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THE DRAGON
OF
WANTLEY
HIS TALE
_By_ Owen Wister
_Illustrations by John Stewardson_
SECOND EDITION
Philadelphia
J.B.LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1895
[Illustration: .COPYRIGHT.1892.
.BY.J.B.LIPPINCOTT.COMPANY.
PRINTED.BY.J.B.LIPPINCOTT.COMPANY
.PHILADELPHIA.USA.]
TO
MY ANCIENT PLAYMATES IN APPIAN
WAY CAMBRIDGE THIS LIKELY
STORY IS DEDICATED FOR REASONS
BEST KNOWN TO THEMSELVES
Preface
When Betsinda held the Rose
And the Ring decked Giglio's finger
Thackeray! 'twas sport to linger
With thy wise, gay-hearted prose.
Books were merry, goodness knows!
When Betsinda held the Rose.
Who but foggy drudglings doze
While Rob Gilpin toasts thy witches,
While the Ghost waylays thy breeches,
Ingoldsby? Such tales as those
Exorcised our peevish woes
When Betsinda held the Rose.
Realism, thou specious pose!
Haply it is good we met thee;
But, passed by, we'll scarce regret thee;
For we love the light that glows
Where Queen Fancy's pageant goes,
And Betsinda holds the Rose.
Shall we dare it? Then let's close
Doors to-night on things statistic,
Seek the hearth in circle mystic,
Till the conjured fire-light shows
Where Youth's bubbling Fountain flows,
And Betsinda holds the Rose.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
We two--the author and his illustrator--did not know what we had done
until the newspapers told us. But the press has explained it in the
following poised and consistent criticism:
"Too many suggestions of profanity."
--_Congregationalist_, Boston, 8 Dec. '92.
"It ought to be the delight of the nursery."
--_National Tribune_, Washington, 22 Dec. '92.
"Grotesque and horrible."
--_Zion's Herald_, Boston, 21 Dec. '92.
"Some excellent moral lessons."
--_Citizen_, Brooklyn, 27 Nov. '92.
"If it has any lesson to teach, we have been unable to find
it."
--_Independent_, New York, 10 Nov. '92.
"The story is a familiar one."
--_Detroit Free Press_, 28 Nov. '92.
"Refreshingly novel."
--_Cincinnati Commercial Gazette_, 17 Dec. '92.
"It is a burlesque."
--_Atlantic Monthly_, Dec. '92.
"All those who love lessons drawn from life will enjoy this
book."
--_Christian Advocate_, Cincinnati, 2 Nov. '92.
"The style of this production is difficult to define."
--_Court Journal_, London, 26 Nov. '92.
"One wonders why writer and artist should put so much
labor on a production which seems to have so little reason
for existence."
--_Herald and Presbyterian_, Cincinnati.
Now the public knows exactly what sort of book this is, and we cannot
be held responsible.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
How Sir Godfrey came to lose his Temper 19
CHAPTER II.
How his Daughter, Miss Elaine, behaved herself in Consequence 35
CHAPTER III.
Reveals the Dragon in his Den 52
CHAPTER IV.
Tells you more about Him than was ever told before to Anybody 62
CHAPTER V.
In which the Hero makes his First Appearance and is Locked Up
immediately 77
CHAPTER VI.
In which Miss Elaine loses her Heart, and finds Something of the
Greatest Importance 91
CHAPTER VII.
Shows what Curious Things you may see, if you don't go to Bed
when you are sent 113
CHAPTER VIII.
Contains a Dilemma with two simply egregious Horns 136
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves much Room for guessing about Chapter Ten 168
CHAPTER X.
The great White Christmas at Wantley 187
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Ornamented title 3
Copyright notice 4
Head-piece--Preface 7
Head-piece--Preface to the Second Edition 9
Head-piece--Table of Contents 11
Head-piece--List of Illustrations 13
Half-title to Chapter I 17
Head-piece to Chapter I 19
Popham awaiteth the Result with Dignity 27
The Baron pursueth Whelpdale into the Buttery 32
Tail-piece to Chapter I 33
Half-title to Chapter II 34
Head-piece to Chapter II 35
Sir Godfrey maketh him ready for the Bath 39
Sir Godfrey getteth into his Bath 41
Mistletoe consulteth the Cooking Book 43
Elaine maketh an unexpected Remark 49
Half-title to Chapter III 51
Head-piece to Chapter III 52
Hubert sweepeth the Steps 55
Half-title to Chapter IV 61
Head-piece to Chapter IV 62
Hubert looketh out of the Window 69
Tail-piece to Chapter IV 75
Half-title to Chapter V 76
Head-piece to Chapter V 77
Geoffrey replieth with deplorable Flippancy to Father Anselm 84
Tail-piece to Chapter V 89
Half-title to Chapter VI 90
Head-piece to Chapter VI 91
The Baron setteth forth his Plan for circumventing the Dragon 96
Geoffrey tuggeth at the Bars 101
Tail-piece to Chapter VI 111
Half-title to Chapter VII 112
Head-piece to Chapter VII 113
Elaine cometh into the Cellar 120
Geoffrey goeth to meet the Dragon 128
Half-title to Chapter VIII 135
Head-piece to Chapter VIII 136
The Dragon thinketh to slake his Thirst 142
The Dragon perceiveth Himself to be Entrapped 148
A Noise in the Cellar 155, 156
Half-title to Chapter IX 167
Head-piece to Chapter IX 168
Sir Francis decideth to go down again 176
Brother Hubert goeth back to Oyster-le-Main for the last Time 181
Tail-piece to Chapter IX 185
Half-title to Chapter X 186
Head-piece to Chapter X 187
Sir Thomas de Brie hastens to accept the Baron's polite
Invitation 192
The Court-yard 198
The Dragon maketh his last Appearance 203
L'Envoi 208
[Illustration: QUI NE SAULTE SAULTE SERA]
CHAPTER I
How _Sir Godfrey_ came to lose his Temper
[Illustration: THE BVTLER HIS BOY GODFREY DISSEISIN]
There was something wrong in the cellar at Wantley Manor. Little
Whelpdale knew it, for he was Buttons, and Buttons always knows what
is being done with the wine, though he may look as if he did not. And
old Popham knew it, too. He was Butler, and responsible to Sir Godfrey
for all the brandy, and ale, and cider, and mead, and canary, and
other strong waters there were in the house.
Now, Sir Godfrey Disseisin, fourth Baron of Wantley, and immediate
tenant by knight-service to His Majesty King John of England, was
particular about his dogs, and particular about his horses, and about
his only daughter and his boy Roland, and had been very particular
indeed about his wife, who, I am sorry to say, did not live long. But
all this was nothing to the fuss he made about his wine. When the
claret was not warm enough, or the Moselle wine was not cool enough,
you could hear him roaring all over the house; for, though generous in
heart and a staunch Churchman, he was immoderately choleric. Very
often, when Sir Godfrey fell into one of his rages at dinner, old
Popham, standing behind his chair, trembled so violently that his
calves would shake loose, thus obliging him to hasten behind the tall
leathern screen at the head of the banquet-hall and readjust them.
Twice in each year the Baron sailed over to France, where he visited
the wine-merchants, and tasted samples of all new vintages,--though
they frequently gave him unmentionable aches. Then, when he was
satisfied that he had selected the soundest and richest, he returned
to Wantley Manor, bringing home wooden casks that were as big as
hay-stacks, and so full they could not gurgle when you tipped them.
Upon arriving, he sent for Mrs. Mistletoe, the family governess and
(for economy's sake) housekeeper, who knew how to write,--something
the Baron's father and mother had never taught him when he was a
little boy, because they didn't know how themselves, and despised
people who did,--and when Mrs. Mistletoe had cut neat pieces of
card-board for labels and got ready her goose-quill, Sir Godfrey would
say, "Write, Chateau Lafitte, 1187;" or, "Write, Chambertin, 1203."
(Those, you know, were the names and dates of the vintages.) "Yes, my
lord," Mistletoe always piped up; on which Sir Godfrey would peer over
her shoulder at the writing, and mutter, "Hum; yes, that's correct,"
just as if he knew how to read, the old humbug! Then Mistletoe, who
was a silly girl and had lost her husband early, would go "Tee-hee,
Sir Godfrey!" as the gallant gentleman gave her a kiss. Of course,
this was not just what he should have done; but he was a widower, you
must remember, and besides that, as the years went on this little
ceremony ceased to be kept up. When it was "Chateau Lafitte, 1187,"
kissing Mistletoe was one thing; but when it came to "Chambertin,
1203," the lady weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds, and wore a
wig.
But, wig and all, Mistletoe had a high position in Wantley Manor. The
household was conducted on strictly feudal principles. Nobody, except
the members of the family, received higher consideration than did the
old Governess. She and the Chaplain were on a level, socially, and
they sat at the same table with the Baron. That drew the line. Old
Popham the Butler might tell little Whelpdale as often as he pleased
that he was just as good as Mistletoe; but he had to pour out
Mistletoe's wine for her, notwithstanding. If she scolded him (which
she always did if Sir Godfrey had been scolding her), do you suppose
he dared to answer back? Gracious, no! He merely kicked the two
head-footmen, Meeson and Welsby, and spoke severely to the nine
house-maids. Meeson and Welsby then made life a painful thing for the
five under-footmen and the grooms, while the nine house-maids boxed
the ears of Whelpdale the Buttons, and Whelpdale the Buttons punched
the scullion's eye. As for the scullion, he was bottom of the list;
but he could always relieve his feelings by secretly pulling the tails
of Sir Godfrey's two tame ravens, whose names were Croak James and
Croak Elizabeth. I never knew what these birds did at that; but
something, you may be sure. So you see that I was right when I said
the household was conducted on strictly feudal principles. The Cook
had a special jurisdiction of her own, and everybody was more or less
afraid of her.
Whenever Sir Godfrey had come home with new wine, and after the labels
had been pasted on the casks, then Popham, with Whelpdale beside him,
had these carefully set down in the cellar, which was a vast dim room,
the ceilings supported by heavy arches; the barrels, bins, kegs,
hogsheads, tuns, and demijohns of every size and shape standing like
forests and piled to the ceiling. And now something was wrong there.
"This 'ere's a hawful succumstence, sir," observed Whelpdale the
Buttons to his superior, respectfully.
"It is, indeed, a himbroglio," replied Popham, who had a wide command
of words, and knew it.
Neither domestic spoke again for some time. They were seated in the
buttery. The Butler crossed his right leg over his left, and waved
the suspended foot up and down,--something he seldom did unless very
grievously perturbed. As for poor little Whelpdale, he mopped his brow
with the napkins that were in a basket waiting for the wash.
Then the bell rang.
"His ludship's study-bell," said Popham. "Don't keep him waiting."
"Hadn't you better apprise his ludship of the facks?" asked Whelpdale,
in a weak voice.
Popham made no reply. He arose and briefly kicked Buttons out of the
buttery. Then he mounted a chair to listen better. "He has hentered
his ludship's apawtment," he remarked, hearing the sound of voices
come faintly down the little private staircase that led from Sir
Godfrey's study to the buttery: the Baron was in the habit of coming
down at night for crackers and cheese before he went to bed. Presently
one voice grew much louder than the other. It questioned. There came a
sort of whining in answer. Then came a terrific stamp on the ceiling
and a loud "Go on, sir!"
"Now, now, now!" thought Popham.
Do you want to hear at once, without waiting any longer, what little
Whelpdale is telling Sir Godfrey? Well, you must know that for the
past thirteen years, ever since 1190, the neighbourhood had been
scourged by a terrible Dragon. The monster was covered with scales,
and had a long tail and huge unnatural wings, beside fearful jaws that
poured out smoke and flame whenever they opened. He always came at
dead of night, roaring, bellowing, and sparkling and flaming over the
hills, and horrid claps of thunder were very likely to attend his
progress. Concerning the nature and quality of his roaring, the honest
copyholders of Wantley could never agree, although every human being
had heard him hundreds of times. Some said it was like a mad bull,
only much louder and worse. Old Gaffer Piers the ploughman swore that
if his tomcat weighed a thousand pounds it would make a noise almost
as bad as that on summer nights, with the moon at the full and other
cats handy. But farmer Stiles said, "Nay, 'tis like none of your bulls
nor cats. But when I have come home too near the next morning, my
wife can make me think of this Dragon as soon as ever her mouth be
open."
[Illustration: Popham awaiteth the Result with Dignity]
This shows you that there were divers opinions. If you were not afraid
to look out of the window about midnight, you could see the sky begin
to look red in the quarter from which he was approaching, just as it
glares when some distant house is on fire. But you must shut the
window and hide before he came over the hill; for very few that had
looked upon the Dragon ever lived to that day twelvemonth. This
monster devoured the substance of the tenantry and yeomen. When their
fields of grain were golden for the harvest, in a single night he cut
them down and left their acres blasted by his deadly fire. He ate the
cows, the sheep, the poultry, and at times even sucked eggs. Many
pious saints had visited the district, but not one had been able by
his virtue to expel the Dragon; and the farmers and country folk used
to repeat a legend that said the Dragon was a punishment for the great
wickedness of the Baron's ancestor, the original Sir Godfrey
Disseisin, who, when summoned on the first Crusade to Palestine, had
entirely refused to go and help his cousin Godfrey de Bouillon wrest
the Holy Sepulchre from the Paynim. The Baron's ancestor, when a stout
young lad, had come over with William the Conqueror; and you must know
that to have an ancestor who had come over with William the Conqueror
was in those old days a much rarer thing than it is now, and any one
who could boast of it was held in high esteem by his neighbours, who
asked him to dinner and left their cards upon him continually. But the
first Sir Godfrey thought one conquest was enough for any man; and in
reply to his cousin's invitation to try a second, answered in his
blunt Norman French, "Nul tiel verte dedans ceot oyle," which
displeased the Church, and ended forever all relations between the
families. The Dragon did not come at once, for this gentleman's son,
the grandfather of our Sir Godfrey, as soon as he was twenty-one, went
off to the Holy Land himself, fought very valiantly, and was killed,
leaving behind him at Wantley an inconsolable little wife and an heir
six months old. This somewhat appeased the Pope; but the present Sir
Godfrey, when asked to accompany King Richard Lion Heart on his
campaign against the Infidel, did not avail himself of the opportunity
to set the family right in the matter of Crusades. This hereditary
impiety, which the Pope did not consider at all mended by the Baron's
most regular attendance at the parish church on all Sundays, feast
days, fast days, high days, low days, saints' days, vigils, and
octaves, nor by his paying his tithes punctually to Father Anselm,
Abbot of Oyster-le-Main (a wonderful person, of whom I shall have a
great deal to tell you presently), this impiety, I say, finished the
good standing of the House of Wantley. Rome frowned, the earth
trembled, and the Dragon came. And (the legend went on to say) this
curse would not be removed until a female lineal descendant of the
first Sir Godfrey, a young lady who had never been married, and had
never loved anybody except her father and mother and her sisters and
brothers, should go out in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve,
all by herself, and encounter the Dragon single handed.
Now, of course, this is not what little Whelpdale is trying to tell
the Baron up in the study; for everybody in Wantley knew all about the
legend except one person, and that was Miss Elaine, Sir Godfrey's only
daughter, eighteen years old at the last Court of Piepoudre, when her
father (after paying all the farmers for all the cows and sheep they
told him had been eaten by the Dragon since the last Court) had made
his customary proclamation, to wit: his good-will and protection to
all his tenantry; and if any man, woman, child, or other person,
caused his daughter, Miss Elaine, to hear anything about the legend,
such tale-bearer should be chained to a tree, and kept fat until the
Dragon found him and ate him. So everybody obligingly kept the Baron's
secret.
Sir Godfrey is just this day returned from France with some famous
tuns of wine, and presents for Elaine and Mrs. Mistletoe. His humour
is (or was, till Whelpdale, poor wretch! answered the bell) of the
best possible. And now, this moment, he is being told by the luckless
Buttons that the Dragon of Wantley has taken to drinking, as well as
eating, what does not belong to him; has for the last three nights
burst the big gates of the wine-cellar that open on the hillside the
Manor stands upon; that a hogshead of the Baron's best Burgundy is
going; and that two hogsheads of his choicest Malvoisie are gone!
One hundred and twenty-eight gallons in three nights' work! But I
suppose a fire-breathing Dragon must be very thirsty.
There was a dead silence in the study overhead, and old Popham's
calves were shaking loose as he waited.
"And so you stood by and let this black, sneaking, prowling, thieving"
(here the Baron used some shocking expressions which I shall not set
down) "Dragon swill my wine?"
"St--st--stood by, your ludship?" said little Whelpdale. "No, sir; no
one didn't do any standing by, sir. He roared that terrible, sir, we
was all under the bed."
"Now, by my coat of mail and great right leg!" shouted Sir Godfrey.
The quaking Popham heard no more. The door of the private staircase
flew open with a loud noise, and down came little Whelpdale head over
heels into the buttery. After him strode Sir Godfrey in full mail
armour, clashing his steel fists against the banisters. The nose-piece
of his helmet was pushed up to allow him to speak plainly,--and most
plainly did he speak, I can assure you, all the way down stairs,
keeping his right eye glaring upon Popham in one corner of the
buttery, and at the same time petrifying Whelpdale with his left. From
father to son, the Disseisins had always been famous for the manner in
which they could straddle their eyes; and in Sir Godfrey the family
trait was very strongly marked.
[Illustration: The Baron pursueth Whelpdale into the Buttery]
Arrived at the bottom, he stopped for a moment to throw a ham through
the stained-glass window, and then made straight for Popham. But the
head Butler was an old family servant, and had learned to know his
place.
With surprising agility he hopped on a table, so that Sir Godfrey's
foot flew past its destined goal and caught a shelf that was loaded
with a good deal of his wedding china. The Baron was far too dignified
a person to take any notice of this mishap, and he simply strode on,
out of the buttery, and so through the halls of the Manor, where all
who caught even the most distant sight of his coming, promptly
withdrew into the privacy of their apartments.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]