Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
AURIOL
OR
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE
BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH
AUTHOR OF "THE TOWER OF LONDON"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. K. BROWNE
_AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION_
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
1898
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
[Illustration: The mysterious interview in Hyde Park]
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE--1599--
DR. LAMB
BOOK THE FIRST--EBBA--
I. THE RUINED HOUSE IN THE VAUXHALL ROAD
II. THE DOG-FANCIER
III. THE HAND AND THE CLOAK
IV. THE IRON-MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER
V. THE MEETING NEAR THE STATUE
VI. THE CHARLES THE SECOND SPANIEL
VII. THE HAND AGAIN!
VIII. THE BARBER OF LONDON
IX. THE MOON IN THE FIRST QUARTER
X. THE STATUE AT CHARING CROSS
XI. PREPARATIONS
XII. THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY
INTERMEAN--1800--
I. THE TOMB OF THE ROSICRUCIAN
II. THE COMPACT
III. IRRESOLUTION
IV. EDITH TALBOT
V. THE SEVENTH NIGHT
BOOK THE SECOND--CYPRIAN ROUGEMONT--
I. THE CELL
II. THE ENCHANTED CHAIRS
III. GERARD PASTON
IV. THE PIT
V. NEW PERPLEXITIES
VI. DR. LAMB AGAIN
THE OLD LONDON MERCHANT
A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE IN ROME--
I. SANTA MARIA MAGGIORE
II. THE MARCHESA
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW IN HYDE PARK
THE ELIXIR OF LONG LIFE
THE RUINED HOUSE IN THE VAUXHALL ROAD
THE DOG-FANCIER
THE HAND AND THE CLOAK
THE IRON-MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER
THE BARBER OF LONDON
SEIZURE OF EBBA
THE ANTIQUARIES
THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY
THE TOMB OF THE ROSICRUCIAN
THE COMPACT
THE SIGNIFICANT WHISPER
THE ENCHANTED CHAIRS
ROUGEMONT'S DEVICE TO PERPLEX AURIOL
PROLOGUE
1599
_DR. LAMB_
The Sixteenth Century drew to a close. It was the last day of the last
year, and two hours only were wanting to the birth of another year and
of another century.
The night was solemn and beautiful. Myriads of stars paved the deep
vault of heaven; the crescent moon hung like a silver lamp in the midst
of them; a stream of rosy and quivering light, issuing from the north,
traversed the sky, like the tail of some stupendous comet; while from
its point of effluence broke forth, ever and anon, coruscations
rivalling in splendour and variety of hue the most brilliant discharge
of fireworks.
A sharp frost prevailed; but the atmosphere was clear and dry, and
neither wind nor snow aggravated the wholesome rigour of the season. The
water lay in thick congealed masses around the conduits and wells, and
the buckets were frozen on their stands. The thoroughfares were sheeted
with ice, and dangerous to horsemen and vehicles; but the footways were
firm and pleasant to the tread.
Here and there, a fire was lighted in the streets, round which ragged
urchins and mendicants were collected, roasting fragments of meat stuck
upon iron prongs, or quaffing deep draughts of metheglin and ale out of
leathern cups. Crowds were collected in the open places, watching the
wonders in the heavens, and drawing auguries from them, chiefly
sinister, for most of the beholders thought the signs portended the
speedy death of the queen, and the advent of a new monarch from the
north--a safe and easy interpretation, considering the advanced age and
declining health of the illustrious Elizabeth, together with the known
appointment of her successor, James of Scotland.
Notwithstanding the early habits of the times, few persons had retired
to rest, an universal wish prevailing among the citizens to see the new
year in, and welcome the century accompanying it. Lights glimmered in
most windows, revealing the holly-sprigs and laurel-leaves stuck thickly
in their diamond panes; while, whenever a door was opened, a ruddy gleam
burst across the street, and a glance inside the dwelling showed its
inmates either gathered round the glowing hearth, occupied in mirthful
sports--fox-i'-th'-hole, blind-man's buff, or shoe-the-mare--or seated
at the ample board groaning with Christmas cheer.
Music and singing were heard at every corner, and bands of comely
damsels, escorted by their sweethearts, went from house to house,
bearing huge brown bowls dressed with ribands and rosemary, and filled
with a drink called "lamb's-wool," composed of sturdy ale, sweetened
with sugar, spiced with nutmeg, and having toasts and burnt crabs
floating within it--a draught from which seldom brought its pretty
bearers less than a groat, and occasionally a more valuable coin.
Such was the vigil of the year sixteen hundred.
On this night, and at the tenth hour, a man of striking and venerable
appearance was seen to emerge upon a small wooden balcony, projecting
from a bay-window near the top of a picturesque structure situated at
the southern extremity of London Bridge.
The old man's beard and hair were as white as snow--the former
descending almost to his girdle; so were the thick, overhanging brows
that shaded his still piercing eyes. His forehead was high, bald, and
ploughed by innumerable wrinkles. His countenance, despite its
death-like paleness, had a noble and majestic cast; and his figure,
though worn to the bone by a life of the severest study, and bent by the
weight of years, must have been once lofty and commanding. His dress
consisted of a doublet and hose of sad-coloured cloth, over which he
wore a loose gown of black silk. His head was covered by a square black
cap, from beneath which his silver locks strayed over his shoulders.
Known by the name of Doctor Lamb, and addicted to alchemical and
philosophical pursuits, this venerable personage was esteemed by the
vulgar as little better than a wizard. Strange tales were reported and
believed of him. Amongst others, it was said that he possessed a
familiar, because he chanced to employ a deformed, crack-brained dwarf,
who assisted him in his operations, and whom he appropriately enough
denominated Flapdragon.
Doctor Lamb's gaze was fixed intently upon the heavens, and he seamed
to be noting the position of the moon with reference to some particular
star.
After remaining in this posture for a few minutes, he was about to
retire, when a loud crash arrested him, and he turned to see whence it
proceeded.
Immediately before him stood the Southwark Gateway--a square stone
building, with a round, embattled turret at each corner, and a flat
leaden roof, planted with a forest of poles, fifteen or sixteen feet
high, garnished with human heads. To his surprise, the doctor perceived
that two of these poles had just been overthrown by a tall man, who was
in the act of stripping them of their grisly burdens.
Having accomplished his object, the mysterious plunderer thrust his
spoil into a leathern bag with which he was provided, tied its mouth,
and was about to take his departure by means of a rope-ladder attached
to the battlements, when his retreat was suddenly cut off by the
gatekeeper, armed with a halberd, and bearing a lantern, who issued from
a door opening upon the leads.
The baffled marauder looked round, and remarking the open window at
which Doctor Lamb was stationed, hurled the sack and its contents
through it. He then tried to gain the ladder, but was intercepted by the
gatekeeper, who dealt him a severe blow on the head with his halberd.
The plunderer uttered a loud cry, and attempted to draw his sword; but
before he could do so, he received a thrust in the side from his
opponent. He then fell, and the gatekeeper would have repeated the blow,
if the doctor had not called to him to desist.
"Do not kill him, good Baldred," he cried. "The attempt may not be so
criminal as it appears. Doubtless, the mutilated remains which the poor
wretch has attempted to carry off are those of his kindred, and horror
at their exposure must have led him to commit the offence."
"It may be, doctor," replied Baldred; "and if so I shall be sorry I have
hurt him. But I am responsible for the safe custody of these traitorous
relics, and it is as much as my own head is worth to permit their
removal."
"I know it," replied Doctor Lamb; "and you are fully justified in what
you have done. It may throw some light upon the matter, to know whose
miserable remains have been disturbed."
"They were the heads of two rank papists," replied Baldred, "who were
decapitated on Tower Hill, on Saint Nicholas's Day, three weeks ago, for
conspiring against the queen."
"But their names?" demanded the doctor. "How were they called?"
"They were father and son," replied Baldred--"Sir Simon Darcy and Master
Reginald Darcy. Perchance they were known to your worship?"
"Too well--too well!" replied Doctor Lamb, in a voice of emotion that
startled his hearer. "They were near kinsmen of mine own. What is he
like who has made this strange attempt?"
"Of a verity, a fair youth," replied Baldred, holding down the lantern.
"Heaven grant I have not wounded him to the death! No, his heart still
beats. Ha! here are his tablets," he added, taking a small book from
his doublet; "these may give the information you seek. You were right
in your conjecture, doctor. The name herein inscribed is the same as
that borne by the others--Auriol Darcy."
"I see it all," cried Lamb. "It was a pious and praiseworthy deed. Bring
the unfortunate youth to my dwelling, Baldred, and you shall be well
rewarded. Use despatch, I pray you."
As the gatekeeper essayed to comply, the wounded man groaned deeply, as
if in great pain.
"Fling me the weapon with which you smote him," cried Doctor Lamb, in
accents of commiseration, "and I will anoint it with the powder of
sympathy. His anguish will be speedily abated."
"I know your worship can accomplish wonders," cried Baldred, throwing
the halberd into the balcony. "I will do my part as gently as I can."
And as the alchemist took up the weapon, and disappeared through the
window, the gatekeeper lifted the wounded man by the shoulders, and
conveyed him down a narrow, winding staircase to a lower chamber. Though
he proceeded carefully, the sufferer was put to excruciating pain; and
when Baldred placed him on a wooden bench, and held a lamp towards him,
he perceived that his features were darkened and distorted.
"I fear it's all over with him," murmured the gatekeeper; "I shall have
a dead body to take to Doctor Lamb. It would be a charity to knock him
on the head, rather than let him suffer thus. The doctor passes for a
cunning man, but if he can cure this poor youth without seeing him, by
the help of his sympathetic ointment, I shall begin to believe, what
some folks avouch, that he has relations with the devil."
While Baldred was ruminating in this manner, a sudden and extraordinary
change took place in the sufferer. As if by magic, the contraction of
the muscles subsided; the features assumed a wholesome hue, and the
respiration was no longer laborious. Baldred stared as if a miracle had
been wrought.
Now that the countenance of the youth had regained its original
expression, the gatekeeper could not help being struck by its extreme
beauty. The face was a perfect oval, with regular and delicate features.
A short silken moustache covered the upper lip, which was short and
proud, and a pointed beard terminated the chin. The hair was black,
glossy, and cut short, so as to disclose a highly intellectual expanse
of brow.
The youth's figure was slight, but admirably proportioned. His attire
consisted of a black satin doublet, slashed with white, hose of black
silk, and a short velvet mantle. His eyes were still closed, and it was
difficult to say what effect they might give to the face when they
lighted it up; but notwithstanding its beauty, it was impossible not to
admit that a strange, sinister, and almost demoniacal expression
pervaded the countenance.
All at once, and with as much suddenness as his cure had been effected,
the young man started, uttering a piercing cry, and placed his hand to
his side.
"Caitiff!" he cried, fixing his blazing eyes on the gatekeeper, "why do
you torture me thus? Finish me at once--Oh!"
And overcome by anguish, he sank back again.
"I have not touched you, sir," replied Baldred. "I brought you here to
succour you. You will be easier anon. Doctor Lamb must have wiped the
halberd," he added to himself.
Another sudden change. The pain fled from the sufferer's countenance,
and he became easy as before.
"What have you done to me?" he asked, with a look of gratitude; "the
torture of my wound has suddenly ceased, and I feel as if a balm had
been dropped into it. Let me remain in this state if you have any
pity--or despatch me, for my late agony was almost insupportable."
"You are cared for by one who has greater skill than any chirurgeon in
London," replied Baldred. "If I can manage to transport you to his
lodgings, he will speedily heal your wounds."
"Do not delay, then," replied Auriol faintly; "for though I am free from
pain, I feel that my life is ebbing fast away."
"Press this handkerchief to your side, and lean on me," said Baldred.
"Doctor Lamb's dwelling is but a step from the gateway--in fact, the
first house on the bridge. By the way, the doctor declares he is your
kinsman."
"It is the first I ever heard of him," replied Auriol faintly; "but take
me to him quickly, or it will be too late."
In another moment they were at the doctor's door. Baldred tapped against
it, and the summons was instantly answered by a diminutive personage,
clad in a jerkin of coarse grey serge, and having a leathern apron tied
round his waist. This was Flapdragon.
Blear-eyed, smoke-begrimed, lantern-jawed, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace. And so, in fact, it had
been. He had become little better than a pair of human bellows. In his
hand he held the halberd with which Auriol had been wounded.
"So you have been playing the leech, Flapdragon, eh?" cried Baldred.
"Ay, marry have I," replied the dwarf, with a wild grin, and displaying
a wolfish set of teeth. "My master ordered me to smear the halberd with
the sympathetic ointment. I obeyed him: rubbed the steel point, first on
one side, then on the other; next wiped it; and then smeared it again."
"Whereby you put the patient to exquisite pain," replied Baldred; "but
help me to transport him to the laboratory."
"I know not if the doctor will care to be disturbed," said Flapdragon.
"He is busily engaged on a grand operation."
"I will take the risk on myself," said Baldred. "The youth will die if
he remains here. See, he has fainted already!"
Thus urged, the dwarf laid down the halberd, and between the two, Auriol
was speedily conveyed up a wide oaken staircase to the laboratory.
Doctor Lamb was plying the bellows at the furnace, on which a large
alembic was placed, and he was so engrossed by his task that he scarcely
noticed the entrance of the others.
"Place the youth on the ground, and rear his head against the chair," he
cried, hastily, to the dwarf. "Bathe his brows with the decoction in
that crucible. I will attend to him anon. Come to me on the morrow,
Baldred, and I will repay thee for thy trouble. I am busy now."
"These relics, doctor," cried the gatekeeper, glancing at the bag, which
was lying on the ground, and from which a bald head protruded--"I ought
to take them back with me."
"Heed them not--they will be safe in my keeping," cried Doctor Lamb
impatiently; "to-morrow--to-morrow."
Casting a furtive glance round the laboratory, and shrugging his
shoulders, Baldred departed; and Flapdragon having bathed the sufferer's
temples with the decoction, in obedience to his master's injunctions,
turned to inquire what he should do next.
"Begone!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that the dwarf darted out of the
room, clapping the door after him.
Doctor Lamb then applied himself to his task with renewed ardour, and in
a few seconds became wholly insensible of the presence of a stranger.
Revived by the stimulant, Auriol presently opened his eyes, and gazing
round the room, thought he must be dreaming, so strange and fantastical
did all appear. The floor was covered with the implements used by the
adept--bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts, scattered about
without any attempt at arrangement. In one corner was a large
terrestrial sphere: near it was an astrolabe, and near that a
heap of disused glass vessels. On the other side lay a black,
mysterious-looking book, fastened with brazen clasps. Around it were a
ram's horn, a pair of forceps, a roll of parchment, a pestle and mortar,
and a large plate of copper, graven with the mysterious symbols of the
Isaical table. Near this was the leathern bag containing the two
decapitated heads, one of which had burst forth. On a table at the
farther end of the room, stood a large open volume, with parchment
leaves, covered with cabalistical characters, referring to the names of
spirits. Near it were two parchment scrolls, written in letters,
respectively denominated by the Chaldaic sages, "the Malachim," and "the
Passing of the River." One of these scrolls was kept in its place by a
skull. An ancient and grotesque-looking brass lamp, with two
snake-headed burners, lighted the room. From the ceiling depended a huge
scaly sea-monster, with outspread fins, open jaws garnished with
tremendous teeth, and great goggling eyes. Near it hung a celestial
sphere. The chimney-piece, which was curiously carved, and projected far
into the room, was laden with various implements of hermetic science.
Above it were hung dried bats and flitter-mice, interspersed with the
skulls of birds and apes. Attached to the chimney-piece was a horary,
sculptured in stone, near which hung a large starfish. The fireplace was
occupied by the furnace, on which, as has been stated, was placed an
alembic, communicating by means of a long serpentine pipe with a
receiver. Within the room were two skeletons, one of which, placed
behind a curtain in the deep embrasure of the window, where its polished
bones glistened in the white moonlight, had a horrible effect. The
other enjoyed more comfortable quarters near the chimney, its fleshless
feet dangling down in the smoke arising from the furnace.
Doctor Lamb, meanwhile, steadily pursued his task, though he ever and
anon paused, to fling certain roots and drugs upon the charcoal. As he
did this, various-coloured flames broke forth--now blue, now green, now
blood-red.
Tinged by these fires, the different objects in the chamber seemed to
take other forms, and to become instinct with animation. The
gourd-shaped cucurbites were transformed into great bloated toads
bursting with venom; the long-necked bolt-heads became monstrous
serpents; the worm-like pipes turned into adders; the alembics looked
like plumed helmets; the characters on the Isaical table, and those on
the parchments, seemed traced in fire, and to be ever changing; the
sea-monster bellowed and roared, and, flapping his fins, tried to burst
from his hook; the skeletons wagged their jaws, and raised their
fleshless fingers in mockery, while blue lights burnt in their eyeless
sockets; the bellows became a prodigious bat fanning the fire with its
wings; and the old alchemist assumed the appearance of the archfiend
presiding over a witches' sabbath.
Auriol's brain reeled, and he pressed his hand to his eyes, to exclude
these phantasms from his sight. But even thus they pursued him; and he
imagined he could hear the infernal riot going on around him.
Suddenly, he was roused by a loud joyful cry, and, uncovering his eyes,
he beheld Doctor Lamb pouring the contents of the matrass--a bright,
transparent liquid--into a small phial. Having carefully secured the
bottle with a glass stopper, the old man held it towards the light, and
gazed at it with rapture.
"At length," he exclaimed aloud--"at length, the great work is achieved.
With the birth of the century now expiring I first saw light, and the
draught I hold in my hand shall enable me to see the opening of
centuries and centuries to come. Composed of the lunar stones, the solar
stones, and the mercurial stones--prepared according to the instructions
of the Rabbi Ben Lucca--namely, by the separation of the pure from the
impure, the volatilisation of the fixed, and the fixing of the
volatile--this elixir shall renew my youth, like that of the eagle, and
give me length of days greater than any patriarch ever enjoyed."
While thus speaking, he held up the sparkling liquid, and gazed at it
like a Persian worshipping the sun.
"To live for ever!" he cried, after a pause--"to escape the jaws of
death just when they are opening to devour me!--to be free from all
accidents!--'tis a glorious thought! Ha! I bethink me, the rabbi said
there was _one_ peril against which the elixir could not guard me--_one_
vulnerable point, by which, like the heel of Achilles, death might reach
me! What is it!--where can it lie?"
And he relapsed into deep thought.
"This uncertainty will poison all my happiness," he continued; "I shall
live in constant dread, as of an invisible enemy. But no matter!
Perpetual life!--perpetual youth!--what more need be desired?"
"What more, indeed!" cried Auriol.
"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor, suddenly recollecting the wounded man, and
concealing the phial beneath his gown.
"Your caution is vain, doctor," said Auriol. "I have heard what you have
uttered. You fancy you have discovered the _elixir vitae_."
"Fancy I have discovered it!" cried Doctor Lamb. "The matter is past all
doubt. I am the possessor of the wondrous secret, which the greatest
philosophers of all ages have sought to discover--the miraculous
preservative of the body against decay."
"The man who brought me hither told me you were my kinsman," said
Auriol. "Is it so?"
"It is," replied the doctor, "and you shall now learn the connection
that subsists between us. Look at that ghastly relic," he added,
pointing to the head protruding from the bag: "that was once my son
Simon. His son's head is within the sack--your father's head--so that
four generations are brought together."
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the young man, raising himself on his
elbow. "You, then, are my great-grandsire. My father supposed you had
died in his infancy. An old tale runs in the family that you were
charged with sorcery, and fled to avoid the stake."
"It is true that I fled, and took the name I bear at present," replied
the old man, "but I need scarcely say that the charge brought against me
was false. I have devoted myself to abstrusest science, have held
commune with the stars, and have wrested the most hidden secrets from
Nature--but that is all. Two crimes alone have stained my soul; but
both, I trust, have been expiated by repentance."
"Were they deeds of blood?" asked Auriol.
"One was so," replied Darcy, with a shudder. "It was a cowardly and
treacherous deed, aggravated by the basest ingratitude. Listen, and you
shall hear how it chanced. A Roman rabbi, named Ben Lucca, skilled in
hermetic science, came to this city. His fame reached me, and I sought
him out, offering myself as his disciple. For months, I remained with
him in his laboratory--working at the furnace, and poring over mystic
lore. One night he showed me that volume, and, pointing to a page within
it, said: 'Those characters contain the secret of confecting the elixir
of life. I will now explain them to you, and afterwards we will proceed
to the operation.' With this, he unfolded the mystery; but he bade me
observe, that the menstruum was defective on one point. Wherefore, he
said, 'there will still be peril from some hidden cause.' Oh, with what
greediness I drank in his words! How I gazed at the mystic characters,
as he explained their import! What visions floated before me of
perpetual youth and enjoyment. At that moment a demon whispered in my
ear, 'This secret must be thine own. No one else must possess it.'"
"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol, starting.
"The evil thought was no sooner conceived than acted upon," pursued
Darcy. "Instantly drawing my poniard, I plunged it to the rabbi's heart.
But mark what followed. His blood fell upon the book, and obliterated
the characters; nor could I by any effort of memory recall the
composition of the elixir."
"When did you regain the secret?" asked Auriol curiously.
"To-night," replied Darcy--"within this hour. For nigh fifty years after
that fatal night I have been making fruitless experiments. A film of
blood has obscured my mental sight. I have proceeded by calcitration,
solution, putrefaction--have produced the oils which will fix crude
mercury, and convert all bodies into sol and luna; but I have ever
failed in fermenting the stone into the true elixir. To-night, it came
into my head to wash the blood-stained page containing the secret with a
subtle liquid. I did so; and doubting the efficacy of the experiment,
left it to work, while I went forth to breathe the air at my window. My
eyes were cast upwards, and I was struck with the malignant aspect of my
star. How to reconcile this with the good fortune which has just
befallen me, I know not--but so it was. At this juncture, your rash but
pious attempt occurred. Having discovered our relationship, and enjoined
the gatekeeper to bring you hither, I returned to my old laboratory. On
glancing towards the mystic volume, what was my surprise to see the page
free from blood!"
Auriol uttered a slight exclamation, and gazed at the book with
superstitious awe.
"The sight was so surprising that I dropped the sack I had brought with
me," pursued Darcy. "Fearful of again losing the secret, I nerved myself
to the task, and placing fuel on the fire, dismissed my attendant with
brief injunctions relative to you. I then set to work. How I have
succeeded, you perceive. I hold in my hand the treasure I have so long
sought--so eagerly coveted. The whole world's wealth should not purchase
it from me."
Auriol gazed earnestly at his aged relative, but he said nothing.
"In a few moments I shall be as full of vigour and activity as
yourself," continued Darcy. "We shall be no longer the great-grandsire
and his descendant, but friends--companions--equals,--equals in age,
strength, activity, beauty, fortune--for youth _is_ fortune--ha! ha!
Methinks I am already young again!"
"You spoke of two crimes with which your conscience was burdened,"
remarked Auriol. "You have mentioned but one."
"The other was not so foul as that I have described," replied Darcy, in
an altered tone, "inasmuch as it was unintentional, and occasioned by no
base motive. My wife, your ancestress, was a most lovely woman, and so
passionately was I enamoured of her, that I tried by every art to
heighten and preserve her beauty. I fed her upon the flesh of capons,
nourished with vipers; caused her to steep her lovely limbs in baths
distilled from roses and violets; and had recourse to the most potent
cosmetics. At last I prepared a draught from poisons--yes,
_poisons_--the effect of which, I imagined, would be wondrous. She drank
it, and expired horribly disfigured. Conceive my despair at beholding
the fair image of my idolatry destroyed--defaced by my hand. In my
frenzy I should have laid violent hands upon myself, if I had not been
restrained. Love may again rule my heart--beauty may again dazzle my
eyes, but I shall never more feel the passion I entertained for my lost
Amice--never more behold charms equal to hers."
And he pressed his hand to his face.
"The mistake you then committed should serve as a warning," said Auriol.
"What if it be poison you have now confected? Try a few drops of it on
some animal."
"No--no; it is the true elixir," replied Darcy. "Not a drop must be
wasted. You will witness its effect anon. Like the snake, I shall cast
my slough, and come forth younger than I was at twenty."
"Meantime, I beseech you to render me some assistance," groaned Auriol,
"or, while you are preparing for immortality, I shall expire before your
eyes."
"Be not afraid," replied Darcy; "you shall take no harm. I will care for
you presently; and I understand leechcraft so well, that I will answer
for your speedy and perfect recovery."
"Drink, then, to it!" cried Auriol.
"I know not what stays my hand," said the old man, raising the phial;
"but now that immortality is in my reach, I dare not grasp it."
"Give me the potion, then," cried Auriol.
"Not for worlds," rejoined Darcy, hugging the phial to his breast. "No;
I will be young again--rich--happy. I will go forth into the world--I
will bask in the smiles of beauty--I will feast, revel, sing--life shall
be one perpetual round of enjoyment. Now for the trial--ha!" and, as he
raised the potion towards his lips, a sudden pang shot across his heart.
"What is this?" he cried, staggering. "Can death assail me when I am
just about to enter upon perpetual life? Help me, good grandson! Place
the phial to my lips. Pour its contents down my throat--quick! quick!"
[Illustration: The Elixir of Long Life.]
"I am too weak to stir," groaned Auriol. "You have delayed it too long."
"Oh, heavens! we shall both perish," shrieked Darcy, vainly endeavouring
to raise his palsied arm,--"perish with the blissful shore in view."
And he sank backwards, and would have fallen to the ground if he had not
caught at the terrestrial sphere for support.
"Help me--help me!" he screamed, fixing a glance of unutterable anguish
on his relative.
"It is worth the struggle," cried Auriol. And, by a great effort, he
raised himself, and staggered towards the old man.
"Saved--saved!" shrieked Darcy. "Pour it down my throat. An instant, and
all will be well."
"Think you I have done this for you?" cried Auriol, snatching the
potion; "no--no."
And, supporting himself against the furnace, he placed the phial to his
lips, and eagerly drained its contents.
The old man seemed paralysed by the action, but kept his eye fixed upon
the youth till he had drained the elixir to the last drop. He then
uttered a piercing cry, threw up his arms, and fell heavily backwards.
Dead--dead!
Flashes of light passed before Auriol's eyes, and strange noises smote
his ears. For a moment he was bewildered as with wine, and laughed and
sang discordantly like a madman. Every object reeled and danced around
him. The glass vessels and jars clashed their brittle sides together,
yet remained uninjured; the furnace breathed forth flames and mephitic
vapours; the spiral worm of the alembic became red hot, and seemed
filled with molten lead; the pipe of the bolt-head ran blood; the sphere
of the earth rolled along the floor, and rebounded from the wall as if
impelled by a giant hand; the skeletons grinned and gibbered; so did the
death's-head on the table; so did the skulls against the chimney; the
monstrous sea-fish belched forth fire and smoke; the bald, decapitated
head opened its eyes, and fixed them, with a stony glare, on the young
man; while the dead alchemist shook his hand menacingly at him.
Unable to bear these accumulated horrors, Auriol became, for a short
space, insensible. On recovering, all was still. The lights within the
lamp had expired; but the bright moonlight, streaming through the
window, fell upon the rigid features of the unfortunate alchemist, and
on the cabalistic characters of the open volume beside him.
Eager to test the effect of the elixir, Auriol put his hand to his side.
All traces of the wound were gone; nor did he experience the slightest
pain in any other part of his body. On the contrary, he seemed endowed
with preternatural strength. His breast dilated with rapture, and he
longed to expand his joy in active motion.
Striding over the body of his aged relative, he threw open the window.
As he did so, joyous peals burst from surrounding churches, announcing
the arrival of the new year.
While listening to this clamour, Auriol gazed at the populous and
picturesque city stretched out before him, and bathed in the moonlight.
"A hundred years hence," he thought, "and scarcely one soul of the
thousands within those houses will be living, save myself. A hundred
years after that, and their children's children will be gone to the
grave. But I shall live on--shall live through all changes--all
customs--all time. What revelations I shall then have to make, if I
should dare to disclose them!"
As he ruminated thus, the skeleton hanging near him was swayed by the
wind, and its bony fingers came in contact with his cheek. A dread idea
was suggested by the occurrence.
"There is one peril to be avoided," he thought; "ONE PERIL!--what is it?
Pshaw! I will think no more of it. It may never arise. I will be gone.
This place fevers me."
With this, he left the laboratory, and hastily descending the stairs, at
the foot of which he found Flapdragon, passed out of the house.
BOOK THE FIRST
_EBBA_
CHAPTER I
THE RUINED HOUSE IN THE VAUXHALL ROAD
Late one night, in the spring of 1830, two men issued from a low,
obscurely situated public-house, near Millbank, and shaped their course
apparently in the direction of Vauxhall Bridge. Avoiding the footpath
near the river, they moved stealthily along the farther side of the
road, where the open ground offered them an easy means of flight, in
case such a course should be found expedient. So far as it could be
discerned by the glimpses of the moon, which occasionally shone forth
from a rack of heavy clouds, the appearance of these personages was not
much in their favour. Haggard features, stamped deeply with the
characters of crime and debauchery; fierce, restless eyes; beards of
several days' growth; wild, unkempt heads of hair, formed their chief
personal characteristics; while sordid and ragged clothes, shoes without
soles, and old hats without crowns, constituted the sum of their
apparel.
One of them was tall and gaunt, with large hands and feet; but despite
his meagreness, he evidently possessed great strength: the other was
considerably shorter, but broad-shouldered, bow-legged, long-armed, and
altogether a most formidable ruffian. This fellow had high cheek-bones,
a long aquiline nose, and a coarse mouth and chin, in which the animal
greatly predominated. He had a stubby red beard, with sandy hair, white
brows and eyelashes. The countenance of the other was dark and
repulsive, and covered with blotches, the result of habitual
intemperance. His eyes had a leering and malignant look. A handkerchief
spotted with blood, and tied across his brow, contrasted strongly with
his matted black hair, and increased his natural appearance of ferocity.
The shorter ruffian carried a mallet upon his shoulder, and his
companion concealed something beneath the breast of his coat, which
afterwards proved to be a dark lantern.
Not a word passed between them; but keeping a vigilant look-out, they
trudged on with quick, shambling steps. A few sounds arose from the
banks of the river, and there was now and then a plash in the water, or
a distant cry, betokening some passing craft; but generally all was
profoundly still. The quaint, Dutch-looking structures on the opposite
bank, the line of coal-barges and lighters moored to the strand, the
great timber-yards and coal-yards, the brewhouses, gasworks, and
waterworks, could only be imperfectly discerned; but the moonlight fell
clear upon the ancient towers of Lambeth Palace, and on the neighbouring
church. The same glimmer also ran like a silver belt across the stream,
and revealed the great, stern, fortress-like pile of the
Penitentiary--perhaps the most dismal-looking structure in the whole
metropolis. The world of habitations beyond this melancholy prison was
buried in darkness. The two men, however, thought nothing of these
things, and saw nothing of them; but, on arriving within a couple of
hundred yards of the bridge, suddenly, as if by previous concert,
quitted the road, and, leaping a rail, ran across a field, and plunged
into a hollow formed by a dried pit, where they came to a momentary
halt.
"You ain't a-been a-gammonin' me in this matter, Tinker?" observed the
shorter individual. "The cove's sure to come?"
"Why, you can't expect me to answer for another as I can for myself,
Sandman," replied the other; "but if his own word's to be taken for it,
he's sartin to be there. I heerd him say, as plainly as I'm a speakin'
to you--'I'll be here to-morrow night--at the same hour----'"
"And that wos one o'clock?" said the Sandman.
"Thereabouts," replied the other.
"And who did he say that to?" demanded the Sandman.
"To hisself, I s'pose," answered the Tinker; "for, as I told you afore,
I could see no one vith him."
"Do you think he's one of our perfession?" inquired the Sandman.
"Bless you! no--that he ain't," returned the Tinker. "He's a reg'lar
slap-up svell."
"That's no reason at all," said the Sandman. "Many a first-rate svell
practises in our line. But he can't be in his right mind to come to such
a ken as that, and go on as you mentions."
"As to that I can't say," replied the Tinker; "and it don't much matter,
as far as ve're consarned."
"Devil a bit," rejoined the Sandman, "except--you're sure it worn't a
sperrit, Tinker. I've heerd say that this crib is haanted, and though I
don't fear no livin' man, a ghost's a different sort of customer."
"Vell, you'll find our svell raal flesh and blood, you may depend upon
it," replied the Tinker. "So come along, and don't let's be frightenin'
ourselves vith ould vimen's tales."
With this they emerged from the pit, crossed the lower part of the
field, and entered a narrow thoroughfare, skirted by a few detached
houses, which brought them into the Vauxhall Bridge Road.
Here they kept on the side of the street most in shadow, and crossed
over whenever they came to a lamp. By-and-by, two watchmen were seen
advancing from Belvoir Terrace, and, as the guardians of the night drew
near, the ruffians crept into an alley to let them pass. As soon as the
coast was clear, they ventured forth, and quickening their pace, came to
a row of deserted and dilapidated houses. This was their destination.
The range of habitations in question, more than a dozen in number, were,
in all probability, what is vulgarly called "in Chancery," and shared
the fate of most property similarly circumstanced. They were in a sad
ruinous state--unroofed, without windows and floors. The bare walls were
alone left standing, and these were in a very tumble-down condition.
These neglected dwellings served as receptacles for old iron, blocks of
stone and wood, and other ponderous matters. The aspect of the whole
place was so dismal and suspicious, that it was generally avoided by
passengers after nightfall.
Skulking along the blank and dreary walls, the Tinker, who was now a
little in advance, stopped before a door, and pushing it open, entered
the dwelling. His companion followed him.
The extraordinary and incongruous assemblage of objects which met the
gaze of the Sandman, coupled with the deserted appearance of the place,
produced an effect upon his hardy but superstitious nature.
Looking round, he beheld huge mill-stones, enormous water-wheels,
boilers of steam-engines, iron vats, cylinders, cranes, iron pumps of
the strangest fashion, a gigantic pair of wooden scales, old iron safes,
old boilers, old gas-pipes, old water-pipes, cracked old bells, old
bird-cages, old plates of iron, old pulleys, ropes, and rusty chains,
huddled and heaped together in the most fantastic disorder. In the midst
of the chaotic mass frowned the bearded and colossal head of Neptune,
which had once decorated the forepart of a man-of-war. Above it, on a
sort of framework, lay the prostrate statue of a nymph, together with a
bust of Fox, the nose of the latter being partly demolished, and the
eyes knocked in. Above these, three garden divinities laid their heads
amicably together. On the left stood a tall Grecian warrior, minus the
head and right hand. The whole was surmounted by an immense ventilator,
stuck on the end of an iron rod, ascending, like a lightning-conductor,
from the steam-engine pump.
Seen by the transient light of the moon, the various objects above
enumerated produced a strange effect upon the beholder's imagination.
There was a mixture of the grotesque and terrible about them. Nor was
the building itself devoid of a certain influence upon his mind. The
ragged brickwork, overgrown with weeds, took with him the semblance of a
human face, and seemed to keep a wary eye on what was going forward
below.
A means of crossing from one side of the building to the other, without
descending into the vault beneath, was afforded by a couple of planks;
though as the wall on the farther side was some feet higher than that
near at hand, and the planks were considerably bent, the passage
appeared hazardous.
Glancing round for a moment, the Tinker leaped into the cellar, and,
unmasking his lantern, showed a sort of hiding-place, between a bulk of
timber and a boiler, to which he invited his companion.
The Sandman jumped down.
"The ale I drank at the 'Two Fighting Cocks' has made me feel drowsy,
Tinker," he remarked, stretching himself on the bulk; "I'll just take a
snooze. Vake me up if I snore--or ven our sperrit appears."
The Tinker replied in the affirmative; and the other had just become
lost to consciousness, when he received a nudge in the side, and his
companion whispered--"He's here!"
"Vhere--vhere?" demanded the Sandman, in some trepidation.
"Look up, and you'll see him," replied the other.
Slightly altering his position, the Sandman caught sight of a figure
standing upon the planks above them. It was that of a young man. His hat
was off, and his features, exposed to the full radiance of the moon,
looked deathly pale, and though handsome, had a strange sinister
expression. He was tall, slight, and well-proportioned; and the general
cut of his attire, the tightly-buttoned, single-breasted coat, together
with the moustache upon his lip, gave him a military air.
"He seems a-valkin' in his sleep," muttered the Sandman. "He's
a-speakin' to some von unwisible."
"Hush--hush!" whispered the other. "Let's hear wot he's a-sayin'."
"Why have you brought me here?" cried the young man, in a voice so
hollow that it thrilled his auditors. "What is to be done?"
"It makes my blood run cold to hear him," whispered the Sandman. "Vot
d'ye think he sees?"
"Why do you not speak to me?" cried the young man--"why do you beckon me
forward? Well, I obey. I will follow you."
And he moved slowly across the plank.
"See, he's a-goin' through that door," cried the Tinker. "Let's foller
him."
"I don't half like it," replied the Sandman, his teeth chattering with
apprehension. "We shall see summat as'll take avay our senses."
"Tut!" cried the Tinker; "it's only a sleepy-valker. Wot are you afeerd
on?"
With this he vaulted upon the planks, and peeping cautiously out of the
open door to which they led, saw the object of his scrutiny enter the
adjoining house through a broken window.
Making a sign to the Sandman, who was close at his heels, the Tinker
crept forward on all fours, and, on reaching the window, raised himself
just sufficiently to command the interior of the dwelling. Unfortunately
for him, the moon was at this moment obscured, and he could distinguish
nothing except the dusky outline of the various objects with which the
place was filled, and which were nearly of the same kind as those of the
neighbouring habitation. He listened intently, but not the slightest
sound reached his ears.
After some time spent in this way, he began to fear the young man must
have departed, when all at once a piercing scream resounded through the
dwelling. Some heavy matter was dislodged, with a thundering crash, and
footsteps were heard approaching the window.
Hastily retreating to their former hiding-place, the Tinker and his
companion had scarcely regained it, when the young man again appeared on
the plank. His demeanour had undergone a fearful change. He staggered
rather than walked, and his countenance was even paler than before.
Having crossed the plank, he took his way along the top of the broken
wall towards the door.
"Now, then, Sandman!" cried the Tinker; "now's your time!"
The other nodded, and, grasping his mallet with a deadly and determined
purpose, sprang noiselessly upon the wall, and overtook his intended
victim just before he gained the door.
Hearing a sound behind him, the young man turned, and only just became
conscious of the presence of the Sandman, when the mallet descended upon
his head, and he fell crushed and senseless to the ground.
[Illustration: The Ruined house in the Vauxhall Road]
"The vork's done!" cried the Sandman to his companion, who instantly
came up with the dark lantern; "let's take him below, and strip him."
"Agreed," replied the Tinker; "but first let's see wot he has got in his
pockets."
"Vith all my 'art," replied the Sandman, searching the clothes of the
victim. "A reader!--I hope it's well lined. Ve'll examine it below. The
body 'ud tell awkvard tales if any von should chance to peep in."
"Shall we strip him here?" said the Tinker. "Now the darkey shines on
'em, you see what famous togs the cull has on."
"Do you vant to have us scragged, fool?" cried the Sandman, springing
into the vault. "Hoist him down here."
With this, he placed the wounded man's legs over his own shoulders, and,
aided by his comrade, was in the act of heaving down the body, when the
street-door suddenly flew open, and a stout individual, attended by a
couple of watchmen, appeared at it.
"There the villains are!" shouted the new-comer. "They have been
murderin' a gentleman. Seize 'em--seize 'em!"
And, as he spoke, he discharged a pistol, the ball from which whistled
past the ears of the Tinker.
Without waiting for another salute of the same kind, which might
possibly be nearer its mark, the ruffian kicked the lantern into the
vault, and sprang after the Sandman, who had already disappeared.
Acquainted with the intricacies of the place, the Tinker guided his
companion through a hole into an adjoining vault, whence they scaled a
wall, got into the next house, and passing through an open window, made
good their retreat, while the watchmen were vainly searching for them
under every bulk and piece of iron.
"Here, watchmen!" cried the stout individual, who had acted as leader;
"never mind the villains just now, but help me to convey this poor young
gentleman to my house, where proper assistance can be rendered him. He
still breathes; but he has received a terrible blow on the head. I hope
his skull ain't broken."
"It is to be hoped it ain't, Mr. Thorneycroft," replied the foremost
watchman; "but them was two desperate characters as ever I see, and
capable of any hatterosity."
"What a frightful scream I heard to be sure!" cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "I
was certain somethin' dreadful was goin' on. It was fortunate I wasn't
gone to bed; and still more fortunate you happened to be comin' up at
the time. But we mustn't stand chatterin' here. Bring the poor young
gentleman along."
Preceded by Mr. Thorneycroft, the watchmen carried the wounded man
across the road towards a small house, the door of which was held open
by a female servant, with a candle in her hand. The poor woman uttered a
cry of horror as the body was brought in.
"Don't be cryin' out in that way, Peggy," cried Mr. Thorneycroft, "but
go and get me some brandy. Here, watchmen, lay the poor young gentleman
down on the sofa--there, gently, gently. And now, one of you run to
Wheeler Street, and fetch Mr. Howell, the surgeon. Less noise,
Peggy--less noise, or you'll waken Miss Ebba, and I wouldn't have her
disturbed for the world."
With this, he snatched the bottle of brandy from the maid, filled a
wine-glass with the spirit, and poured it down the throat of the wounded
man. A stifling sound followed, and after struggling violently for
respiration for a few seconds, the patient opened his eyes.