CHAPTER X.
AN INTERLUDE.
On the conclusion of Mr. Crucible's narrative that gentleman was highlycomplimented on his tale by each member of the club in turn, especiallyby Mr. Oldstone. Our worthy host, owing to a strong potation he hadimbibed before the commencement of the recital, more than oncemanifested symptoms of dropping into the arms of Morpheus, but wasprevented from doing so each time by the opportune administration ofsundry pinches of snuff from Mr. Oldstone's snuff-box.
If there was one thing this gentleman never forgave, it was a man goingto sleep in the middle of a good story; he, therefore, as soon as thenarrator had finished, felt it his solemn duty to remonstrate with ourhost severely upon his want of good breeding, to which the worthy manreplied in a humble apology to all the company. As for his daughterHelen, she was attention itself throughout, and with the exception ofMr. Oldstone, was the loudest in praise of Mr. Crucible's recital.
"Well, Helen," said one of the members, "what do you think of the laststory?"
"Oh, I am delighted with it," exclaimed the girl in ecstasy. "How Iwish it had happened to me! I should so like to have a vision of thatsort."
"Would you my dear?" said Mr. Crucible, "then I hope that if ever yousee the Paradise I saw that you may remain there, for there you belong.You are too good for this earth."
"Now then, Crucible, none of your nonsense," said Mr. Oldstone. "Is thatthe way you talk to young ladies? I'm surprised at you. Look how youhave made the poor girl blush."
"Don't be jealous, old boy," retorted the last narrator, "but give usanother story. This is your turn."
"Yes, yes!" cried several voices at once. "Mr. Oldstone for a story!Hear, hear!"
"Really, gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, "it is so soon after the last,and as it is now getting somewhat late, I would fain put off my storyfor another time, and spend the evening between this and bedtime in someother way. Suppose we all fill our glasses. Perhaps someone mayrecollect a song."
"Agreed!" cried all the guests at once, "but who's to be the songster?"
"Can't you favour us, Helen?" asked Mr. Parnassus.
Helen declared that she could not sing, that she did not know any songs.
"Come, come, Helen, that's all nonsense," said the doctor, "I've heardyour voice before now warbling away when you thought no one waslistening to you."
"Ay, ay," said our host, "you are right, sir, she _can_ sing when shelikes as pretty a little song as ever you'd wish to hear, though I sayit, that shouldn't."
"Come, Helen, don't be shy, sing away my girl," said Hardcase.
"Let us make a bargain, Helen," said McGuilp. "If _you_ will sing asong, _I_ will. There, you cannot refuse."
The girl's face brightened up as she stole a glance at our artist, andthus urged, began in a clear and sweet voice the following ditty:--
THE NIGHTINGALE.
The nightingale sang to her love the rose, One night when the moon was shining, The earth was hushed in still repose, But a heart with love was pining.
Two lovers through the misty air, Beneath the trees were strolling, A gallant and a lady fair, A bell in the distance tolling.
"Beloved, hear'st thou that distant wail, That sad and mournful knelling?" "Sweetheart, 'tis but the nightingale, That her tale of love is telling."
"No, no, 'tis not the nightingale, I feel a dire foreboding, The night spreads o'er her dusky veil, Our joys of love corroding."
"Nay, loved one; banish idle fears, The moon is bright and beaming, Seek not to drown thy joy in tears, When thy star above is gleaming."
"See here this flower," (he plucked a rose), "How beautious is its blossom. Wear this for me, for it but grows, To deck thy snow white bosom."
Then out and shrieked the nightingale, "Oh spare, oh spare, my lover. Too late!" she cries, with dismal wail, Beneath the greenwood cover.
"Ah me!" outshrieked that bird of night, "My love is gone for ever, But vengeance waits thee, cruel knight; Thou from thy love shalt sever."
Too true, alas! the night bird's curse, For 'neath the trees did hover, An envious wight with arquebus, T'await his rival lover.
Scarce had the gloomy prophecy Died on his ears unheeding, When the foe a poisoned shaft let fly, And the knight fell pale and bleeding.
A lady mourns her love deceased, Her eyes in death are rolling, The distant tolling knell had ceased, But again the knell is tolling.
"Thank you, Helen, thank you; very well sung," said several voices atonce.
"It is a fanciful and mournful ditty," said Parnassus, "but the tune isgood."
"It is, indeed, somewhat melancholy," said McGuilp. "Have you no other,Helen?"
"I did but bargain for one," said the girl, smiling.
"True," said McGuilp, "and now you want to hear one from me, eh?"
"Precisely so," said Mr. Oldstone. "Keep him to his word, Helen. Don'tlet him shirk off."
"Now, Mr. McGuilp," said several voices at once, "we are all waiting."
"Well, gentlemen," began the painter, "if you will permit me toretire----"
"Retire!--Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Oldstone, Crucible, and otherssimultaneously. "Why you never mean to back out after having----"
"No, gentlemen, nothing of the sort, I assure you," said our artist, "Iwas only going to ask leave of the company to retire a moment to mychamber to bring down an article indispensable to the song I am about tosing."
"I believe he is going to sing in costume," said Mr. Blackdeed, "andthat he is going in search of some 'property.'"
"No, nor that either," said the painter. "The song I shall sing to youthis evening, gentlemen, is an ode that I composed myself to a skullwhich I found among some ancient ruins in Rome, and out of which I havemade a drinking cup. As this is a drinking song, in which the cup isoften alluded to, it will be necessary that the goblet itself bepresent."
"By all means," said several members.
"Let us see the precious relic," said the antiquary. "These things arequite in my line."
"And mine too," said the doctor.
Our artist left the apartment and returned with the relic, which heplaced in the centre of the table for all to admire.
"There, Helen," said he, "that cup was once a man's head, who laughed,sang, and told stories, too, I've no doubt, like the best of us."
"And you use it to drink out of!" exclaimed the girl, in extremedisgust. "What a horrible idea."
Mr. Oldstone put on his spectacles and bent over the table attentivelyto examine it. Dr. Bleedem took it up, tapped it, looked at it all over,and declared that it was different in form to the skulls of the presentday, observing that it was evidently of great antiquity, as the enamelhad worn away. The bone, he said, was of great thickness.
The object of general curiosity was handed round the table from one tothe other. At length Mr. Blackdeed took it up, and striking into aHamlet-like attitude, quoted at full length the well-known passage:
"'Alas! poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, ofmost excellent fancy,' etc., etc."
Applause followed the quotation.
"The song! the song!" cried others, impatiently.
"Composed by himself; mark that, gentlemen," said Mr. Parnassus. "Abrother poet! Hear, hear!"
The company then drew themselves eagerly round the table, while ourartist filled the human goblet to the brim, and after taking a sip fromit, stood up, and holding it aloft, sang in a clear rich voice thefollowing words:--
LINES TO A SKULL.
Stern relic of a bygone age, What changes hast thou seen ere now? Wert thou a warrior or a sage, And did the laurel deck thy brow? Wert of Imperial Caesar's line, Or poet inspired with art divine?
Whate'er thou wert in days of old, Whate'er the deeds they sing of thee, Though ne'er so great a
nd manifold, Thy crown as a cup shall serve for me. Here from they soul's deep-vaulted shrine, Quaff I the blood of thy native vine.
And while it braces every nerve, Hail! to Bacchus and Venus, too, The gods that thou wert wont to serve, In days of yore, to me be true, As I lie 'neath the shade of the clustering vine, Merrily quaffing the red, red wine.
Wast thy hand steeped in blood Achaean, Whilst fighting for thy purple land, Wert thou patrician or plebeian, Or fell thou by th' assassin's hand, Did'st thou in arms thy foes outshine, Or did thy foe's arm conquer thine?
Or in the crowded Colosseum, Did'st fall to glut the beasts of prey? Wert thou reared in the athenaeum, Or were thy haunts among the gay? Now from thy skull on the Palatine, I drink to thee and the muses nine.
On the banks of the Tiber's yellow tide, In the mighty days of ancient Rome, Perchance thou ruled'st in all thy pride, O'erlooking thy seven-hilled home. Thus I muse as at noonday I recline, Quaffing the juice of the Roman vine.
Now, peace to thy Manes and farewell, This toast to the quiet of thy remains, I quaff from out thy hollow shell, That once was filled with Roman brains. In the land of the cypress and the pine, Some future bard may drink from mine.
* * * * *
At the end of our artist's song he was unanimously cheered by themembers of the club, and highly complimented upon his poetical skill,especially by Mr. Parnassus, who voted that he should be crowned withlaurel. Mr. Oldstone eagerly seconded the proposal, but McGuilp modestlydeclined the honour. However, our worthy host, Jack Hearty, was sent outonce more in the snow to gather laurel for the brow of the new poetlaureate, in spite of our artist's modest protestations. He returnedshortly afterwards with a branch of laurel, off which he first shook thesnow, and then deposited upon the table. Mr. Oldstone quickly convertedit into a wreath, and decreed it should be placed upon the songster'shead by the fair hands of the pretty Helen. The decree was greeted withcheers, and Helen, blushing deeply and smiling, placed it on the head ofthe newly-discovered poet, our artist receiving it on bended knee amidthe cheering of the club. McGuilp having risen from his knees, took hisseat again at the table by the side of our host's pretty daughter, thenrising to his feet and raising the skull aloft, he proposed thefollowing toast in these words:--
"Gentlemen, I propose the health of the 'Wonder Club,' and that of ourworthy host and his fair daughter, our guest, to be drunk by everymember present solemnly and devoutly from this goblet."
More cheering, during which McGuilp took a sip at the funereal chalice,and then passed it on to his neighbour, who did the same, each member inhis turn sipping and nodding round to the rest.
When the skull had been the round of the table, it was then passed on toour host, who hoped that the company would excuse him, but that hislips had never yet been contaminated by dead men's bones, and he hopedthey never would be.
Persuasions and remonstrances from the members were alike vain, forneither our host nor his daughter could be persuaded to touch thesacrilegious relic.
In order not to give offence to the company, our host proclaimed hiswillingness to drink the toast out of a clean glass. This was at lengthagreed to, and the worthy man rose, and in a short bluff speech, thankedthe company present for having drunk his health and that of hisdaughter. A clapping of hands followed our host's speech, and then Mr.Crucible, being the eldest member, returned thanks on the part of theclub.
At that moment the hooting of an owl was heard outside. Helen turnedpale, and instinctively drew nearer to our artist.
"Why, Helen my girl!" cried the doctor, "how pale you are. What are youfrightened at?"
"Do you not hear?" said the girl. "It is the cry of the owl; they say itis a sign of death in the house."
"Come, Helen," said Hardcase, "you must not be superstitious; thosethings are all nonsense."
"Oh, no, I can assure you----" began the girl, when Mr. Oldstone brokein.
"I say, Mr. Poet Laureate, look how your fair companion trembles at yourside. Cannot you think of some lay that might cheer her spirits anddispel her fears? Just try."
"Well," answered he of the laurel crown, "talking about owls, I oncekept a pet owl myself, that I captured one night in a nook under thearches of the Colosseum. He was a great favourite of mine, and used toperch on the top of my easel when I was at work, and watch everymovement I made. I composed an ode to him. If you would like to hearit----"
"Oh, by all means," promptly answered Oldstone.
"In that case, Jack," said McGuilp, addressing our host, "you willoblige me by getting my mandoline. I mean that musical instrument thatyou will find in the corner of my room upstairs, just by way ofaccompaniment."
Jack Hearty left the room, and returned soon with the instrument.
"Ah, now we shall hear some music," said Oldstone rubbing his hands, andby this time Helen seemed to have forgotten her fears, and her eyesglistened in anticipation.
Our artist then ran his fingers lightly over the instrument by way ofprelude and began the following ditty.
ODE TO AN OWL.
Grim bird of Pallas old, For what purpose yet untold Wert thou cast in such a mould? Speak, declare!
Though thou utterest not a word As thou gazest on the herd, I scarce can deem thee bird, Such thy air.
There thou stand'st, a ghastly sight, Sworn enemy of light, Thou ill-omened bird of night, 'Neath the moon.
The charnel's dusky hue Is lovelier to thy view Than the clear cerulean blue Of the noon.
As my task I daily ply, Every movement thou dost spy, From my easel perched on high Gazing down.
Thou look'st so wondrous wise, With those round mysterious eyes. What unearthly glitter lies In thy frown.
Once with thy friends so gay Thou did'st turn night into day, And while seeking for thy prey Round would'st prowl.
Now from out thy ruined hall In the Colosseum's wall They nightly miss thy call, Oh, my owl!
A captive now, alas! Thou for aye art doomed to pass Thy life far from the mass Of thy race.
Like Stoic thou dost stand, Exiled from his native land, With that look so sage and grand In thy face.
Were Pythagorean lore, Current now as once before, In the classic days of yore, I could swear,
That the spirit of some sage, From some dark and mythic age, In thy body found a cage Or a lair.
And once more on Earth was sent, To retrieve a life misspent, Till his crimes he should repent. In that form.
But hereafter might arise, After penance to the skies, Where bliss awaiting lies His reform.
My lamp burns low. Farewell. Thus ends my verse's spell. And now thy mournful yell-- Fearful din--
May commence, my eyeballs ache, For my couch I now must make, I to sleep and thou to wake, May'st begin.
* * * * *
Immense applause greeted this last ode of our artist's, and the healthof the new poet laureate was proposed by Mr. Oldstone and drunk allround, after which our artist returned thanks in a humorous speech whichcalled forth much laughter from the other members, and much clapping ofhands and rattling of glasses ensued. Glasses were then refilled, andafter a little more pleasant conversation the party broke up for thenight and each retired to his solitary bed-chamber.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume I Page 11