manner, these cankers
of society complain of human nature and society, when they have
wilfully debarred themselves from all the good they contain, and done
their utmost to blight their own happiness and that of all around
them. Misanthropy is sometimes the product of disappointed
benevolence; but it is more frequently the offspring of overweening
and mortified vanity, quarrelling with the world for not being better
treated than it deserves.


SCYTHROP (_to Marionetta_)

These remarks are rather uncharitable. There is great good in human
nature, but it is at present ill-conditioned. Ardent spirits cannot
but be dissatisfied with things as they are; and, according to their
views of the probabilities of amelioration, they will rush into the
extremes of either hope or despair--of which the first is enthusiasm,
and the second misanthropy; but their sources in this case are the
same, as the Severn and the Wye run in different directions, and both
rise in Plinlimmon.


MARIONETTA

'And there is salmon in both;' for the resemblance is about as close
as that between Macedon and Monmouth.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER VIII


Marionetta observed the next day a remarkable perturbation in
Scythrop, for which she could not imagine any probable cause. She was
willing to believe at first that it had some transient and trifling
source, and would pass off in a day or two; but, contrary to this
expectation, it daily increased. She was well aware that Scythrop had
a strong tendency to the love of mystery, for its own sake; that is
to say, he would employ mystery to serve a purpose, but would first
choose his purpose by its capability of mystery. He seemed now to have
more mystery on his hands than the laws of the system allowed, and to
wear his coat of darkness with an air of great discomfort. All her
little playful arts lost by degrees much of their power either to
irritate or to soothe; and the first perception of her diminished
influence produced in her an immediate depression of spirits, and a
consequent sadness of demeanour, that rendered her very interesting to
Mr Glowry; who, duly considering the improbability of accomplishing
his wishes with respect to Miss Toobad (which improbability naturally
increased in the diurnal ratio of that young lady's absence), began
to reconcile himself by degrees to the idea of Marionetta being his
daughter.

Marionetta made many ineffectual attempts to extract from Scythrop the
secret of his mystery; and, in despair of drawing it from himself,
began to form hopes that she might find a clue to it from Mr Flosky,
who was Scythrop's dearest friend, and was more frequently than any
other person admitted to his solitary tower. Mr Flosky, however, had
ceased to be visible in a morning. He was engaged in the composition
of a dismal ballad; and, Marionetta's uneasiness overcoming her
scruples of decorum, she determined to seek him in the apartment which
he had chosen for his study. She tapped at the door, and at the sound
'Come in,' entered the apartment. It was noon, and the sun was shining
in full splendour, much to the annoyance of Mr Flosky, who had
obviated the inconvenience by closing the shutters, and drawing
the window-curtains. He was sitting at his table by the light of a
solitary candle, with a pen in one hand, and a muffineer in the other,
with which he occasionally sprinkled salt on the wick, to make it burn
blue. He sat with 'his eye in a fine frenzy rolling,' and turned his
inspired gaze on Marionetta as if she had been the ghastly ladie of
a magical vision; then placed his hand before his eyes, with an
appearance of manifest pain--shook his head--withdrew his hand--rubbed
his eyes, like a waking man--and said, in a tone of ruefulness most
jeremitaylorically pathetic, 'To what am I to attribute this very
unexpected pleasure, my dear Miss O'Carroll?'


MARIONETTA

I must apologise for intruding on you, Mr Flosky; but the interest
which I--you--take in my cousin Scythrop--


MR FLOSKY

Pardon me, Miss O'Carroll; I do not take any interest in any person or
thing on the face of the earth; which sentiment, if you analyse it,
you will find to be the quintessence of the most refined philanthropy.


MARIONETTA

I will take it for granted that it is so, Mr Flosky; I am not
conversant with metaphysical subtleties, but--


MR FLOSKY

Subtleties! my dear Miss O'Carroll. I am sorry to find you
participating in the vulgar error of the _reading public,_ to whom
an unusual collocation of words, involving a juxtaposition of
antiperistatical ideas, immediately suggests the notion of
hyperoxysophistical paradoxology.


MARIONETTA

Indeed, Mr Flosky, it suggests no such notion to me. I have sought you
for the purpose of obtaining information.


MR FLOSKY _(shaking his head)_

No one ever sought me for such a purpose before.


MARIONETTA

I think, Mr Flosky--that is, I believe--that is, I fancy--that is, I
imagine--


MR FLOSKY

The [Greek: toytesti], the _id est_, the _cioè_, the _c'est à dire_,
the _that is_, my dear Miss O'Carroll, is not applicable in this
case--if you will permit me to take the liberty of saying so. Think
is not synonymous with believe--for belief, in many most important
particulars, results from the total absence, the absolute negation of
thought, and is thereby the sane and orthodox condition of mind; and
thought and belief are both essentially different from fancy, and
fancy, again, is distinct from imagination. This distinction between
fancy and imagination is one of the most abstruse and important points
of metaphysics. I have written seven hundred pages of promise to
elucidate it, which promise I shall keep as faithfully as the bank
will its promise to pay.


MARIONETTA

I assure you, Mr Flosky, I care no more about metaphysics than I do
about the bank; and, if you will condescend to talk to a simple girl
in intelligible terms--


MR FLOSKY

Say not condescend! Know you not that you talk to the most humble of
men, to one who has buckled on the armour of sanctity, and clothed
himself with humility as with a garment?


MARIONETTA

My cousin Scythrop has of late had an air of mystery about him, which
gives me great uneasiness.


MR FLOSKY

That is strange: nothing is so becoming to a man as an air of mystery.
Mystery is the very key-stone of all that is beautiful in poetry, all
that is sacred in faith, and all that is recondite in transcendental
psychology. I am writing a ballad which is all mystery; it is 'such
stuff as dreams are made of,' and is, indeed, stuff made of a dream;
for, last night I fell asleep as usual over my book, and had a vision
of pure reason. I composed five hundred lines in my sleep; so that,
having had a dream of a ballad, I am now officiating as my own Peter
Quince, and making a ballad of my dream, and it shall be called
Bottom's Dream, because it has no bottom.


MARIONETTA

I see, Mr Flosky, you think my intrusion unseasonable, and are
inclined to punish it, by talking nonsense to me. (_Mr Flosky gave a
start at the word nonsense, which almost overturned the table._) I
assure you, I would not have intruded if I had not been very much
interested in the question I wish to ask you.--(_Mr Flosky listened
in sullen dignity._)--My cousin Scythrop seems to have some secret
preying on his mind.--(_Mr Flosky was silent._)--He seems very
unhappy--Mr Flosky.--Perhaps you are acquainted with the cause.--(_Mr
Flosky was still silent._)--I only wish to know--Mr Flosky--if it is
any thing--that could be remedied by any thing--that any one--of whom
I know any thing--could do.


MR FLOSKY (_after a pause_)

There are various ways of getting at secrets. The most approved
methods, as recommended both theoretically and practically in
philosophical novels, are eavesdropping at key-holes, picking the
locks of chests and desks, peeping into letters, steaming wafers, and
insinuating hot wire under sealing wax; none of which methods I hold
it lawful to practise.


MARIONETTA

Surely, Mr Flosky, you cannot suspect me of wishing to adopt or
encourage such base and contemptible arts.


MR FLOSKY

Yet are they recommended, and with well-strung reasons, by writers of
gravity and note, as simple and easy methods of studying character,
and gratifying that laudable curiosity which aims at the knowledge of
man.


MARIONETTA

I am as ignorant of this morality which you do not approve, as of the
metaphysics which you do: I should be glad to know by your means, what
is the matter with my cousin; I do not like to see him unhappy, and I
suppose there is some reason for it.


MR FLOSKY

Now I should rather suppose there is no reason for it: it is the
fashion to be unhappy. To have a reason for being so would be
exceedingly common-place: to be so without any is the province of
genius: the art of being miserable for misery's sake, has been brought
to great perfection in our days; and the ancient Odyssey, which held
forth a shining example of the endurance of real misfortune, will
give place to a modern one, setting out a more instructive picture of
querulous impatience under imaginary evils.


MARIONETTA

Will you oblige me, Mr Flosky, by giving me a plain answer to a plain
question?


MR FLOSKY

It is impossible, my dear Miss O'Carroll. I never gave a plain answer
to a question in my life.


MARIONETTA

Do you, or do you not, know what is the matter with my cousin?


MR FLOSKY

To say that I do not know, would be to say that I am ignorant of
something; and God forbid, that a transcendental metaphysician, who
has pure anticipated cognitions of every thing, and carries the whole
science of geometry in his head without ever having looked into
Euclid, should fall into so empirical an error as to declare himself
ignorant of any thing: to say that I do know, would be to pretend to
positive and circumstantial knowledge touching present matter of fact,
which, when you consider the nature of evidence, and the various
lights in which the same thing may be seen--


MARIONETTA

I see, Mr Flosky, that either you have no information, or are
determined not to impart it; and I beg your pardon for having given
you this unnecessary trouble.


MR FLOSKY

My dear Miss O'Carroll, it would have given me great pleasure to have
said any thing that would have given you pleasure; but if any person
living could make report of having obtained any information on any
subject from Ferdinando Flosky, my transcendental reputation would be
ruined for ever.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER IX


Scythrop grew every day more reserved, mysterious, and distrait; and
gradually lengthened the duration of his diurnal seclusions in his
tower. Marionetta thought she perceived in all this very manifest
symptoms of a warm love cooling.

It was seldom that she found herself alone with him in the morning,
and, on these occasions, if she was silent in the hope of his speaking
first, not a syllable would he utter; if she spoke to him indirectly,
he assented monosyllabically; if she questioned him, his answers
were brief, constrained, and evasive. Still, though her spirits were
depressed, her playfulness had not so totally forsaken her, but that
it illuminated at intervals the gloom of Nightmare Abbey; and if, on
any occasion, she observed in Scythrop tokens of unextinguished or
returning passion, her love of tormenting her lover immediately got
the better both of her grief and her sympathy, though not of her
curiosity, which Scythrop seemed determined not to satisfy. This
playfulness, however, was in a great measure artificial, and usually
vanished with the irritable Strephon, to whose annoyance it had been
exerted. The Genius Loci, the _tutela_ of Nightmare Abbey, the
spirit of black melancholy, began to set his seal on her pallescent
countenance. Scythrop perceived the change, found his tender
sympathies awakened, and did his utmost to comfort the afflicted
damsel, assuring her that his seeming inattention had only proceeded
from his being involved in a profound meditation on a very hopeful
scheme for the regeneration of human society. Marionetta called him
ungrateful, cruel, cold-hearted, and accompanied her reproaches with
many sobs and tears; poor Scythrop growing every moment more soft
and submissive--till, at length, he threw himself at her feet, and
declared that no competition of beauty, however dazzling, genius,
however transcendent, talents, however cultivated, or philosophy,
however enlightened, should ever make him renounce his divine
Marionetta.

'Competition!' thought Marionetta, and suddenly, with an air of the
most freezing indifference, she said, 'You are perfectly at liberty,
sir, to do as you please; I beg you will follow your own plans,
without any reference to me.'

Scythrop was confounded. What was become of all her passion and her
tears? Still kneeling, he kissed her hand with rueful timidity, and
said, in most pathetic accents, 'Do you not love me, Marionetta?'

'No,' said Marionetta, with a look of cold composure: 'No.' Scythrop
still looked up incredulously. 'No, I tell you.'

'Oh! very well, madam,' said Scythrop, rising, 'if that is the case,
there are those in the world--'

'To be sure there are, sir;--and do you suppose I do not see through
your designs, you ungenerous monster?'

'My designs? Marionetta!'

'Yes, your designs, Scythrop. You have come here to cast me off, and
artfully contrive that it should appear to be my doing, and not yours,
thinking to quiet your tender conscience with this pitiful stratagem.
But do not suppose that you are of so much consequence to me: do not
suppose it: you are of no consequence to me at all--none at all:
therefore, leave me: I renounce you: leave me; why do you not leave
me?'

Scythrop endeavoured to remonstrate, but without success. She
reiterated her injunctions to him to leave her, till, in the
simplicity of his spirit, he was preparing to comply. When he had
nearly reached the door, Marionetta said, 'Farewell.' Scythrop looked
back. 'Farewell, Scythrop,' she repeated, 'you will never see me
again.'

'Never see you again, Marionetta?'

'I shall go from hence to-morrow, perhaps to-day; and before we meet
again, one of us will be married, and we might as well be dead, you
know, Scythrop.'

The sudden change of her voice in the last few words, and the burst
of tears that accompanied them, acted like electricity on the
tender-hearted youth; and, in another instant, a complete
reconciliation was accomplished without the intervention of words.

There are, indeed, some learned casuists, who maintain that love has
no language, and that all the misunderstandings and dissensions of
lovers arise from the fatal habit of employing words on a subject to
which words are inapplicable; that love, beginning with looks, that
is to say, with the physiognomical expression of congenial mental
dispositions, tends through a regular gradation of signs and symbols
of affection, to that consummation which is most devoutly to be
wished; and that it neither is necessary that there should be, nor
probable that there would be, a single word spoken from first to
last between two sympathetic spirits, were it not that the arbitrary
institutions of society have raised, at every step of this very simple
process, so many complicated impediments and barriers in the shape
of settlements and ceremonies, parents and guardians, lawyers,
Jew-brokers, and parsons, that many an adventurous knight (who, in
order to obtain the conquest of the Hesperian fruit, is obliged to
fight his way through all these monsters), is either repulsed at the
onset, or vanquished before the achievement of his enterprise: and
such a quantity of unnatural talking is rendered inevitably necessary
through all the stages of the progression, that the tender and
volatile spirit of love often takes flight on the pinions of some of
the [Greek: epea pteroenta], or _winged words_ which are pressed into
his service in despite of himself.

At this conjuncture, Mr Glowry entered, and sitting down near them,
said, 'I see how it is; and, as we are all sure to be miserable do
what we may, there is no need of taking pains to make one another more
so; therefore, with God's blessing and mine, there'--joining their
hands as he spoke.

Scythrop was not exactly prepared for this decisive step; but he could
only stammer out, 'Really, sir, you are too good;' and Mr Glowry
departed to bring Mr Hilary to ratify the act.

Now, whatever truth there may be in the theory of love and language,
of which we have so recently spoken, certain it is, that during Mr
Glowry's absence, which lasted half an hour, not a single word was
said by either Scythrop or Marionetta.

Mr Glowry returned with Mr Hilary, who was delighted at the prospect
of so advantageous an establishment for his orphan niece, of whom he
considered himself in some manner the guardian, and nothing remained,
as Mr Glowry observed, but to fix the day.

Marionetta blushed, and was silent. Scythrop was also silent for a
time, and at length hesitatingly said, 'My dear sir, your goodness
overpowers me; but really you are so precipitate.'

Now, this remark, if the young lady had made it, would, whether she
thought it or not--for sincerity is a thing of no account on these
occasions, nor indeed on any other, according to Mr Flosky--this
remark, if the young lady had made it, would have been perfectly
_comme il faut_; but, being made by the young gentleman, it was _toute
autre chose_, and was, indeed, in the eyes of his mistress, a most
heinous and irremissible offence. Marionetta was angry, very angry,
but she concealed her anger, and said, calmly and coldly, 'Certainly,
you are much too precipitate, Mr Glowry. I assure you, sir, I have
by no means made up my mind; and, indeed, as far as I know it, it
inclines the other way; but it will be quite time enough to think of
these matters seven years hence. Before surprise permitted reply, the
young lady had locked herself up in her own apartment.

'Why, Scythrop,' said Mr Glowry, elongating his face exceedingly, 'the
devil is come among us sure enough, as Mr Toobad observes: I thought
you and Marionetta were both of a mind.'

'So we are, I believe, sir,' said Scythrop, gloomily, and stalked away
to his tower.

'Mr Glowry,' said Mr Hilary, 'I do not very well understand all this.'

'Whims, brother Hilary,' said Mr Glowry; 'some little foolish love
quarrel, nothing more. Whims, freaks, April showers. They will be
blown over by to-morrow.'

'If not,' said Mr Hilary, 'these April showers have made us April
fools.'

'Ah!' said Mr Glowry, 'you are a happy man, and in all your
afflictions you can console yourself with a joke, let it be ever so
bad, provided you crack it yourself. I should be very happy to laugh
with you, if it would give you any satisfaction; but, really, at
present, my heart is so sad, that I find it impossible to levy a
contribution on my muscles.'

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER X


On the evening on which Mr Asterias had caught a glimpse of a female
figure on the sea-shore, which he had translated into the visual sign
of his interior cognition of a mermaid, Scythrop, retiring to his
tower, found his study preoccupied. A stranger, muffled in a cloak,
was sitting at his table. Scythrop paused in surprise. The stranger
rose at his entrance, and looked at him intently a few minutes, in
silence. The eyes of the stranger alone were visible. All the rest
of the figure was muffled and mantled in the folds of a black cloak,
which was raised, by the right hand, to the level of the eyes. This
scrutiny being completed, the stranger, dropping the cloak, said, 'I
see, by your physiognomy, that you may be trusted;' and revealed to
the astonished Scythrop a female form and countenance of dazzling
grace and beauty, with long flowing hair of raven blackness, and
large black eyes of almost oppressive brilliancy, which strikingly
contrasted with a complexion of snowy whiteness. Her dress was
extremely elegant, but had an appearance of foreign fashion, as if
both the lady and her mantua-maker were of 'a far countree.'

  'I guess 'twas frightful there to see
  A lady so richly clad as she,
  Beautiful exceedingly.'

For, if it be terrible to one young lady to find another under a tree
at midnight, it must, _à fortiori_, be much more terrible to a young
gentleman to find a young lady in his study at that hour. If the
logical consecutiveness of this conclusion be not manifest to my
readers, I am sorry for their dulness, and must refer them, for more
ample elucidation, to a treatise which Mr Flosky intends to write, on
the Categories of Relation, which comprehend Substance and Accident,
Cause and Effect, Action and Re-action.

Scythrop, therefore, either was or ought to have been frightened; at
all events, he was astonished; and astonishment, though not in itself
fear, is nevertheless a good stage towards it, and is, indeed, as it
were, the half-way house between respect and terror, according to Mr
Burke's graduated scale of the sublime.[7]

'You are surprised,' said the lady; 'yet why should you be surprised?
If you had met me in a drawing-room, and I had been introduced to
you by an old woman, it would have been a matter of course: can the
division of two or three walls, and the absence of an unimportant
personage, make the same object essentially different in the
perception of a philosopher?'

'Certainly not,' said Scythrop; 'but when any class of objects
has habitually presented itself to our perceptions in invariable
conjunction with particular relations, then, on the sudden appearance
of one object of the class divested of those accompaniments, the
essential difference of the relation is, by an involuntary process,
transferred to the object itself, which thus offers itself to our
perceptions with all the strangeness of novelty.'

'You are a philosopher,' said the lady, 'and a lover of liberty. You
are the author of a treatise, called "Philosophical Gas; or, a Project
for a General Illumination of the Human Mind."'

'I am,' said Scythrop, delighted at this first blossom of his renown.

'I am a stranger in this country,' said the lady; 'I have been but a
few days in it, yet I find myself immediately under the necessity of
seeking refuge from an atrocious persecution. I had no friend to whom
I could apply; and, in the midst of my difficulties, accident threw
your pamphlet in my way. I saw that I had, at least, one kindred mind
in this nation, and determined to apply to you.'

'And what would you have me do?' said Scythrop, more and more amazed,
and not a little perplexed.

'I would have you,' said the young lady, 'assist me in finding some
place of retreat, where I can remain concealed from the indefatigable
search that is being made for me. I have been so nearly caught once or
twice already, that I cannot confide any longer in my own ingenuity.'

Doubtless, thought Scythrop, this is one of my golden candle-sticks.
'I have constructed,' said he, 'in this tower, an entrance to a small
suite of unknown apartments in the main building, which I defy any
creature living to detect. If you would like to remain there a day or
two, till I can find you a more suitable concealment, you may rely on
the honour of a transcendental eleutherarch.'

'I rely on myself,' said the lady. 'I act as I please, go where I
please, and let the world say what it will. I am rich enough to set
it at defiance. It is the tyrant of the poor and the feeble, but the
slave of those who are above the reach of its injury.'

Scythrop ventured to inquire the name of his fair _protégée_. 'What
is a name?' said the lady: 'any name will serve the purpose of
distinction. Call me Stella. I see by your looks,' she added, 'that
you think all this very strange. When you know me better, your
surprise will cease. I submit not to be an accomplice in my sex's
slavery. I am, like yourself, a lover of freedom, and I carry my
theory into practice. _They alone are subject to blind authority who
have no reliance on their own strength_.'

Stella took possession of the recondite apartments. Scythrop intended
to find her another asylum; but from day to day he postponed his
intention, and by degrees forgot it. The young lady reminded him of
it from day to day, till she also forgot it. Scythrop was anxious to
learn her history; but she would add nothing to what she had already
communicated, that she was shunning an atrocious persecution. Scythrop
thought of Lord C. and the Alien Act, and said, 'As you will not
tell your name, I suppose it is in the green bag.' Stella, not
understanding what he meant, was silent; and Scythrop, translating
silence into acquiescence, concluded that he was sheltering an
_illuminée_ whom Lord S. suspected of an intention to take the
Tower, and set fire to the Bank: exploits, at least, as likely to be
accomplished by the hands and eyes of a young beauty, as by a drunken
cobbler and doctor, armed with a pamphlet and an old stocking.

Stella, in her conversations with Scythrop, displayed a highly
cultivated and energetic mind, full of impassioned schemes of liberty,
and impatience of masculine usurpation. She had a lively sense of all
the oppressions that are done under the sun; and the vivid pictures
which her imagination presented to her of the numberless scenes of
injustice and misery which are being acted at every moment in every
part of the inhabited world, gave an habitual seriousness to her
physiognomy, that made it seem as if a smile had never once hovered on
her lips. She was intimately conversant with the German language and
literature; and Scythrop listened with delight to her repetitions of
her favourite passages from Schiller and Goethe, and to her encomiums
on the sublime Spartacus Weishaupt, the immortal founder of the sect
of the Illuminati. Scythrop found that his soul had a greater capacity
of love than the image of Marionetta had filled. The form of Stella
took possession of every vacant corner of the cavity, and by degrees
displaced that of Marionetta from many of the outworks of the citadel;
though the latter still held possession of the _keep_. He judged, from
his new friend calling herself Stella, that, if it were not her real
name, she was an admirer of the principles of the German play from
which she had taken it, and took an opportunity of leading the
conversation to that subject; but to his great surprise, the lady
spoke very ardently of the singleness and exclusiveness of love, and
declared that the reign of affection was one and indivisible; that it
might be transferred, but could not be participated. 'If I ever love,'
said she, 'I shall do so without limit or restriction. I shall hold
all difficulties light, all sacrifices cheap, all obstacles gossamer.
But for love so total, I shall claim a return as absolute. I will have
no rival: whether more or less favoured will be of little moment. I
will be neither first nor second--I will be alone. The heart which I
shall possess I will possess entirely, or entirely renounce.'

Scythrop did not dare to mention the name of Marionetta; he trembled
lest some unlucky accident should reveal it to Stella, though he
scarcely knew what result to wish or anticipate, and lived in the
double fever of a perpetual dilemma. He could not dissemble to himself
that he was in love, at the same time, with two damsels of minds and
habits as remote as the antipodes. The scale of predilection always
inclined to the fair one who happened to be present; but the absent
was never effectually outweighed, though the degrees of exaltation and
depression varied according to accidental variations in the outward
and visible signs of the inward and spiritual graces of his respective
charmers. Passing and repassing several times a day from the company
of the one to that of the other, he was like a shuttlecock between two
battledores, changing its direction as rapidly as the oscillations of
a pendulum, receiving many a hard knock on the cork of a sensitive
heart, and flying from point to point on the feathers of a
super-sublimated head. This was an awful state of things. He had
now as much mystery about him as any romantic transcendentalist or
transcendental romancer could desire. He had his esoterical and his
exoterical love. He could not endure the thought of losing either of
them, but he trembled when he imagined the possibility that some fatal
discovery might deprive him of both. The old proverb concerning two
strings to a bow gave him some gleams of comfort; but that concerning
two stools occurred to him more frequently, and covered his forehead
with a cold perspiration. With Stella, he could indulge freely in all
his romantic and philosophical visions. He could build castles in the
air, and she would pile towers and turrets on the imaginary edifices.
With Marionetta it was otherwise: she knew nothing of the world and
society beyond the sphere of her own experience. Her life was all
music and sunshine, and she wondered what any one could see to
complain of in such a pleasant state of things. She loved Scythrop,
she hardly knew why; indeed she was not always sure that she loved him
at all: she felt her fondness increase or diminish in an inverse ratio
to his. When she had manoeuvred him into a fever of passionate love,
she often felt and always assumed indifference: if she found that her
coldness was contagious, and that Scythrop either was, or pretended to
be, as indifferent as herself, she would become doubly kind, and raise
him again to that elevation from which she had previously thrown him
down. Thus, when his love was flowing, hers was ebbing: when his was
ebbing, hers was flowing. Now and then there were moments of level
tide, when reciprocal affection seemed to promise imperturbable
harmony; but Scythrop could scarcely resign his spirit to the pleasing
illusion, before the pinnace of the lover's affections was caught in
some eddy of the lady's caprice, and he was whirled away from the
shore of his hopes, without rudder or compass, into an ocean of mists
and storms. It resulted, from this system of conduct, that all that
passed between Scythrop and Marionetta, consisted in making and
unmaking love. He had no opportunity to take measure of her
understanding by conversations on general subjects, and on his
favourite designs; and, being left in this respect to the exercise of
indefinite conjecture, he took it for granted, as most lovers would do
in similar circumstances, that she had great natural talents, which
she wasted at present on trifles: but coquetry would end with
marriage, and leave room for philosophy to exert its influence on her
mind. Stella had no coquetry, no disguise: she was an enthusiast in
subjects of general interest; and her conduct to Scythrop was always
uniform, or rather showed a regular progression of partiality which
seemed fast ripening into love.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XI


Scythrop, attending one day the summons to dinner, found in the
drawing-room his friend Mr Cypress the poet, whom he had known at
college, and who was a great favourite of Mr Glowry. Mr Cypress said,
he was on the point of leaving England, but could not think of doing
so without a farewell-look at Nightmare Abbey and his respected
friends, the moody Mr Glowry and the mysterious Mr Scythrop, the
sublime Mr Flosky and the pathetic Mr Listless; to all of whom, and
the morbid hospitality of the melancholy dwelling in which they were
then assembled, he assured them he should always look back with as
much affection as his lacerated spirit could feel for any thing. The
sympathetic condolence of their respective replies was cut short by
Raven's announcement of 'dinner on table.'

The conversation that took place when the wine was in circulation, and
the ladies were withdrawn, we shall report with our usual scrupulous
fidelity.


MR GLOWRY

You are leaving England, Mr Cypress. There is a delightful melancholy
in saying farewell to an old acquaintance, when the chances are twenty
to one against ever meeting again. A smiling bumper to a sad parting,
and let us all be unhappy together.


MR CYPRESS (_filling a bumper_)

This is the only social habit that the disappointed spirit never
unlearns.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX (_filling_)

It is the only piece of academical learning that the finished educatee
retains.


MR FLOSKY (_filling_)

It is the only objective fact which the sceptic can realise.


SCYTHROP (_filling_)

It is the only styptic for a bleeding heart.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS (_filling_)

It is the only trouble that is very well worth taking.


MR ASTERIAS (_filling_)

It is the only key of conversational truth.


MR TOOBAD (_filling_)

It is the only antidote to the great wrath of the devil.


MR HILARY (_filling_)

It is the only symbol of perfect life. The inscription 'HIC NON
BIBITUR' will suit nothing but a tombstone.


MR GLOWRY

You will see many fine old ruins, Mr Cypress; crumbling pillars, and
mossy walls--many a one-legged Venus and headless Minerva--many a
Neptune buried in sand--many a Jupiter turned topsy-turvy--many a
perforated Bacchus doing duty as a water-pipe--many reminiscences of
the ancient world, which I hope was better worth living in than the
modern; though, for myself, I care not a straw more for one than the
other, and would not go twenty miles to see any thing that either
could show.


MR CYPRESS

It is something to seek, Mr Glowry. The mind is restless, and must
persist in seeking, though to find is to be disappointed. Do you feel
no aspirations towards the countries of Socrates and Cicero? No wish
to wander among the venerable remains of the greatness that has passed
for ever?


MR GLOWRY

Not a grain.


SCYTHROP

It is, indeed, much the same as if a lover should dig up the buried
form of his mistress, and gaze upon relics which are any thing but
herself, to wander among a few mouldy ruins, that are only imperfect
indexes to lost volumes of glory, and meet at every step the more
melancholy ruins of human nature--a degenerate race of stupid and
shrivelled slaves, grovelling in the lowest depths of servility and
superstition.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

It is the fashion to go abroad. I have thought of it myself, but am
hardly equal to the exertion. To be sure, a little eccentricity and
originality are allowable in some cases; and the most eccentric and
original of all characters is an Englishman who stays at home.


SCYTHROP

I should have no pleasure in visiting countries that are past all hope
of regeneration. There is great hope of our own; and it seems to me
that an Englishman, who, either by his station in society, or by his
genius, or (as in your instance, Mr Cypress,) by both, has the power
of essentially serving his country in its arduous struggle with its
domestic enemies, yet forsakes his country, which is still so rich
in hope, to dwell in others which are only fertile in the ruins of
memory, does what none of those ancients, whose fragmentary memorials
you venerate, would have done in similar circumstances.


MR CYPRESS

Sir, I have quarrelled with my wife; and a man who has quarrelled with
his wife is absolved from all duty to his country. I have written an
ode to tell the people as much, and they may take it as they list.


SCYTHROP

Do you suppose, if Brutus had quarrelled with his wife, he would have
given it as a reason to Cassius for having nothing to do with his
enterprise? Or would Cassius have been satisfied with such an excuse?


MR FLOSKY

Brutus was a senator; so is our dear friend: but the cases are
different. Brutus had some hope of political good: Mr Cypress has
none. How should he, after what we have seen in France?


SCYTHROP

A Frenchman is born in harness, ready saddled, bitted, and bridled,
for any tyrant to ride. He will fawn under his rider one moment, and
throw him and kick him to death the next; but another adventurer
springs on his back, and by dint of whip and spur on he goes as
before. We may, without much vanity, hope better of ourselves.


MR CYPRESS

I have no hope for myself or for others. Our life is a false nature;
it is not in the harmony of things; it is an all-blasting upas,
whose root is earth, and whose leaves are the skies which rain their
poison-dews upon mankind. We wither from our youth; we gasp with
unslaked thirst for unattainable good; lured from the first to the
last by phantoms--love, fame, ambition, avarice--all idle, and all
ill--one meteor of many names, that vanishes in the smoke of death.[8]


MR FLOSKY

A most delightful speech, Mr Cypress. A most amiable and instructive
philosophy. You have only to impress its truth on the minds of
all living men, and life will then, indeed, be the desert and the
solitude; and I must do you, myself, and our mutual friends, the
justice to observe, that let society only give fair play at one and
the same time, as I flatter myself it is inclined to do, to your
system of morals, and my system of metaphysics, and Scythrop's system
of politics, and Mr Listless's system of manners, and Mr Toobad's
system of religion, and the result will be as fine a mental chaos as
even the immortal Kant himself could ever have hoped to see; in the
prospect of which I rejoice.


MR HILARY

'Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at:' I am one
of those who cannot see the good that is to result from all this
mystifying and blue-devilling of society. The contrast it presents
to the cheerful and solid wisdom of antiquity is too forcible not to
strike any one who has the least knowledge of classical literature. To
represent vice and misery as the necessary accompaniments of genius,
is as mischievous as it is false, and the feeling is as unclassical as
the language in which it is usually expressed.


MR TOOBAD

It is our calamity. The devil has come among us, and has begun by
taking possession of all the cleverest fellows. Yet, forsooth, this is
the enlightened age. Marry, how? Did our ancestors go peeping about
with dark lanterns, and do we walk at our ease in broad sunshine?
Where is the manifestation of our light? By what symptoms do you
recognise it? What are its signs, its tokens, its symptoms, its
symbols, its categories, its conditions? What is it, and why? How,
where, when is it to be seen, felt, and understood? What do we see by
it which our ancestors saw not, and which at the same time is worth
seeing? We see a hundred men hanged, where they saw one. We see five
hundred transported, where they saw one. We see five thousand in the
workhouse, where they saw one. We see scores of Bible Societies, where
they saw none. We see paper, where they saw gold. We see men in stays,
where they saw men in armour. We see painted faces, where they saw
healthy ones. We see children perishing in manufactories, where they
saw them flourishing in the fields. We see prisons, where they saw
castles. We see masters, where they saw representatives. In short,
they saw true men, where we see false knaves. They saw Milton, and we
see Mr Sackbut.


MR FLOSKY

The false knave, sir, is my honest friend; therefore, I beseech you,
let him be countenanced. God forbid but a knave should have some
countenance at his friend's request.


MR TOOBAD

'Good men and true' was their common term, like the chalos chagathos
of the Athenians. It is so long since men have been either good or
true, that it is to be questioned which is most obsolete, the fact or
the phraseology.


MR CYPRESS

There is no worth nor beauty but in the mind's idea. Love sows the
wind and reaps the whirlwind.[9] Confusion, thrice confounded, is the
portion of him who rests even for an instant on that most brittle of
reeds--the affection of a human being. The sum of our social destiny
is to inflict or to endure.[10]


MR HILARY

Rather to bear and forbear, Mr Cypress--a maxim which you perhaps
despise. Ideal beauty is not the mind's creation: it is real beauty,
refined and purified in the mind's alembic, from the alloy which
always more or less accompanies it in our mixed and imperfect nature.
But still the gold exists in a very ample degree. To expect too
much is a disease in the expectant, for which human nature is not
responsible; and, in the common name of humanity, I protest against
these false and mischievous ravings. To rail against humanity for not
being abstract perfection, and against human love for not realising
all the splendid visions of the poets of chivalry, is to rail at the
summer for not being all sunshine, and at the rose for not being
always in bloom.


MR CYPRESS

Human love! Love is not an inhabitant of the earth. We worship him as
the Athenians did their unknown God: but broken hearts are the martyrs
of his faith, and the eye shall never see the form which phantasy
paints, and which passion pursues through paths of delusive beauty,
among flowers whose odours are agonies, and trees whose gums are
poison.[11]


MR HILARY

You talk like a Rosicrucian, who will love nothing but a sylph, who
does not believe in the existence of a sylph, and who yet quarrels
with the whole universe for not containing a sylph.


MR CYPRESS

The mind is diseased of its own beauty, and fevers into false
creation. The forms which the sculptor's soul has seized exist only in
himself.[12]


MR FLOSKY

Permit me to discept. They are the mediums of common forms combined
and arranged into a common standard. The ideal beauty of the Helen of
Zeuxis was the combined medium of the real beauty of the virgins of
Crotona.


MR HILARY

But to make ideal beauty the shadow in the water, and, like the dog in
the fable, to throw away the substance in catching at the shadow, is
scarcely the characteristic of wisdom, whatever it may be of genius.
To reconcile man as he is to the world as it is, to preserve and
improve all that is good, and destroy or alleviate all that is evil,
in physical and moral nature--have been the hope and aim of the
greatest teachers and ornaments of our species. I will say, too,
that the highest wisdom and the highest genius have been invariably
accompanied with cheerfulness. We have sufficient proofs on record
that Shakspeare and Socrates were the most festive of companions. But
now the little wisdom and genius we have seem to be entering into a
conspiracy against cheerfulness.


MR TOOBAD

How can we be cheerful with the devil among us!


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

How can we be cheerful when our nerves are shattered?


MR FLOSKY

How can we be cheerful when we are surrounded by a _reading public_,
that is growing too wise for its betters?


SCYTHROP

How can we be cheerful when our great general designs are crossed
every moment by our little particular passions?


MR CYPRESS

How can we be cheerful in the midst of disappointment and despair?


MR GLOWRY

Let us all be unhappy together.


MR HILARY

Let us sing a catch.


MR GLOWRY

No: a nice tragical ballad. The Norfolk Tragedy to the tune of the
Hundredth Psalm.


MR HILARY

I say a catch.


MR GLOWRY

I say no. A song from Mr Cypress.


ALL

A song from Mr Cypress.


MR CYPRESS _sung_--

  There is a fever of the spirit,
  The brand of Cain's unresting doom,
  Which in the lone dark souls that bear it
  Glows like the lamp in Tullia's tomb:
  Unlike that lamp, its subtle fire
  Burns, blasts, consumes its cell, the heart,
  Till, one by one, hope, joy, desire,
  Like dreams of shadowy smoke depart.

  When hope, love, life itself, are only
  Dust--spectral memories--dead and cold--
  The unfed fire burns bright and lonely,
  Like that undying lamp of old:
  And by that drear illumination,
  Till time its clay-built home has rent,
  Thought broods on feeling's desolation--
  The soul is its own monument.


MR GLOWRY

Admirable. Let us all be unhappy together.


MR HILARY

Now, I say again, a catch.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

I am for you.


ME HILARY

'Seamen three.'


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

Agreed. I'll be Harry Gill, with the voice of three. Begin


MR HILARY AND THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

  Seamen three! I What men be ye?
  Gotham's three wise men we be.
  Whither in your bowl so free?
  To rake the moon from out the sea.
  The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
  And our ballast is old wine;
  And your ballast is old wine.

  Who art thou, so fast adrift?
  I am he they call Old Care.
  Here on board we will thee lift.
  No: I may not enter there.
  Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,
  In a bowl Care may not be;
  In a bowl Care may not be.

  Hear ye not the waves that roll?
  No: in charmed bowl we swim.
  What the charm that floats the bowl?
  Water may not pass the brim.
  The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
  And our ballast is old wine;
  And your ballast is old wine.


This catch was so well executed by the spirit and science of Mr
Hilary, and the deep tri-une voice of the reverend gentleman, that the
whole party, in spite of themselves, caught the contagion, and joined
in chorus at the conclusion, each raising a bumper to his lips:

  The bowl goes trim: the moon doth shine:
  And our ballast is old wine.

Mr Cypress, having his ballast on board, stepped, the same evening,
into his bowl, or travelling chariot, and departed to rake seas and
rivers, lakes and canals, for the moon of ideal beauty.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XII


It was the custom of the Honourable Mr Listless, on adjourning from
the bottle to the ladies, to retire for a few moments to make a second
toilette, that he might present himself in becoming taste. Fatout,
attending as usual, appeared with a countenance of great dismay, and
informed his master that he had just ascertained that the abbey was
haunted. Mrs Hilary's _gentlewoman_, for whom Fatout had lately
conceived a _tendresse_, had been, as she expressed it, 'fritted out
of her seventeen senses' the preceding night, as she was retiring to
her bedchamber, by a ghastly figure which she had met stalking along
one of the galleries, wrapped in a white shroud, with a bloody turban
on its head. She had fainted away with fear; and, when she
recovered, she found herself in the dark, and the figure was gone.
'_Sacre--cochon--bleu_!' exclaimed Fatout, giving very deliberate
emphasis to every portion of his terrible oath--'I vould not meet de
_revenant_, de ghost--_non_--not for all de _bowl-de-ponch_ in de
vorld.'

'Fatout,' said the Honourable Mr Listless, 'did I ever see a ghost?'

'_Jamais_, monsieur, never.'

'Then I hope I never shall, for, in the present shattered state of my
nerves, I am afraid it would be too much for me. There--loosen the
lace of my stays a little, for really this plebeian practice of
eating--Not too loose--consider my shape. That will do. And I desire
that you bring me no more stories of ghosts; for, though I do not
believe in such things, yet, when one is awake in the night, one is
apt, if one thinks of them, to have fancies that give one a kind of a
chill, particularly if one opens one's eyes suddenly on one's dressing
gown, hanging in the moonlight, between the bed and the window.'

The Honourable Mr Listless, though he had prohibited Fatout from
bringing him any more stories of ghosts, could not help thinking of
that which Fatout had already brought; and, as it was uppermost in his
mind, when he descended to the tea and coffee cups, and the rest of
the company in the library, he almost involuntarily asked Mr Flosky,
whom he looked up to as a most oraculous personage, whether any story
of any ghost that had ever appeared to any one, was entitled to any
degree of belief?


MR FLOSKY

By far the greater number, to a very great degree.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Really, that is very alarming!


MR FLOSKY

_Sunt geminoe somni portoe_. There are two gates through which ghosts
find their way to the upper air: fraud and self-delusion. In the
latter case, a ghost is a _deceptio visûs_, an ocular spectrum, an
idea with the force of a sensation. I have seen many ghosts myself. I
dare say there are few in this company who have not seen a ghost.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

I am happy to say, I never have, for one.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

We have such high authority for ghosts, that it is rank scepticism to
disbelieve them. Job saw a ghost, which came for the express purpose
of asking a question, and did not wait for an answer.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

Because Job was too frightened to give one.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

Spectres appeared to the Egyptians during the darkness with which
Moses covered Egypt. The witch of Endor raised the ghost of Samuel.
Moses and Elias appeared on Mount Tabor. An evil spirit was sent into
the army of Sennacherib, and exterminated it in a single night.


MR TOOBAD

Saying, The devil is come among you, having great wrath.


MR FLOSKY

Saint Macarius interrogated a skull, which was found in the desert,
and made it relate, in presence of several witnesses, what was going
forward in hell. Saint Martin of Tours, being jealous of a pretended
martyr, who was the rival saint of his neighbourhood, called up his
ghost, and made him confess that he was damned. Saint Germain, being
on his travels, turned out of an inn a large party of ghosts, who had
every night taken possession of the _table d'hôte_, and consumed a
copious supper.


MR HILARY

Jolly ghosts, and no doubt all friars. A similar party took possession
of the cellar of M. Swebach, the painter, in Paris, drank his wine,
and threw the empty bottles at his head.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

An atrocious act.


MR FLOSKY

Pausanias relates, that the neighing of horses and the tumult of
combatants were heard every night on the field of Marathon: that those
who went purposely to hear these sounds suffered severely for their
curiosity; but those who heard them by accident passed with impunity.


THE REVEREND MR LARYNX

I once saw a ghost myself, in my study, which is the last place where
any one but a ghost would look for me. I had not been into it for
three months, and was going to consult Tillotson, when, on opening the
door, I saw a venerable figure in a flannel dressing gown, sitting in
my arm-chair, and reading my Jeremy Taylor. It vanished in a moment,
and so did I; and what it was or what it wanted I have never been able
to ascertain.


MR FLOSKY

It was an idea with the force of a sensation. It is seldom that ghosts
appeal to two senses at once; but, when I was in Devonshire, the
following story was well attested to me. A young woman, whose lover
was at sea, returning one evening over some solitary fields, saw
her lover sitting on a stile over which she was to pass. Her first
emotions were surprise and joy, but there was a paleness and
seriousness in his face that made them give place to alarm. She
advanced towards him, and he said to her, in a solemn voice, 'The eye
that hath seen me shall see me no more. Thine eye is upon me, but I am
not.' And with these words he vanished; and on that very day and hour,
as it afterwards appeared, he had perished by shipwreck.

The whole party now drew round in a circle, and each related some
ghostly anecdote, heedless of the flight of time, till, in a pause of
the conversation, they heard the hollow tongue of midnight sounding
twelve.


MR HILARY

All these anecdotes admit of solution on psychological principles.
It is more easy for a soldier, a philosopher, or even a saint, to be
frightened at his own shadow, than for a dead man to come out of his
grave. Medical writers cite a thousand singular examples of the force
of imagination. Persons of feeble, nervous, melancholy temperament,
exhausted by fever, by labour, or by spare diet, will readily conjure
up, in the magic ring of their own phantasy, spectres, gorgons,
chimaeras, and all the objects of their hatred and their love. We
are most of us like Don Quixote, to whom a windmill was a giant, and
Dulcinea a magnificent princess: all more or less the dupes of our own
imagination, though we do not all go so far as to see ghosts, or to
fancy ourselves pipkins and teapots.


MR FLOSKY

I can safely say I have seen too many ghosts myself to believe in
their external existence. I have seen all kinds of ghosts: black
spirits and white, red spirits and grey. Some in the shapes of
venerable old men, who have met me in my rambles at noon; some
of beautiful young women, who have peeped through my curtains at
midnight.


THE HONOURABLE MR LISTLESS

And have proved, I doubt not, 'palpable to feeling as to sight.'


MR FLOSKY

By no means, sir. You reflect upon my purity. Myself and my friends,
particularly my friend Mr Sackbut, are famous for our purity. No, sir,
genuine untangible ghosts. I live in a world of ghosts. I see a ghost
at this moment.


Mr Flosky fixed his eyes on a door at the farther end of the library.
The company looked in the same direction. The door silently opened,
and a ghastly figure, shrouded in white drapery, with the semblance
of a bloody turban on its head, entered and stalked slowly up the
apartment. Mr Flosky, familiar as he was with ghosts, was not prepared
for this apparition, and made the best of his way out at the opposite
door. Mrs Hilary and Marionetta followed, screaming. The Honourable Mr
Listless, by two turns of his body, rolled first off the sofa and
then under it. The Reverend Mr Larynx leaped up and fled with so much
precipitation, that he overturned the table on the foot of Mr Glowry.
Mr Glowry roared with pain in the ear of Mr Toobad. Mr Toobad's alarm
so bewildered his senses, that, missing the door, he threw up one of
the windows, jumped out in his panic, and plunged over head and ears
in the moat. Mr Asterias and his son, who were on the watch for their
mermaid, were attracted by the splashing, threw a net over him, and
dragged him to land.

Scythrop and Mr Hilary meanwhile had hastened to his assistance, and,
on arriving at the edge of the moat, followed by several servants with
ropes and torches, found Mr Asterias and Aquarius busy in endeavouring
to extricate Mr Toobad from the net, who was entangled in the meshes,
and floundering with rage. Scythrop was lost in amazement; but Mr
Hilary saw, at one view, all the circumstances of the adventure, and
burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; on recovering from which, he
said to Mr Asterias, 'You have caught an odd fish, indeed.' Mr Toobad
was highly exasperated at this unseasonable pleasantry; but Mr Hilary
softened his anger, by producing a knife, and cutting the Gordian knot
of his reticular envelopment. 'You see,' said Mr Toobad, 'you see,
gentlemen, in my unfortunate person proof upon proof of the present
dominion of the devil in the affairs of this world; and I have no
doubt but that the apparition of this night was Apollyon himself in
disguise, sent for the express purpose of terrifying me into this
complication of misadventures. The devil is come among you, having
great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.'

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XIII


Mr Glowry was much surprised, on occasionally visiting Scythrop's
tower, to find the door always locked, and to be kept sometimes
waiting many minutes for admission: during which he invariably heard a
heavy rolling sound like that of a ponderous mangle, or of a waggon on
a weighing-bridge, or of theatrical thunder.

He took little notice of this for some time; at length his curiosity
was excited, and, one day, instead of knocking at the door, as usual,
the instant he reached it, he applied his ear to the key-hole, and
like Bottom, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, 'spied a voice,' which he
guessed to be of the feminine gender, and knew to be not Scythrop's,
whose deeper tones he distinguished at intervals. Having attempted in
vain to catch a syllable of the discourse, he knocked violently at
the door, and roared for immediate admission. The voices ceased, the
accustomed rolling sound was heard, the door opened, and Scythrop
was discovered alone. Mr Glowry looked round to every corner of the
apartment, and then said, 'Where is the lady?'

'The lady, sir?' said Scythrop.

'Yes, sir, the lady.'

'Sir, I do not understand you.'

'You don't, sir?'

'No, indeed, sir. There is no lady here.'

'But, sir, this is not the only apartment in the tower, and I make no
doubt there is a lady up stairs.'

'You are welcome to search, sir.'

'Yes, and while I am searching, she will slip out from some lurking
place, and make her escape.'

'You may lock this door, sir, and take the key with you.'

'But there is the terrace door: she has escaped by the terrace.'

'The terrace, sir, has no other outlet, and the walls are too high for
a lady to jump down.'

'Well, sir, give me the key.'

Mr Glowry took the key, searched every nook of the tower, and
returned.

'You are a fox, Scythrop; you are an exceedingly cunning fox, with
that demure visage of yours. What was that lumbering sound I heard
before you opened the door?'

'Sound, sir?'

'Yes, sir, sound.'

'My dear sir, I am not aware of any sound, except my great table,
which I moved on rising to let you in.'

'The table!--let me see that. No, sir; not a tenth part heavy enough,
not a tenth part.'

'But, sir, you do not consider the laws of acoustics: a whisper
becomes a peal of thunder in the focus of reverberation. Allow me to
explain this: sounds striking on concave surfaces are reflected from
them, and, after reflection, converge to points which are the foci of
these surfaces. It follows, therefore, that the ear may be so placed
in one, as that it shall hear a sound better than when situated nearer
to the point of the first impulse: again, in the case of two concave
surfaces placed opposite to each other--'

'Nonsense, sir. Don't tell me of foci. Pray, sir, will concave
surfaces produce two voices when nobody speaks? I heard two voices,
and one was feminine; feminine, sir: what say you to that?'

'Oh, sir, I perceive your mistake: I am writing a tragedy, and was
acting over a scene to myself. To convince you, I will give you a
specimen; but you must first understand the plot. It is a tragedy on
the German model. The Great Mogul is in exile, and has taken lodgings
at Kensington, with his only daughter, the Princess Rantrorina,
who takes in needlework, and keeps a day school. _The princess is
discovered hemming a set of shirts for the parson of the parish: they
are to be marked with a large R. Enter to her the Great Mogul. A
pause, during which they look at each other expressively. The
princess changes colour several times. The Mogul takes snuff in great
agitation. Several grains are heard to fall on the stage. His heart is
seen to beat through his upper benjamin._--THE MOGUL _(with a mournful
look at his left shoe_). 'My shoe-string is broken.'--THE PRINCESS
(_after an interval of melancholy reflection_). 'I know it.' THE
MOGUL. 'My second shoe-string! The first broke when I lost my empire:
the second has broken to-day. When will my poor heart break?'--THE
PRINCESS. 'Shoe-strings, hearts, and empires! Mysterious sympathy!'

'Nonsense, sir,' interrupted Mr Glowry. 'That is not at all like the
voice I heard.'

'But, sir,' said Scythrop, 'a key-hole may be so constructed as to act
like an acoustic tube, and an acoustic tube, sir, will modify sound in
a very remarkable manner. Consider the construction of the ear, and
the nature and causes of sound. The external part of the ear is a
cartilaginous funnel.'

'It wo'n't do, Scythrop. There is a girl concealed in this tower, and
find her I will. There are such things as sliding panels and secret
closets.'--He sounded round the room with his cane, but detected
no hollowness.--'I have heard, sir,' he continued, 'that during my
absence, two years ago, you had a dumb carpenter closeted with you
day after day. I did not dream that you were laying contrivances for
carrying on secret intrigues. Young men will have their way: I had my
way when I was a young man: but, sir, when your cousin Marionetta--'

Scythrop now saw that the affair was growing serious. To have clapped
his hand upon his father's mouth, to have entreated him to be silent,
would, in the first place, not have made him so; and, in the second,
would have shown a dread of being overheard by somebody. His only
resource, therefore, was to try to drown Mr Glowry's voice; and,
having no other subject, he continued his description of the ear,
raising his voice continually as Mr Glowry raised his.

'When your cousin Marionetta,' said Mr Glowry, 'whom you profess to
love--whom you profess to love, sir--'

'The internal canal of the ear,' said Scythrop, 'is partly bony and
partly cartilaginous. This internal canal is--'

'Is actually in the house, sir; and, when you are so shortly to be--as
I expect--'

'Closed at the further end by the _membrana tympani_--'

'Joined together in holy matrimony--'

'Under which is carried a branch of the fifth pair of nerves--'

'I say, sir, when you are so shortly to be married to your cousin
Marionetta--'

'The _cavitas tympani_--'

A loud noise was heard behind the book-case, which, to the
astonishment of Mr Glowry, opened in the middle, and the massy
compartments, with all their weight of books, receding from each other
in the manner of a theatrical scene, with a heavy rolling sound (which
Mr Glowry immediately recognised to be the same which had excited his
curiosity,) disclosed an interior apartment, in the entrance of
which stood the beautiful Stella, who, stepping forward, exclaimed,
'Married! Is he going to be married? The profligate!'

'Really, madam,' said Mr Glowry, 'I do not know what he is going to
do, or what I am going to do, or what any one is going to do; for all
this is incomprehensible.'

'I can explain it all,' said Scythrop, 'in a most satisfactory manner,
if you will but have the goodness to leave us alone.'

'Pray, sir, to which act of the tragedy of the Great Mogul does this
incident belong?'

'I entreat you, my dear sir, leave us alone.'

Stella threw herself into a chair, and burst into a tempest of tears.
Scythrop sat down by her, and took her hand. She snatched her hand
away, and turned her back upon him. He rose, sat down on the other
side, and took her other hand. She snatched it away, and turned from
him again. Scythrop continued entreating Mr Glowry to leave them
alone; but the old gentleman was obstinate, and would not go.

'I suppose, after all,' said Mr Glowry maliciously, 'it is only a
phænomenon in acoustics, and this young lady is a reflection of sound
from concave surfaces.'

Some one tapped at the door: Mr Glowry opened it, and Mr Hilary
entered. He had been seeking Mr Glowry, and had traced him to
Scythrop's tower. He stood a few moments in silent surprise, and then
addressed himself to Mr Glowry for an explanation.

'The explanation,' said Mr Glowry, 'is very satisfactory. The Great
Mogul has taken lodgings at Kensington, and the external part of the
ear is a cartilaginous funnel.'

'Mr Glowry, that is no explanation.'

'Mr Hilary, it is all I know about the matter.'

'Sir, this pleasantry is very unseasonable. I perceive that my niece
is sported with in a most unjustifiable manner, and I shall see if she
will be more successful in obtaining an intelligible answer.' And he
departed in search of Marionetta.

Scythrop was now in a hopeless predicament. Mr Hilary made a hue and
cry in the abbey, and summoned his wife and Marionetta to Scythrop's
apartment. The ladies, not knowing what was the matter, hastened in
great consternation. Mr Toobad saw them sweeping along the corridor,
and judging from their manner that the devil had manifested his wrath
in some new shape, followed from pure curiosity.

Scythrop meanwhile vainly endeavoured to get rid of Mr Glowry and
to pacify Stella. The latter attempted to escape from the tower,
declaring she would leave the abbey immediately, and he should never
see her or hear of her more. Scythrop held her hand and detained her
by force, till Mr Hilary reappeared with Mrs Hilary and Marionetta.
Marionetta, seeing Scythrop grasping the hand of a strange beauty,
fainted away in the arms of her aunt. Scythrop flew to her assistance;
and Stella with redoubled anger sprang towards the door, but was
intercepted in her intended flight by being caught in the arms of Mr
Toobad, who exclaimed--'Celinda!'

'Papa!' said the young lady disconsolately.

'The devil is come among you,' said Mr Toobad, 'how came my daughter
here?'

'Your daughter!' exclaimed Mr Glowry.

'Your daughter!' exclaimed Scythrop, and Mr and Mrs Hilary.

'Yes,' said Mr Toobad, 'my daughter Celinda.'

Marionetta opened her eyes and fixed them on Celinda; Celinda in
return fixed hers on Marionetta. They were at remote points of the
apartment. Scythrop was equidistant from both of them, central and
motionless, like Mahomet's coffin.

'Mr Glowry,' said Mr Toobad, 'can you tell by what means my daughter
came here?'

'I know no more,' said Mr Glowry, 'than the Great Mogul.'

'Mr Scythrop,' said Mr Toobad, 'how came my daughter here?'

'I did not know, sir, that the lady was your daughter.'

'But how came she here?'

'By spontaneous locomotion,' said Scythrop, sullenly.

'Celinda,' said Mr Toobad, 'what does all this mean?'

'I really do not know, sir.'

'This is most unaccountable. When I told you in London that I had
chosen a husband for you, you thought proper to run away from him; and
now, to all appearance, you have run away to him.'

'How, sir! was that your choice?'

'Precisely; and if he is yours too we shall be both of a mind, for the
first time in our lives.'

'He is not my choice, sir. This lady has a prior claim: I renounce
him.'

'And I renounce him,' said Marionetta.

Scythrop knew not what to do. He could not attempt to conciliate the
one without irreparably offending the other; and he was so fond of
both, that the idea of depriving himself for ever of the society
of either was intolerable to him: he therefore retreated into his
stronghold, mystery; maintained an impenetrable silence; and contented
himself with stealing occasionally a deprecating glance at each of the
objects of his idolatry. Mr Toobad and Mr Hilary, in the mean time,
were each insisting on an explanation from Mr Glowry, who they thought
had been playing a double game on this occasion. Mr Glowry was
vainly endeavouring to persuade them of his innocence in the whole
transaction. Mrs Hilary was endeavouring to mediate between her
husband and brother. The Honourable Mr Listless, the Reverend Mr
Larynx, Mr Flosky, Mr Asterias, and Aquarius, were attracted by the
tumult to the scene of action, and were appealed to severally and
conjointly by the respective disputants. Multitudinous questions, and
answers _en masse_, composed a _charivari_, to which the genius of
Rossini alone could have given a suitable accompaniment, and which
was only terminated by Mrs Hilary and Mr Toobad retreating with the
captive damsels. The whole party followed, with the exception of
Scythrop, who threw himself into his arm-chair, crossed his left
foot over his right knee, placed the hollow of his left hand on the
interior ancle of his left leg, rested his right elbow on the elbow
of the chair, placed the ball of his right thumb against his right
temple, curved the forefinger along the upper part of his forehead,
rested the point of the middle finger on the bridge of his nose, and
the points of the two others on the lower part of the palm, fixed his
eyes intently on the veins in the back of his left hand, and sat in
this position like the immoveable Theseus, who, as is well known to
many who have not been at college, and to some few who have, _sedet,
oeternumque sedebit_.[13] We hope the admirers of the _minutiæ_ in
poetry and romance will appreciate this accurate description of a
pensive attitude.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XIV


Scythrop was still in this position when Raven entered to announce
that dinner was on table.

'I cannot come,' said Scythrop.

Raven sighed. 'Something is the matter,' said Raven: 'but man is born
to trouble.'

'Leave me,' said Scythrop: 'go, and croak elsewhere.'

'Thus it is,' said Raven. 'Five-and-twenty years have I lived in
Nightmare Abbey, and now all the reward of my affection is--Go, and
croak elsewhere. I have danced you on my knee, and fed you with
marrow.'

'Good Raven,' said Scythrop, 'I entreat you to leave me.'

'Shall I bring your dinner here?' said Raven. 'A boiled fowl and
a glass of Madeira are prescribed by the faculty in cases of low
spirits. But you had better join the party: it is very much reduced
already.'

'Reduced! how?'

'The Honourable Mr Listless is gone. He declared that, what with
family quarrels in the morning, and ghosts at night, he could get
neither sleep nor peace; and that the agitation was too much for his
nerves: though Mr Glowry assured him that the ghost was only poor Crow
walking in his sleep, and that the shroud and bloody turban were a
sheet and a red nightcap.'

'Well, sir?'

'The Reverend Mr Larynx has been called off on duty, to marry or bury
(I don't know which) some unfortunate person or persons, at Claydyke:
but man is born to trouble!'

'Is that all?'

'No. Mr Toobad is gone too, and a strange lady with him.'

'Gone!'

'Gone. And Mr and Mrs Hilary, and Miss O'Carroll: they are all gone.
There is nobody left but Mr Asterias and his son, and they are going
to-night.'

'Then I have lost them both.'

'Won't you come to dinner?'

'No.'

'Shall I bring your dinner here?'

'Yes.'

'What will you have?'

'A pint of port and a pistol.'[14]

'A pistol!'

'And a pint of port. I will make my exit like Werter. Go. Stay. Did
Miss O'Carroll say any thing?'

'No.'

'Did Miss Toobad say any thing?'

'The strange lady? No.'

'Did either of them cry?'

'No.'

'What did they do?'

'Nothing.'

'What did Mr Toobad say?'

'He said, fifty times over, the devil was come among us.'

'And they are gone?'

'Yes; and the dinner is getting cold. There is a time for every
thing under the sun. You may as well dine first, and be miserable
afterwards.'

'True, Raven. There is something in that. I will take your advice:
therefore, bring me----'

'The port and the pistol?'

'No; the boiled fowl and Madeira.'

Scythrop had dined, and was sipping his Madeira alone, immersed in
melancholy musing, when Mr Glowry entered, followed by Raven, who,
having placed an additional glass and set a chair for Mr Glowry,
withdrew. Mr Glowry sat down opposite Scythrop. After a pause, during
which each filled and drank in silence, Mr Glowry said, 'So, sir,
you have played your cards well. I proposed Miss Toobad to you: you
refused her. Mr Toobad proposed you to her: she refused you. You fell
in love with Marionetta, and were going to poison yourself, because,
from pure fatherly regard to your temporal interests, I withheld my
consent. When, at length, I offered you my consent, you told me I was
too precipitate. And, after all, I find you and Miss Toobad living
together in the same tower, and behaving in every respect like two
plighted lovers. Now, sir, if there be any rational solution of all
this absurdity, I shall be very much obliged to you for a small
glimmering of information.'

'The solution, sir, is of little moment; but I will leave it in
writing for your satisfaction. The crisis of my fate is come: the
world is a stage, and my direction is _exit._'

'Do not talk so, sir;--do not talk so, Scythrop. What would you have?'

'I would have my love.'

'And pray, sir, who is your love?'

'Celinda--Marionetta--either--both.'

'Both! That may do very well in a German tragedy; and the Great Mogul
might have found it very feasible in his lodgings at Kensington; but
it will not do in Lincolnshire. Will you have Miss Toobad?'

'Yes.'

'And renounce Marionetta?'

'No.'

'But you must renounce one.'

'I cannot.'

'And you cannot have both. What is to be done?'

'I must shoot myself.'

'Don't talk so, Scythrop. Be rational, my dear Scythrop. Consider, and
make a cool, calm choice, and I will exert myself in your behalf.'

'Why should I choose, sir? Both have renounced _me_: I have no hope of
either.'

'Tell me which you will have, and I will plead your cause
irresistibly.'

'Well, sir,--I will have--no, sir, I cannot renounce either. I
cannot choose either. I am doomed to be the victim of eternal
disappointments; and I have no resource but a pistol.'

'Scythrop--Scythrop;--if one of them should come to you--what then?'

'That, sir, might alter the case: but that cannot be.'

'It can be, Scythrop; it will be: I promise you it will be. Have but a
little patience--but a week's patience; and it shall be.'

'A week, sir, is an age: but, to oblige you, as a last act of
filial duty, I will live another week. It is now Thursday evening,
twenty-five minutes past seven. At this hour and minute, on Thursday
next, love and fate shall smile on me, or I will drink my last pint of
port in this world.'

Mr Glowry ordered his travelling chariot, and departed from the abbey.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XV


The day after Mr Glowry's departure was one of incessant rain, and
Scythrop repented of the promise he had given. The next day was one of
bright sunshine: he sat on the terrace, read a tragedy of Sophocles,
and was not sorry, when Raven announced dinner, to find himself alive.
On the third evening, the wind blew, and the rain beat, and the owl
flapped against his windows; and he put a new flint in his pistol. On
the fourth day, the sun shone again; and he locked the pistol up in a
drawer, where he left it undisturbed, till the morning of the eventful
Thursday, when he ascended the turret with a telescope, and spied
anxiously along the road that crossed the fens from Claydyke: but
nothing appeared on it. He watched in this manner from ten A.M. till
Raven summoned him to dinner at five; when he stationed Crow at the
telescope, and descended to his own funeral-feast. He left open the
communications between the tower and turret, and called aloud at
intervals to Crow,--'Crow, Crow, is any thing coming?' Crow answered,
'The wind blows, and the windmills turn, but I see nothing coming;'
and, at every answer, Scythrop found the necessity of raising his
spirits with a bumper. After dinner, he gave Raven his watch to set by
the abbey clock. Raven brought it, Scythrop placed it on the table,
and Raven departed. Scythrop called again to Crow; and Crow, who had
fallen asleep, answered mechanically, 'I see nothing coming.' Scythrop
laid his pistol between his watch and his bottle. The hour-hand passed
the VII.--the minute-hand moved on;--it was within three minutes of
the appointed time. Scythrop called again to Crow: Crow answered as
before. Scythrop rang the bell: Raven appeared.

'Raven,' said Scythrop, 'the clock is too fast.'

'No, indeed,' said Raven, who knew nothing of Scythrop's intentions;
'if any thing, it is too slow.'

'Villain!' said Scythrop, pointing the pistol at him; 'it is too
fast.'

'Yes--yes--too fast, I meant,' said Raven, in manifest fear.

'How much too fast?' said Scythrop.

'As much as you please,' said Raven.

'How much, I say?' said Scythrop, pointing the pistol again.

'An hour, a full hour, sir,' said the terrified butler.

'Put back my watch,' said Scythrop.

Raven, with trembling hand, was putting back the watch, when the
rattle of wheels was heard in the court; and Scythrop, springing down
the stairs by three steps together, was at the door in sufficient time
to have handed either of the young ladies from the carriage, if she
had happened to be in it; but Mr Glowry was alone.

'I rejoice to see you,' said Mr Glowry; 'I was fearful of being too
late, for I waited till the last moment in the hope of accomplishing
my promise; but all my endeavours have been vain, as these letters
will show.'

Scythrop impatiently broke the seals. The contents were these:

  Almost a stranger in England, I fled from parental tyranny,
  and the dread of an arbitrary marriage, to the protection of a
  stranger and a philosopher, whom I expected to find something
  better than, or at least something different from, the rest of his
  worthless species. Could I, after what has occurred, have
  expected nothing more from you than the common-place impertinence
  of sending your father to treat with me, and with mine, for me? I
  should be a little moved in your favour, if I could believe you
  capable of carrying into effect the resolutions which your father
  says you have taken, in the event of my proving inflexible;
  though I doubt not you will execute them, as far as relates to
  the pint of wine, twice over, at least. I wish you much happiness
  with Miss O'Carroll. I shall always cherish a grateful
  recollection of Nightmare Abbey, for having been the means of
  introducing me to a true transcendentalist; and, though he is a
  little older than myself, which is all one in Germany, I shall
  very soon have the pleasure of subscribing myself

  CELINDA FLOSKY

  I hope, my dear cousin, that you will not be angry with me,
  but that you will always think of me as a sincere friend, who
  will always feel interested in your welfare; I am sure you love
  Miss Toobad much better than me, and I wish you much happiness
  with her. Mr Listless assures me that people do not kill
  themselves for love now-a-days, though it is still the fashion to
  talk about it. I shall, in a very short time, change my name and
  situation, and shall always be happy to see you in Berkeley
  Square, when, to the unalterable designation of your affectionate
  cousin, I shall subjoin the signature of

  MARIONETTA LISTLESS

Scythrop tore both the letters to atoms, and railed in good set terms
against the fickleness of women.

'Calm yourself, my dear Scythrop,' said Mr Glowry; 'there are yet
maidens in England.'

'Very true, sir,' said Scythrop.

'And the next time,' said Mr Glowry, 'have but one string to your
bow.'

'Very good advice, sir,' said Scythrop.

'And, besides,' said Mr Glowry, 'the fatal time is past, for it is now
almost eight.'

'Then that villain, Raven,' said Scythrop, 'deceived me when he said
that the clock was too fast; but, as you observe very justly, the time
has gone by, and I have just reflected that these repeated crosses in
love qualify me to take a very advanced degree in misanthropy; and
there is, therefore, good hope that I may make a figure in the world.
But I shall ring for the rascal Raven, and admonish him.'

Raven appeared. Scythrop looked at him very fiercely two or three
minutes; and Raven, still remembering the pistol, stood quaking in
mute apprehension, till Scythrop, pointing significantly towards the
dining-room, said, 'Bring some Madeira.'

THE END




NOTES

NIGHTMARE ABBEY


CHAPTER I

[1] _Mr Flosky_: A corruption of Filosky, quasi [Greek: philoschios],
a lover, or sectator, of shadows.


CHAPTER II

[2] _the passion for reforming the world_: See Forsyth's _Principles
of Moral Science_.


CHAPTER IV

[3] _decorum, and dignity, &c. &c. &c._: We are not masters of the
whole vocabulary. See any novel by any literary lady.

[4] _his Ahrimanic philosophy_: Ahrimanes, in the Persian mythology,
is the evil power, the prince of the kingdom of darkness. He is the
rival of Oromazes, the prince of the kingdom of light. These two
powers have divided and equal dominion. Sometimes one of the two has a
temporary supremacy.--According to Mr Toobad, the present period would
be the reign of Ahrimanes. Lord Byron seems to be of the same opinion,
by the use he has made of Ahrimanes in 'Manfred'; where the great
Alastor, or [Greek: Kachos Daimôn], of Persia, is hailed king of
the world by the Nemesis of Greece, in concert with three of
the Scandinavian Valkyrae, under the name of the Destinies; the
astrological spirits of the alchemists of the middle ages; an
elemental witch, transplanted from Denmark to the Alps; and a chorus
of Dr Faustus's devils, who come in the last act for a soul. It is
difficult to conceive where this heterogeneous mythological company
could have originally met, except at a _table d'hôte_, like the six
kings in 'Candide'.


CHAPTER V

[5] _pensions_: 'PENSION. Pay given to a slave of state for treason to
his country.'--JOHNSON'S _Dictionary_.


CHAPTER VII

[6] _... of a beautiful day_: See Denys Montfort: _Histoire Naturelle
des Mollusques; Vues Générales_, pp. 37, 38. (P.) The second half of
this speech by Mr Asterias and the opening sentence of his previous
speech are a paraphrase from Montfort, pp. 37-9.


CHAPTER X

[7] _Mr Burke's graduated scale of the sublime_: There must be some
mistake in this, for the whole honourable band of gentlemen-pensioners
has resolved unanimously, that Mr Burke was a very sublime person,
particularly after he had prostituted his own soul, and betrayed his
country and mankind, for 1200_l_. a year: yet he does not appear to
have been a very terrible personage, and certainly went off with a
very small portion of human respect, though he contrived to excite,
in a great degree, the astonishment of all honest men. Our immaculate
laureate (who gives us to understand that, if he had not been purified
by holy matrimony into a mystical type, he would have died a virgin,)
is another sublime gentleman of the same genus: he very much
astonished some persons when he sold his birthright for a pot of sack;
but not even his _Sosia_ has a grain of respect for him, though,
doubtless, he thinks his name very terrible to the enemy, when he
flourishes his criticopoeticopolitical tomahawk, and sets up his
Indian yell for the blood of his old friends: but, at best, he is a
mere political scarecrow, a man of straw, ridiculous to all who know
of what materials he is made; and to none more so, than to those who
have stuffed him, and set him up, as the Priapus of the garden of the
golden apples of corruption.


CHAPTER XI

[8] _... vanishes in the smoke of death_: _Childe Harold_, canto 4.
cxxiv. cxxvi.

[9] _... and reaps the whirlwind_: _Childe Harold_, canto 4. cxxiii.

[10] _... or to endure_: _Ibid_. canto 3. lxxi.

[11] _... whose gums are poison_: _Ibid_. canto 4. cxxi. cxxxvi.

[12] _... exist only in himself_: _Childe Harold_, canto 4. cxxii.


CHAPTER XIII

[13] _sedet, oeternumque sedebit_: Sits, and will sit for ever.


CHAPTER XIV

[14] _a pint of port and a pistol_: See _The Sorrows of Werter_,
Letter 93.












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