or refreshing. Lovel’s was disturbed by a thousand baseless and confused
visions. He was a bird--he was a fish--or he flew like the one, and swam
like the other,--qualities which would have been very essential to his
safety a few hours before. Then Miss Wardour was a syren, or a bird of
Paradise; her father a triton, or a sea-gull; and Oldbuck alternately
a porpoise and a cormorant. These agreeable imaginations were varied by
all the usual vagaries of a feverish dream;--the air refused to bear the
visionary, the water seemed to burn him--the rocks felt like down pillows
as he was dashed against them--whatever he undertook, failed in some
strange and unexpected manner--and whatever attracted his attention,
underwent, as he attempted to investigate it, some wild and wonderful
metamorphosis, while his mind continued all the while in some degree
conscious of the delusion, from which it in vain struggled to free
itself by awaking;--feverish symptoms all, with which those who are
haunted by the night-hag, whom the learned call Ephialtes, are but too
well acquainted. At length these crude phantasmata arranged themselves
into something more regular, if indeed the imagination of Lovel, after
he awoke (for it was by no means the faculty in which his mind was least
rich), did not gradually, insensibly, and unintentionally, arrange in
better order the scene of which his sleep presented, it may be, a less
distinct outline. Or it is possible that his feverish agitation may have
assisted him in forming the vision.
Leaving this discussion to the learned, we will say, that after a
succession of wild images, such as we have above described, our hero,
for such we must acknowledge him, so far regained a consciousness of
locality as to remember where he was, and the whole furniture of the
Green Chamber was depicted to his slumbering eye. And here, once more,
let me protest, that if there should be so much old-fashioned faith
left among this shrewd and sceptical generation, as to suppose that
what follows was an impression conveyed rather by the eye than by the
imagination, I do not impugn their doctrine. He was, then, or imagined
himself, broad awake in the Green Chamber, gazing upon the flickering
and occasional flame which the unconsumed remnants of the faggots sent
forth, as, one by one, they fell down upon the red embers, into which
the principal part of the boughs to which they belonged had crumbled
away. Insensibly the legend of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, and his mysterious
visits to the inmates of the chamber, awoke in his mind, and with it,
as we often feel in dreams, an anxious and fearful expectation, which
seldom fails instantly to summon up before our mind’s eye the object of
our fear. Brighter sparkles of light flashed from the chimney, with
such intense brilliancy as to enlighten all the room. The tapestry waved
wildly on the wall, till its dusky forms seemed to become animated. The
hunters blew their horns--the stag seemed to fly, the boar to resist,
and the hounds to assail the one and pursue the other; the cry of deer,
mangled by throttling dogs--the shouts of men, and the clatter of horses’
hoofs, seemed at once to surround him--while every group pursued, with
all the fury of the chase, the employment in which the artist had
represented them as engaged. Lovel looked on this strange scene devoid
of wonder (which seldom intrudes itself upon the sleeping fancy), but
with an anxious sensation of awful fear. At length an individual figure
among the tissued huntsmen, as he gazed upon them more fixedly, seemed
to leave the arras and to approach the bed of the slumberer. As he
drew near, his figure appeared to alter. His bugle-horn became a brazen
clasped volume; his hunting-cap changed to such a furred head-gear as
graces the burgomasters of Rembrandt; his Flemish garb remained but his
features, no longer agitated with the fury of the chase, were changed
to such a state of awful and stern composure, as might best portray the
first proprietor of Monkbarns, such as he had been described to Lovel
by his descendants in the course of the preceding evening. As this
metamorphosis took place, the hubbub among the other personages in the
arras disappeared from the imagination of the dreamer, which was now
exclusively bent on the single figure before him. Lovel strove to
interrogate this awful person in the form of exorcism proper for the
occasion; but his tongue, as is usual in frightful dreams, refused its
office, and clung, palsied, to the roof of his mouth. Aldobrand held up
his finger, as if to impose silence upon the guest who had intruded on
his apartment, and began deliberately to unclasp the venerable, volume
which occupied his left hand. When it was unfolded, he turned over the
leaves hastily for a short space, and then raising his figure to its
full dimensions, and holding the book aloft in his left hand, pointed to
a passage in the page which he thus displayed. Although the language was
unknown to our dreamer, his eye and attention were both strongly caught
by the line which the figure seemed thus to press upon his notice, the
words of which appeared to blaze with a supernatural light, and remained
riveted upon his memory. As the vision shut his volume, a strain of
delightful music seemed to fill the apartment--Lovel started, and became
completely awake. The music, however, was still in his ears, nor ceased
till he could distinctly follow the measure of an old Scottish tune.
He sate up in bed, and endeavoured to clear his brain of the phantoms
which had disturbed it during this weary night. The beams of the morning
sun streamed through the half-closed shutters, and admitted a distinct
light into the apartment. He looked round upon the hangings,--but the
mixed groups of silken and worsted huntsmen were as stationary as
tenter-hooks could make them, and only trembled slightly as the early
breeze, which found its way through an open crevice of the latticed
window, glided along their surface. Lovel leapt out of bed, and,
wrapping himself in a morning-gown, that had been considerately laid by
his bedside, stepped towards the window, which commanded a view of the
sea, the roar of whose billows announced it still disquieted by the
storm of the preceding evening, although the morning was fair and
serene. The window of a turret, which projected at an angle with the
wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel’s apartment, was half-open,
and from that quarter he heard again the same music which had probably
broken short his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much
of its charms--it was now nothing more than an air on the harpsichord,
tolerably well performed--such is the caprice of imagination as
affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and
great simplicity, something between a song and a hymn, in words to the
following effect:--
“Why sitt’st thou by that ruin’d hall,
Thou aged carle so stern and grey?
Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it passed away?
“Know’st thou not me!” the Deep Voice cried,
“So long enjoyed, so oft misused--
Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
Desired, neglected, and accused?
“Before my breath, like, blazing flax,
Man and his marvels pass away;
And changing empires wane and wax,
Are founded, flourish and decay.
“Redeem mine hours--the space is brief--
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,
And measureless thy joy or grief,
When Time and thou shalt part for ever!”
While the verses were yet singing, Lovel had returned to his bed; the
train of ideas which they awakened was romantic and pleasing, such as
his soul delighted in, and, willingly adjourning till more broad day the
doubtful task of determining on his future line of conduct, he abandoned
himself to the pleasing languor inspired by the music, and fell into a
sound and refreshing sleep, from which he was only awakened at a late
hour by old Caxon, who came creeping into the room to render the offices
of a valet-de-chambre.
“I have brushed your coat, sir,” said the old man, when he perceived
Lovel was awake; “the callant brought it frae Fairport this morning, for
that ye had on yesterday is scantly feasibly dry, though it’s been a’
night at the kitchen fire; and I hae cleaned your shoon. I doubt ye’ll
no be wanting me to tie your hair, for” (with a gentle sigh) “a’ the
young gentlemen wear crops now; but I hae the curling tangs here to
gie it a bit turn ower the brow, if ye like, before ye gae down to the
leddies.”
Lovel, who was by this time once more on his legs, declined the old
man’s professional offices, but accompanied the refusal with such a
douceur as completely sweetened Caxon’s mortification.
“It’s a pity he disna get his hair tied and pouthered,” said the ancient
friseur, when he had got once more into the kitchen, in which, on one
pretence or other, he spent three parts of his idle time--that is to
say, of his whole time--“it’s a great pity, for he’s a comely young
gentleman.”
“Hout awa, ye auld gowk,” said Jenny Rintherout, “would ye creesh his
bonny brown hair wi’ your nasty ulyie, and then moust it like the auld
minister’s wig? Ye’ll be for your breakfast, I’se warrant?--hae, there’s
a soup parritch for ye--it will set ye better tae be slaistering at them
and the lapper-milk than meddling wi’ Mr. Lovel’s head--ye wad spoil the
maist natural and beautifaest head o’ hair in a’ Fairport, baith burgh
and county.”
The poor barber sighed over the disrespect into which his art had so
universally fallen, but Jenny was a person too important to offend by
contradiction; so, sitting quietly down in the kitchen, he digested at
once his humiliation, and the contents of a bicker which held a Scotch
pint of substantial oatmeal porridge.
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this pageant sent,
And ordered all the pageants as they went;
Sometimes that only ‘twas wild Fancy’s play,--
The loose and scattered relics of the day.
We must now request our readers to adjourn to the breakfast parlour
of Mr. Oldbuck, who, despising the modern slops of tea and coffee, was
substantially regaling himself, more majorum, with cold roast-beef, and
a glass of a sort of beverage called mum--a species of fat ale, brewed
from wheat and bitter herbs, of which the present generation only know
the name by its occurrence in revenue acts of parliament, coupled with
cider, perry, and other excisable commodities. Lovel, who was seduced to
taste it, with difficulty refrained from pronouncing it detestable, but
did refrain, as he saw he should otherwise give great offence to his
host, who had the liquor annually prepared with peculiar care, according
to the approved recipe bequeathed to him by the so-often mentioned
Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospitality of the ladies offered Lovel a
breakfast more suited to modern taste, and while he was engaged in
partaking of it, he was assailed by indirect inquiries concerning the
manner in which he had passed the night.
“We canna compliment Mr. Lovel on his looks this morning, brother--but
he winna condescend on any ground of disturbance he has had in the night
time. I am certain he looks very pale, and when he came here he was as
fresh as a rose.”
“Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been knocked about by sea
and wind all yesterday evening, as if he had been a bunch of kelp or
tangle, and how the devil would you have him retain his colour?”
“I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued,” said Lovel,
“notwithstanding the excellent accommodations with which your
hospitality so amply supplied me.”
“Ah, sir!” said Miss Oldbuck looking at him with a knowing smile, or
what was meant to be one, “ye’ll not allow of ony inconvenience, out of
civility to us.”
“Really, madam,” replied Lovel, “I had no disturbance; for I cannot term
such the music with which some kind fairy favoured me.”
“I doubted Mary wad waken you wi’ her skreighing; she dinna ken I had
left open a chink of your window, for, forbye the ghaist, the Green
Room disna vent weel in a high wind--But I am judging ye heard mair
than Mary’s lilts yestreen. Weel, men are hardy creatures--they can gae
through wi’ a’ thing. I am sure, had I been to undergo ony thing of that
nature,--that’s to say that’s beyond nature--I would hae skreigh’d out at
once, and raised the house, be the consequence what liket--and, I dare
say, the minister wad hae done as mickle, and sae I hae tauld him,--I ken
naebody but my brother, Monkbarns himsell, wad gae through the like o’t,
if, indeed, it binna you, Mr. Lovel.”
“A man of Mr. Oldbuck’s learning, madam,” answered the questioned party,
“would not be exposed to the inconvenience sustained by the Highland
gentleman you mentioned last night.”
“Ay, ay--ye understand now where the difficulty lies. Language? he has
ways o’ his ain wad banish a’ thae sort o’ worricows as far as
the hindermost parts of Gideon” (meaning possibly Midian), “as Mr.
Blattergowl says--only ane widna be uncivil to ane’s forbear, though he
be a ghaist. I am sure I will try that receipt of yours, brother, that
ye showed me in a book, if onybody is to sleep in that room again,
though I think, in Christian charity, ye should rather fit up the
matted-room--it’s a wee damp and dark, to be sure, but then we hae sae
seldom occasion for a spare bed.”
“No, no, sister;--dampness and darkness are worse than spectres--ours are
spirits of light, and I would rather have you try the spell.”
“I will do that blythely, Monkbarns, an I had the ingredients, as my
cookery book ca’s them--There was vervain and dill--I mind that--Davie
Dibble will ken about them, though, maybe, he’ll gie them Latin
names--and Peppercorn, we hae walth o’ them, for”--
“Hypericon, thou foolish woman!” thundered Oldbuck; “d’ye suppose you’re
making a haggis--or do you think that a spirit, though he be formed of
air, can be expelled by a receipt against wind?--This wise Grizel of
mine, Mr. Lovel, recollects (with what accuracy you may judge) a
charm which I once mentioned to her, and which, happening to hit her
superstitious noddle, she remembers better than anything tending to a
useful purpose, I may chance to have said for this ten years. But many
an old woman besides herself”--
“Auld woman, Monkbarns!” said Miss Oldbuck, roused something above her
usual submissive tone; “ye really are less than civil to me.”
“Not less than just, Grizel: however, I include in the same class many
a sounding name, from Jamblichus down to Aubrey, who have wasted their
time in devising imaginary remedies for non-existing diseases.--But I
hope, my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed--secured by the potency
of Hypericon,
With vervain and with dill,
That hinder witches of their will,
or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the invisible world,
you will give another night to the terrors of the haunted apartment, and
another day to your faithful and feal friends.”
“I heartily wish I could, but”--
“Nay, but me no buts--I have set my heart upon it.”
“I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but”--
“Look ye there, now--but again!--I hate but; I know no form of expression
in which he can appear, that is amiable, excepting as a butt of sack.
But is to me a more detestable combination of letters than no itself.No
is a surly, honest fellow--speaks his mind rough and round at once. But is
a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, exceptuous sort of a conjunction, which
comes to pull away the cup just when it is at your lips--
--it does allay
The good precedent--fie upon but yet!
But yet is as a jailor to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor.”
“Well, then,” answered Lovel, whose motions were really undetermined at
the moment, “you shall not connect the recollection of my name with
so churlish a particle. I must soon think of leaving Fairport, I am
afraid--and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take this
opportunity of spending another day here.”
“And you shall be rewarded, my boy. First, you shall see John o’ the
Girnel’s grave, and then we’ll walk gently along the sands, the state
of the tide being first ascertained (for we will have no more
Peter Wilkins’ adventures, no more Glum and Gawrie work), as far as
Knockwinnock Castle, and inquire after the old knight and my fair
foe--which will but be barely civil, and then”--
“I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, perhaps, you had better adjourn your
visit till to-morrow--I am a stranger, you know.”
“And are, therefore, the more bound to show civility, I should suppose.
But I beg your pardon for mentioning a word that perhaps belongs only to
a collector of antiquities--I am one of the old school,
When courtiers galloped o’er four counties
The ball’s fair partner to behold,
And humbly hope she caught no cold.”
“Why, if--if--if you thought it would be expected--but I believe I had
better stay.”
“Nay, nay, my good friend, I am not so old-fashioned as to press you to
what is disagreeable, neither--it is sufficient that I see there is some
remora, some cause of delay, some mid impediment, which I have no title
to inquire into. Or you are still somewhat tired, perhaps;--I warrant I
find means to entertain your intellects without fatiguing your limbs--I
am no friend to violent exertion myself--a walk in the garden once
a-day is exercise, enough for any thinking being--none but a fool or a
fox-hunter would require more. Well, what shall we set about?--my Essay
on Castrametation--but I have that in petto for our afternoon cordial;--or
I will show you the controversy upon Ossian’s Poems between Mac-Cribb
and me. I hold with the acute Orcadian--he with the defenders of the
authenticity;--the controversy began in smooth, oily, lady-like terms,
but is now waxing more sour and eager as we get on--it already partakes
somewhat of old Scaliger’s style. I fear the rogue will get some scent
of that story of Ochiltree’s--but at worst, I have a hard repartee for
him on the affair of the abstracted Antigonus--I will show you his last
epistle and the scroll of my answer--egad, it is a trimmer!”
So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began rummaging among a
quantity of miscellaneous papers, ancient and modern. But it was the
misfortune of this learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned
and unlearned, that he frequently experienced, on such occasions, what
Harlequin calls l’embarras des richesses; in other words, the abundance
of his collection often prevented him from finding the article he sought
for. “Curse the papers!--I believe,” said Oldbuck, as he shuffled them to
and fro--“I believe they make themselves wings like grasshoppers, and fly
away bodily--but here, in the meanwhile, look at that little treasure.”
So saying, he put into his hand a case made of oak, fenced at the corner
with silver roses and studs--“Pr’ythee, undo this button,” said he, as
he observed Lovel fumbling at the clasp. He did so,--the lid opened, and
discovered a thin quarto, curiously bound in black shagreen--“There, Mr.
Lovel--there is the work I mentioned to you last night--the rare quarto of
the Augsburg Confession, the foundation at once and the bulwark of the
Reformation drawn up by the learned and venerable Melancthon, defended
by the Elector of Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood up
for their faith, even against the front of a powerful and victorious
emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less venerable and praiseworthy
Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my happy progenitor, during the yet more tyrannical
attempts of Philip II. to suppress at once civil and religious liberty.
Yes, sir--for printing this work, that eminent man was expelled from his
ungrateful country, and driven to establish his household gods even here
at Monkbarns, among the ruins of papal superstition and domination.--Look
upon his venerable effigies, Mr. Lovel, and respect the honourable
occupation in which it presents him, as labouring personally at the
press for the diffusion of Christian and political knowledge.--And see
here his favourite motto, expressive of his independence and self-reliance,
which scorned to owe anything to patronage that was not earned by
desert--expressive also of that firmness of mind and tenacity of purpose
recommended by Horace. He was indeed a man who would have stood firm,
had his whole printing-house, presses, fonts, forms, great and small
pica, been shivered to pieces around him--Read, I say, his motto,--for
each printer had his motto, or device, when that illustrious art was
first practised. My ancestor’s was expressed, as you see, in the
Teutonic phrase, Kunst macht Gunst--that is, skill, or prudence, in
availing ourselves of our natural talents and advantages, will compel
favour and patronage, even where it is withheld from prejudice or
ignorance.”
“And that,” said Lovel, after a moment’s thoughtful silence--“that, then,
is the meaning of these German words?”
“Unquestionably. You perceive the appropriate application to a
consciousness of inward worth, and of eminence in a useful and
honourable art.--Each printer in those days, as I have already informed
you, had his device, his impresa, as I may call it, in the same manner
as the doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt and tournament.
My ancestor boasted as much in his, as if he had displayed it over
a conquered field of battle, though it betokened the diffusion of
knowledge, not the effusion of blood. And yet there is a family
tradition which affirms him to have chosen it from a more romantic
circumstance.”
“And what is that said to have been, my good sir?” inquired his young
friend.
“Why, it rather encroaches on my respected predecessor’s fame for
prudence and wisdom--Sed semel insanivimus omnes--everybody has played the
fool in their turn. It is said, my ancestor, during his apprenticeship
with the descendant of old Faust, whom popular tradition hath sent to
the devil under the name of Faustus, was attracted by a paltry slip of
womankind, his master’s daughter, called Bertha--they broke rings, or
went through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on such idle occasions
as the plighting of a true-love troth, and Aldobrand set out on his
journey through Germany, as became an honest hand-werker; for such was
the custom of mechanics at that time, to make a tour through the empire,
and work at their trade for a time in each of the most eminent towns,
before they finally settled themselves for life. It was a wise custom;
for, as such travellers were received like brethren in each town by
those of their own handicraft, they were sure, in every case, to have
the means either of gaining or communicating knowledge. When my ancestor
returned to Nuremburg, he is said to have found his old master newly
dead, and two or three gallant young suitors, some of them half-starved
sprigs of nobility forsooth, in pursuit of the Yung-fraw Bertha, whose
father was understood to have bequeathed her a dowry which might weigh
against sixteen armorial quarters. But Bertha, not a bad sample of
womankind, had made a vow she would only marry that man who would work
her father’s press. The skill, at that time, was as rare as wonderful;
besides that the expedient rid her at once of most of her gentle
suitors, who would have as soon wielded a conjuring wand as a composing
stick. Some of the more ordinary typographers made the attempt: but none
were sufficiently possessed of the mystery--But I tire you.”
“By no means; pray, proceed, Mr. Oldbuck--I listen with uncommon
interest.”