The novels of Thomas Love Peacock still find admirers among
cultured readers, but his extravagant satire and a certain
bookish awkwardness will never appeal to the great
novel-reading public. The son of a London glass merchant,
Peacock was born at Weymouth on October 18, 1785. Early in
life he was engaged in some mercantile occupation, which,
however, he did not follow up for long. Then came a period of
study, and he became an excellent classical scholar. His first
ambition was to become a poet, and between 1804 and 1806 he
published two slender volumes of verse, which attracted little
or no attention. Yet Peacock was a poet of considerable merit,
his best work in this direction being scattered at random
throughout his novels. In 1812 he contracted a friendship with
Shelley, whose executor he became with Lord Byron. Peacock's
first novel, "Headlong Hall," appeared in 1816, and is
interesting not so much as a story pure and simple, but as a
study of the author's own temperament. His personalities are
seldom real live characters; they are, rather, mouthpieces
created for the purposes of discussion. Peacock died on
January 23, 1866.
_I.--The Philosophers_
The ambiguous light of a December morning, peeping through the windows
of the Holyhead mail, dispelled the soft visions of the four insides,
who had slept, or seemed to sleep, through the first seventy miles of
the road.
A lively remark that the day was none of the finest having elicited a
repartee of "quite the contrary," the various knotty points of
meteorology were successively discussed and exhausted; and, the ice
being thus broken, in the course of conversation it appeared that all
four, though perfect strangers to each other, were actually bound to the
same point, namely, Headlong Hall, the seat of the ancient family of the
Headlongs, of the vale of Llanberris, in Carnarvonshire.
The present representative of the house, Harry Headlong, Esquire, was,
like all other Welsh squires, fond of shooting, hunting, racing,
drinking, and other such innocent amusements. But, unlike other Welsh
squires, he had actually suffered books to find their way into his
house; and, by dint of lounging over them after dinner, he became seized
with a violent passion to be thought a philosopher and a man of taste,
and had formed in London as extensive an acquaintance with philosophers
and dilettanti as his utmost ambition could desire. It now became his
chief wish to have them all together in Headlong Hall, arguing over his
old Port and Burgundy the various knotty points which puzzled him. He
had, therefore, sent them invitations in due form to pass their
Christmas at Headlong Hall, and four of the chosen guests were now on
their way in the four corners of the Holyhead mail.
These four persons were Mr. Foster, the optimist, who believed in the
improvement of mankind; Mr. Escot, the pessimist, who saw mankind
constantly deteriorating; Mr. Jenkison, who thought things were very
well as they were; and the Reverend Doctor Gaster, who, though neither a
philosopher nor a man of taste, had won the squire's fancy by a learned
dissertation on the art of stuffing a turkey.
In the midst of an animated conversation the coach stopped, and the
coachman, opening the door, vociferated: "Breakfast, gentlemen," a sound
which so gladdened the ears of the divine, that the alacrity with which
he sprang from the vehicle distorted his ankle, and he was obliged to
limp into the inn between Mr. Escot and Mr. Jenkison, the former
observing that he ought to look for nothing but evil and, therefore,
should not be surprised at this little accident; the latter remarking
that the comfort of a good breakfast and the pain of a sprained ankle
pretty exactly balanced each other.
The morning being extremely cold, the doctor contrived to be seated as
near the fire as was consistent with his other object of having a
perfect command of the table and its apparatus, which consisted not only
of the ordinary comforts of tea and toast, but of a delicious supply of
new-laid eggs and a magnificent round of beef; against which Mr. Escot
immediately pointed all the artillery of his eloquence, declaring the
use of animal food, conjointly with that of fire, to be one of the
principal causes of the present degeneracy of mankind.
"The natural and original man," said he, "lived in the woods; the roots
and fruits of the earth supplied his simple nutriment; he had few
desires, and no diseases. But, when he began to sacrifice victims on the
altar of superstition, to pursue the goat and the deer, and, by the
pernicious invention of fire, to pervert their flesh into food, luxury,
disease, and premature death were let loose upon the world. From that
period the stature of mankind has been in a state of gradual diminution,
and I have not the least doubt that it will continue to grow _small by
degrees, and lamentably less_, till the whole race will vanish
imperceptibly from the face of the earth."
"I cannot agree," said Mr. Foster, "in the consequences being so very
disastrous, though I admit that in some respects the use of animal food
retards the perfectibility of the species."
"In the controversy concerning animal and vegetable food," said Mr.
Jenkison, "there is much to be said on both sides. I content myself with
a mixed diet, and make a point of eating whatever is placed before me,
provided it be good in its kind."
In this opinion his two brother philosophers practically coincided,
though they both ran down the theory as highly detrimental to the best
interests of man.
The discussion raged for some time on the question whether man was a
carnivorous or frugivorous animal.
"I am no anatomist," said Mr. Jenkison, "and cannot decide where doctors
disagree; in the meantime, I conclude that man is omnivorous, and on
that conclusion I act."
"Your conclusion is truly orthodox," said the Reverend Doctor Gaster;
"indeed, the loaves and fishes are typical of a mixed diet; and the
practise of the church in all ages shows----"
"That it never loses sight of the loaves and fishes," said Mr. Escot.
"It never loses sight of any point of sound doctrine," said the reverend
doctor.
The coachman now informed them their time was elapsed.
"You will allow," said Mr. Foster, as soon as they were again in motion,
"that the wild man of the woods could not transport himself over two
hundred miles of forest with as much facility as one of these vehicles
transports you and me."
"I am certain," said Mr. Escot, "that a wild man can travel an immense
distance without fatigue; but what is the advantage of locomotion? The
wild man is happy in one spot, and there he remains; the civilised man
is wretched in every place he happens to be in, and then congratulates
himself on being accommodated with a machine that will whirl him to
another, where he will be just as miserable as ever."
_II.--The Squire and his Guests_
Squire Headlong, in the meanwhile, was superintending operations in four
scenes of action at the Hall--the cellar, the library, the
picture-gallery, and the dining-room-preparing for the reception of his
philosophical visitors. His myrmidon on this occasion was a little,
red-nosed butler, who waddled about the house after his master, while
the latter bounced from room to room like a cracker. Multitudes of
packages had arrived by land and water, from London, and Liverpool, and
Chester, and Manchester, and various parts of the mountains; books,
wine, cheese, mathematical instruments, turkeys, figs, soda-water,
fiddles, flutes, tea, sugar, eggs, French horns, sofas, chairs, tables,
carpets, beds, fruits, looking-glasses, nuts, drawing-books, bottled
ale, pickles, and fish sauce, patent lamps, barrels of oysters, lemons,
and jars of Portugal grapes. These, arriving in succession, and with
infinite rapidity, had been deposited at random--as the convenience of
the moment dictated--sofas in the cellar, hampers of ale in the
drawing-room, and fiddles and fish-sauce in the library. The servants
unpacking all these in furious haste, and flying with them from place to
place, tumbled over one another upstairs and down. All was bustle,
uproar, and confusion; yet nothing seemed to advance, while the rage and
impetuosity of the squire continued fermenting to the highest degree of
exasperation, which he signified, from time to time, by converting some
newly-unpacked article, such as a book, a bottle, a ham, or a fiddle,
into a missile against the head of some unfortunate servant.
In the midst of this scene of confusion thrice confounded, arrived the
lovely Caprioletta Headlong, the squire's sister, whom he had sent for
to do the honours of his house, beaming like light on chaos, to arrange
disorder and harmonise discord. The tempestuous spirit of her brother
became as smooth as the surface of the lake of Llanberris, and in less
than twenty-four hours after her arrival, everything was disposed in its
proper station, and the squire began to be all impatience for the
appearance of his promised guests.
The first visitor was Marmaduke Milestone, Esq., a picturesque landscape
gardener of the first celebrity, who promised himself the glorious
achievement of polishing and trimming the rocks of Llanberris.
A postchaise brought the Reverend Doctor Gaster, and then came the three
philosophers.
The next arrival was that of Mr. Cranium and his lovely daughter, Miss
Cephalis Cranium, who flew to the arms of her dear friend Caprioletta.
Miss Cephalis blushed like a carnation at the sight of Mr. Escot, and
Mr. Escot glowed like a corn-poppy at the sight of Miss Cephalis.
Mr. Escot had formerly been the received lover of Miss Cephalis, till he
incurred the indignation of her father by laughing at a very profound
dissertation which the old gentleman delivered.
Next arrived a postchaise containing four insides. These personages were
two very profound critics, Mr. Gall and Mr. Treacle, and two very
multitudinous versifiers, Mr. Nightshade and Mr. McLaurel.
The last arrivals were Mr. Cornelius Chromatic, the most scientific of
all amateurs of the fiddle, with his two blooming daughters, Miss
Tenorina and Miss Graziosa; Sir Patrick O'Prism, a dilettante painter of
high renown, and his maiden aunt, Miss Philomela Poppyseed, a compounder
of novels written for the express purpose of supporting every species of
superstition and prejudice; and Mr. Panscope, the chemical, botanical,
geological, astronomical, critical philosopher, who had run through the
whole circle of the sciences and understood them all equally well.
Mr. Milestone was impatient to take a walk round the grounds, that he
might examine how far the system of clumping and levelling could be
carried advantageously into effect; and several of the party supporting
the proposition, with Squire Headlong and Mr. Milestone leading the van,
they commenced their perambulation.
_III.--The Tower and the Skull_
The result of Mr. Milestone's eloquence was that he and the squire set
out again, immediately after breakfast next morning, to examine the
capabilities of the scenery. The object that most attracted Mr.
Milestone's admiration was a ruined tower on a projecting point of rock,
almost totally overgrown with ivy. This ivy, Mr. Milestone observed,
required trimming and clearing in various parts; a little pointing and
polishing was necessary for the dilapidated walls; and the whole effect
would be materially increased by a plantation of spruce fir, the present
rugged and broken ascent being first converted into a beautiful slope,
which might be easily effected by blowing up a part of the rock with
gunpowder, laying on a quantity of fine mould, and covering the whole
with an elegant stratum of turf.
Squire Headlong caught with avidity at this suggestion, and as he had
always a store of gunpowder in the house, he insisted on commencing
operations immediately. Accordingly, he bounded back to the house and
speedily returned, accompanied by the little butler and half a dozen
servants and labourers with pickaxes and gunpowder, a hanging stove, and
a poker, together with a basket of cold meat and two or three bottles of
Madeira.
Mr. Milestone superintended the proceedings. The rock was excavated, the
powder introduced, the apertures strongly blockaded with fragments of
stone; a long train was laid to a spot sufficiently remote from the
possibility of harm, and the squire seized the poker, and applied the
end of it to the train.
At this critical moment Mr. Cranium and Mr. Panscope appeared at the top
of the tower, which, unseeing and unseen, they had ascended on the
opposite side to that where the squire and Mr. Milestone were conducting
their operations. Their sudden appearance a little dismayed the squire,
who, however, comforted himself with the reflection that the tower was
perfectly safe, and that his friends were in no probable danger but of a
knock on the head from a flying fragment of stone.
The explosion took place, and the shattered rock was hurled into the air
in the midst of fire and smoke. The tower remained untouched, but the
influence of sudden fear had so violent an effect on Mr. Cranium, that
he lost his balance, and alighted in an ivy bush, which, giving way
beneath him, transferred him to a tuft of hazel at its base, which
consigned him to the boughs of an ash that had rooted itself in a
fissure about halfway down the rock, which finally transmitted him to
the waters of the lake.
Squire Headlong anxiously watched the tower as the smoke rolled away;
but when the shadowy curtain was withdrawn, and Mr. Panscope was
discovered, alone, in a tragical attitude, his apprehensions became
boundless, and he concluded that a flying fragment of rock had killed
Mr. Cranium.
Mr. Escot arrived at the scene of the disaster just as Mr. Cranium,
utterly destitute of the art of swimming, was in imminent danger of
drowning. Mr. Escot immediately plunged in to his assistance, and
brought him alive and in safety to a shelving part of the shore. Their
landing was hailed with a shout from the delighted squire, who, shaking
them both heartily by the hand, and making ten thousand lame apologies
to Mr. Cranium, concluded by asking, in a pathetic tone, "How much water
he had swallowed?" and without waiting for his answer, filled a large
tumbler with Madeira, and insisted on his tossing it off, which was no
sooner said than done. Mr. Panscope descended the tower, which he vowed
never again to approach within a quarter of a mile.
The squire took care that Mr. Cranium should be seated next to him at
dinner, and plied him so hard with Madeira, to prevent him, as he said,
from taking cold, that long before the ladies sent in their summons to
coffee, the squire was under the necessity of ringing for three or four
servants to carry him to bed, observing, with a smile of great
satisfaction, that he was in a very excellent way for escaping any ill
consequences that might have resulted from his accident.
The beautiful Cephalis, being thus freed from his surveillance, was
enabled, during the course of the evening, to develop to his preserver
the full extent of her gratitude.
Mr. Escot passed a sleepless night, the ordinary effect of love,
according to some amatory poets, and arose with the first peep of day.
He sallied forth to enjoy the balmy breeze of morning, which any but a
lover might have thought too cool; for it was an intense frost, the sun
had not risen, and the wind was rather fresh from the north-east. But a
lover is supposed to have "a fire in his heart and a fire in his brain,"
and the philosopher walked on, careless of whither he went, till he
found himself near the enclosure of a little mountain chapel. Passing
through the wicket, and peeping through the chapel window, he could not
refrain from reciting a verse in Greek aloud, to the great terror of the
sexton, who was just entering the churchyard.
Mr. Escot at once decided that now was the time to get extensive and
accurate information concerning his theory of the physical deterioration
of man.
"You have been sexton here," said Mr. Escot, in the language of Hamlet,
"man and boy, forty years."
The sexton turned pale; the period named was so nearly the true.
"During this period you have, of course, dug up many bones of the people
of ancient times. Perhaps you can show me a few."
The sexton grinned a ghastly smile.
"Will you take your Bible oath you don't want them to raise the devil
with?"
"Willingly," said Mr. Escot. "I have an abstruse reason for the
inquiry."
"Why, if you have an _obtuse_ reason," said the sexton, "that alters the
case."
So saying, he led the way to the bone-house, from which he began to
throw out various bones and skulls, and amongst them a skull of very
extraordinary magnitude, which he swore by St. David was the skull of
Cadwallader.
"How do you know this to be his skull?" said Mr. Escot.
"He was the biggest man that ever lived, and he was buried here; and
this is the biggest skull I ever found. You see now----"
"Nothing could be more logical," said Mr. Escot. "My good friend, will
you allow me to take away this skull with me?"
"St. Winifred bless us!" exclaimed the sexton. "Would you have me
haunted by his ghost for taking his blessed bones out of consecrated
ground? For, look you, his epitaph says:
"'He that my bones shall ill bestow,
Leek in his ground shall never grow.'"
"But you will well bestow them in giving them to me," said Mr. Escot. "I
will have this illustrious skull bound with a silver rim and filled with
wine, for when the wine is in the brain is out."
Saying these words, he put a dollar into the hand of the sexton, who
instantly stood spellbound, while Mr. Escot walked off in triumph with
the skull of Cadwallader.
_IV.--The Proposals_
The Christmas ball, when relatives and friends assembled from far and
wide, was the great entertainment given at Headlong Hall from time
immemorial, and it was on the morning after the ball that Miss
Brindle-Mew Tabitha Ap-Headlong, the squire's maiden aunt, took her
nephew aside, and told him it was time he was married if the family was
not to become extinct.
"Egad!" said Squire Headlong. "That is very true. I'll marry directly. A
good opportunity to fix on someone now they are all here, and I'll pop
the question without further ceremony. I'll think of somebody presently.
I should like to be married on the same day with Caprioletta. She is
going to be married to my friend Mr. Foster, the philosopher."
"Oh!" said the maiden aunt, "that a daughter of our ancient family
should marry a philosopher!"
"It's Caprioletta's affair, not mine," said Squire Headlong. "I tell you
the matter is settled, fixed, determined, and so am I, to be married on
the same day. I don't know, now I think of it, whom I can choose better
than one of the daughters of my friend Chromatic."
With that the squire flew over to Mr. Chromatic, and, with a hearty slap
on the shoulder, asked him "How he should like him for a son-in-law?"
Mr. Chromatic, rubbing his shoulder, and highly delighted with the
proposal, answered, "Very much indeed"; but, proceeding to ascertain
which of his daughters had captivated the squire, the squire was unable
to satisfy his curiosity.
"I hope," said Mr. Chromatic, "it may be Tenorina, for I imagine
Graziosa has conceived a penchant for Sir Patrick O'Prism."
"Tenorina, exactly!" said Squire Headlong; and became so impatient to
bring the matter to a conclusion that Mr. Chromatic undertook to
communicate with his daughter immediately. The young lady proved to be
as ready as the squire, and the preliminaries were arranged in little
more than five minutes.
Mr. Chromatic's words concerning his daughter Graziosa and Sir Patrick
O'Prism were not lost on the squire, who at once determined to have as
many companions in the scrape as possible; and who, as soon as he could
tear himself from Mrs. Headlong elect, took three flying bounds across
the room to the baronet, and said, "So, Sir Patrick, I find you and I
are going to be married?"
"Are we?" said Sir Patrick. "Then sure, won't I wish you joy, and myself
too, for this is the first I have heard of it."
"Well," said Squire Headlong, "I have made up my mind to it, and you
must not disappoint me."
"To be sure, I won't, if I can help it," said Sir Patrick. "And pray,
now, who is that I am to be turning into Lady O'Prism?"
"Miss Graziosa Chromatic," said the squire.
"Och violet and vermilion!" said Sir Patrick; "though I never thought of
it before, I dare say she will suit me as well as another; but then you
must persuade the ould Orpheus to draw out a few notes of rather a more
magical description than those he is so fond of scraping on his crazy
violin."
"To be sure, he shall," said the squire; and immediately returning to
Mr. Chromatic, concluded the negotiation for Sir Patrick as
expeditiously as he had done for himself.
The squire next addressed himself to Mr. Escot: "Here are three couples
of us going to throw off together, with the Reverend Doctor Gaster for
whipper in. Now I think you cannot do better than to make the fourth
with Miss Cephalis."
"Indeed?" said Mr. Escot. "Nothing would be more agreeable to both of us
than such an arrangement; but the old gentleman since I first knew him
has changed like the rest of the world, very lamentably for the worse.".
"I'll settle him," said Squire Headlong; and immediately posted up to
Mr. Cranium, informing him that four marriages were about to take place
by way of a merry winding up of the Christmas festivities. "In the first
place," said the squire, "my sister and Mr. Foster; in the second, Miss
Graziosa Chromatic and Sir Patrick O'Prism; in the third, Miss Tenorina
Chromatic and your humble servant; and in the fourth, to which, by the
by, your consent is wanted, your daughter----"
"And Mr. Panscope," said Mr. Cranium.
"And Mr. Escot," said Squire Headlong. What would you have better? He
has ten thousand virtues."
"So has Mr. Panscope. He has ten thousand a year."
"Virtues?" said Squire Headlong.
"Pounds," said Mr. Cranium.
"Who fished you out of the water?" said Squire Headlong..
"What is that to the purpose?" said Mr. Cranium. "The whole process of
the action was mechanical and necessary. He could no more help jumping
into the water than I could help falling into it."
"Very well," said the squire. "Your daughter and Mr. Escot are
necessitated to love one another."
Mr. Cranium, after a profound reverie, said, "Do you think Mr. Escot
would give me that skull?"
"Skull?" said Squire Headlong.
"Yes," said Mr. Cranium. "The skull of Cadwallader."
"To be sure he will. How can you doubt it?"
"I simply know," said Mr. Cranium, "that if it were once in my
possession I would not part with it for any acquisition on earth, much
less for a wife."
The squire flew over to Mr. Escot. "I told you," said he, "I would
settle him; but there is a very hard condition attached to his
compliance. Nothing less than the absolute and unconditional surrender
of the skull of Cadwallader."
"I resign it," said Mr. Escot.
"The skull is yours," said the squire, skipping over to Mr. Cranium.
"I am perfectly satisfied," said Mr. Cranium.
"The lady is yours," said the squire, skipping back to Mr. Escot.
"I am the happiest man alive," said Mr. Escot, and he flew off as nimbly
as Squire Headlong himself, to impart the happy intelligence to his
beautiful Cephalis.
The departure of the ball visitors then took place, and the squire did
not suffer many days to elapse before the spiritual metamorphosis of
eight into four was effected by the clerical dexterity of the Reverend
Doctor Gaster.
* * * * *