A Maggot

by John Fowles

  Q. Where met you first?

  A. It was decided Jones and I should proceed alone by coach to Hounslow the day previous, and lodge at the Bull there.

  Q. This is the 25th of April?

  A. Yes. And there we should find horses waiting for us, and then set out at first sunrise that next morning, upon the Staines road, where we should meet him and his man, and the maid. And so it passed. We came upon them a mile before Staines.

  Q. Where had they come from?

  A. I don't know, sir. 'Twas not said. Unless they had lodged at Staines, and rid back. Yet we passed that place without stopping when we came to it.

  Q. Nothing passed at this meeting?

  A. No, sir. I confess we set out not without some spirit of expectation, as upon a happy venture of sorts.

  Q. Was payment made to you before you started?

  A. An advance upon my agreed fee, and likewise that of Jones, though the latter was paid to me. I had some outlay to make on necessaries.

  Q. How much?

  A. Ten guineas to me, one to Jones. In gold.

  Q. And the remainder?

  A. Was given me when we parted, that last morning, upon a bill. I have encashed it.

  Q. Drawn upon whom?

  A. Mr Barrow of Lombard Street.

  Q. The Russia merchant?

  A. Yes.

  Q. Let us set off. Spare me the petty circumstance. I wish all that pertains to your discovery that Mr Bartholomew was other than he claimed.

  A. Suspicion did not tarry, sir, I may tell you that. We had ridden but an hour when my trust was first shaken. I had fallen a little behind with Jones, who led the pack-horse, whereupon he said he must tell me something, but if he spoke out of place, I was to bid him hold his tongue. I said he should speak. At that he looked ahead to where the maid rode, sat sideways behind Dick, and said, Mr Lacy, I believe I have seen that young woman before, and she is no lady's maid, far from it. He then said he had seen her some two or three months since entering a bagnio behind St James, Mother Claiborne's, as it is vulgarly called. The acquaintance he was with told him that she was -if you will forgive the expression - one of the choicest pieces who worked there. I was shocked as you may think, sir, and pressed him to say he was sure. Thereupon he admitted he had but seen her briefly, and by linklight, and could not swear, yet found the resemblance striking close, if he were mistaken. I confess I was left at a loss, Mr Ayscough. I know what such creatures and their mistresses may earn by their trade, and though I have heard that such as Claiborne will furnish flesh out for a night to the favoured libertine, I could not believe she would do it for such a journey as ours. Nor saw I reason why. I was loth to

  believe Mr B. had so grossly deceived me, nor could I conceive that a notorious whore, if such she were, should let herself be hired out as a maid. In short, sir, I told Jones he must certainly be mistaken; but that if he had opportune chance, he should speak to the wench, to see if he could discover more.

  Q. Could Jones put no name upon her of the bagnio?

  A. No proper nor Christian name, sir. But that she was known by those who frequented the house as the Quaker Maid.

  Q. What is that to mean?

  A. That she would play modesty, the better to whet the appetite of the debauched.

  Q. She would dress as such?

  A. I fear so.

  Q. And did he speak with her, as you counselled him?

  A. He did, sir, later that day. He told me she would say little. Only that she was Bristol born, and looked forward to seeing her young mistress again.

  Q. Then she appeared privy to the false pretext?

  A. Yes, but would say nothing when Jones would lead her to gossip. For she said Mr B. had commanded her to silence. He said she seemed more timid than aught else. Spoke very soft, and answered most often with a yes or no or mere nod. Jones was less certain now, he confessed as much himself, thinking such as he first credited her could not be so modest and he must be wrong. In brief, sir, our suspicion was lulled and abated for then.

  Q. Did you speak of this to Mr B.?

  A. I did not, sir. Not to the end, as I will tell.

  Q. Did he speak apart to the girl - give any sign of covert collusion?

  A. Not then, sir, nor indeed ever in my own sight and hearing. As we travelled he seemed the rather indifferent to her, as if she were no more than box and baggage. I must tell you he rode most often alone during our journey. He asked me more than once to forgive him, it was little courteous in him to play the sour hermit, as he put it, but I should understand his thoughts lay all ahead, and not in the dull present. I thought it ' of no account then, indeed natural in a hopeful lover.

  Q. It was to spare himself the pains of pretence?

  A. I now so believe.

  Q. Then in general you had little converse with him?

  A. Some, for he would ride with me on occasion. I think none of moment on that first day. We but spoke of what we passed, our horses and the road, such matters. Not of what we were engaged upon. He asked me more of my life and seemed ready to hear such tales as I told him, of myself and of my grandfather and the king, though I deemed it more politeness than true interest. In general, the more westward, the more silent he grew. Beside, in manner direct, I was prevented by our agreement. I gained a little of him, by chance. It is true, Mr Ayscough, that the part I played in The Beggar's Opera did mock Sir Robert Walpole, but I beg you to believe we actors must always be two persons, one upon the boards and another off them. Why, that very first day we must pass those heaths of Bagshot and Camberley, and I was no Robin there, I may assure you, for I rode most alarmed that a real such as I had played should appear - which he did not, I thank the Lord.

  Q. Yes, yes, Lacy, this is nothing to the point.

  A. I must contradict, sir, with respect. What I tell you, I told Mr B.; and went on to speak well of this present government's policy of quieta non movere, at which he did give me a look, so to say that he did not agree. And when I did press him to declare his views, he said that as to Sir Robert he must concede he was good manager and man of business for the nation's affairs - that he who could contrive to please both the country squire and the city merchant must be no fool; but that yet he believed that the great founding principle of his administration of which I had spoken must be wrong. For how might a better world come, he said, if this one may not change? And asked me if I did not think that of the Creator's divine purposes this at least was most clear: that His giving us freedom to move and choose, as a ship upon the vast ocean of time, could not mean that we had always best stay moored in that port where we were first built and launched. Then that merchants and their interest should soon rule this world, that already we saw it in statesmen, for he said, A statesman may be honest for a fortnight, but it will not do for a month; and such is mercantile philosophy, from the most wretched niggler and tradesman up. Then did he give me a sad smile, and added, Though I durst not tell my father such things. To that I replied that I feared fathers would ever have their sons in their own close image. To which he answered, And nothing change to the end of time - alas, I know it, Lacy. If in this a son doth not bow to every paternal Test and Corporation Act, he is damned, he hath no being.

  Q. He said nothing else of his father?

  A. Not that I recall, sir. Beyond what was said at the first, that he was too strict; and on one other occasion, when he said he was an old fool, and his elder brother the same. On this aforesaid occasion he did end by confessing that he was in general indifferent to politics; and did cite me the view of one Saunderson, that professes mathematicks at the university of Cambridge, and that it seems did teach him while he was there; whom he had heard once say, upon a similar question being put to him, that all politics was as clouds before the sun; that is, more necessary nuisance than truth.

  Q. And with which he concurred?

  A. So I took him to mean. For on another occasion I remember he said, We should be well quit of three parts of this world; so to intimate,
it was superfluous, or he judged it so. But now he spake more of the learned gentleman, that is blind, yet hath by his intelligence largely conquered that deficiency; and it seems is much loved and revered by his pupils.

  Q. Spake Mr B. of religion, of the Church?

  A. But once, sir, upon a later occasion. We met a reverend gentleman upon the road, or rather sitting beside it, for he was too drunk to ride his horse, which his man held beside him till lie was fit enough to mount again. At which Mr B, showed some disgust and said it was too common a case and that it was little wonder the flock strayed, with such shepherds. In our further conversation he declared himself a hater of hypocrisy. That God placed most worthy and necessary veils upon His mystery, but His ministers too often used them to blindfold their charges and lead them into ignorance and baseless prejudice. That he believed a man was finally judged, and his soul saved, by his deeds, not his outward show of beliefs; that no established church would ever give ground to such plain reason, for thereby it would deny its own inheritance and all its earthly powers.

  Q. Those are free-thinking tenets. Did you not hold them reprehensible?

  A. No, sir. I held them good sense.

  Q. To scorn the established church?

  A. To scorn the hypocrite, Mr Ayscough. We who tread the boards are not the only players of parts in this world. Such is my view, sir, with respect.

  Q. Your view leads to sedition, Lacy. Spurn the holder, spurn the office. But enough of this, it is idle. Where stayed you that night?

  A. At the Angel, Basingstoke. Thence early to Andover and Amesbury, in which place we lodged the next.

  Q. You went in no great haste, then?

  A. No, and even less that second day, for as we carne to Amesbury he said he would view the famous heathen temple nearby, at Stonehenge. And we should rest at Amesbury,

  though we might have gone further, and I had expected to.

  Q. Were you not surprised? ,

  A. I was, Sir.

  Q. We will stop now. My clerk shall take you to dine, and we shall resume at three of the clock prompt.

  A. Mrs Lacy expects me to dine at home, sir.

  Q. Then she must wait in vain.

  A. May I not send to say I am detained?

  Q; You may not.

  * * *

  The same further deposeth upon oath, die annoque praedicto.

  * * *

  Q. Did nothing pass the previous night at Basingstoke, before you came to Amesbury?

  A. No, sir, all passed as was intended. Mr B. played my nephew, would have me take the best chamber at the Angel, and showed me all deference in public. We supped in my chamber, for he would not go into the public rooms, wherever we lodged. Nor would he linger, sir, the eating once done, but retire to his own chamber, and leave me to my own devices, which he called no discourtesy, but a favour to me, since he was such a dullard. I saw him not again.

  Q. You do not know how he occupied himself?

  A. No, sir. Unless it was with his book s. For he brought a small chest with him, that he did call his bibliotheca viatica, as I saw opened two or three times. The one inn, it was at Taunton, we had no choice but to share the one room. And there he read papers from his chest when he had eaten.

  Q. This chest held books or papers?

  A. Both. He told me all were mathematick, his travelling library, as I said, and that such study diverted his mind from more troubling thoughts.

  Q. Was he ever more particular, as to their nature?

  A. No, sir.

  Q. Did you not enquire?

  A. No, sir. I am not formed to judge of such matters.

  Q. Saw you ever a title to any of the books?

  A. I remarked a work by Sir Isaac Newton, that was in Latin, I do not recall the title. Mr B. spoke of him with a greater respect than I heard him use of any other, that he said he had first gained of his tutor at Cambridge, the gentleman I named earlier, Mr Saunderson. He did essay one day as we rode to explain sir Isaac's doctrine of fluxions and fluents. There, sir, I must confess myself lost; and had politely to inform lain that he wasted his breath. Again, it was when we did come to Taunton Deanne, he talked of a learned monk of many centuries ago, who did hit upon a way of multiplying numbers. That in itself I might understand, 'twas simple, but the adding of each last two figures to make the next, to wit one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, one-and-twenty, thus forward as you may will. Mr B. averred that he himself did believe these numbers appeared, though secretly, in many places in nature, as it were a divine cipher that all living things must copy, for that the ratio between its successive numbers was that also of a secret of the Greeks, who did discover a perfect proportion, I believe he said it to be of one to one and six tenths. He pointed to all that chanced about us, and said that these numbers might be read therein; and cited other examples, that I forget now except that many accorded with the order of petals and leaves in trees and herbs, I know not what.

  Q. He made much of this matter of ciphering?

  A. No, sir. As one, might speak of a curiosity.

  Q. He would claim to have penetrated some secret of nature, is it not so?

  A. I would not say that, Mr Ayscough; rather that he had glimpsed such a secret, yet had not fully explored it.

  Q. Did you not think it odd that he should follow these pursuits, and bring this travelling library, if the journey was for the purpose alleged?

  A. A trifle, sir. The more we travelled, the more I perceived he was not as ordinary men, let alone as ordinary lovers. I supposed him more serious in his scientific pursuits than he cared openly to allow, and intended not to deprive himself of them in the exile consequent on an elopement

  Q. I have one last question here. Did you see in this chest an instrument, that had appearance as of a clock, with many wheels, and was made of brass?

  A. No, sir.

  Q. Yet you saw this chest open, you say?

  A. Always full, and with loose papers scattered on top. I was never enabled to see all it held.

  Q. Nor saw such an instrument being used?

  A. No, sir.

  Q. Let us come to Amesbury.

  A. I should remark something else first, that passed at Basingstoke.

  Q. Very well.

  A. It concerned the maid Louise. Jones told me that she too would have a chamber of her own, and not sleep with the inn maids, as is the custom. Nor would she dine at their table, like the rest, she must have her victuals taken upstairs to her by the mute. Furthermore, that he saw the man was deep smitten by her, which he found strange. We discussed upon it, yet could come to no conclusion then.

  Q. Seemed she smitten in return?

  A. That he could not determine, sir, except that she did riot openly rebuff him. There is more to tell on this. I but mention it as it came.

  Q. Did she always thus - sleep and eat apart?

  A. She did, sir, where such a chamber was to be found. For in one, it was Wincanton. there was some dispute upon such an unaccustomed demand, such as that Mr B.'s authority was sought, and he said she should have as she demanded. I saw this not, Jones told me of it after.

  Q. To Amesbury.

  A. As I told before we came there Mr B. said we should stay there, though we might have ridden further. That he wished to see the temple and after we had dined I might if I wished ride out with him over the downs to view it. The day was fine, the distance small, I had some curiosity to see the place, though I confess I found it less imposing and ruder than I had imagined. You have visited it, sir?

  Q. I have seen it graved. Your servants came with you?

  A. Only Dick. Mr B. and I dismounted and walked among the stones. To my surprise he seemed familiar with the place, though he had said he had no more seen it before than I. Q. How is that?

  A. Why, sir, he began to expatiate upon what it was conjectured its barbarous religion had been, the purpose of its entabled pillars, how it would have appeared were it not half ruined. I know not what else. I asked him with some astonish
ment how he had come to this knowledge, whereat he smiled and said, Not by the black arts, I assure you, Lacy. And he said he had met the Reverend Mr Stukeley of Stamford, the antiquary, and seen his drawings and chorographies, and discussed with him. He spoke of other books and discourses upon the monument that he had read, yet that he found Mr Stukeley's notions more just and worthy of attention.

  Q. He found his tongue there then?

  A. Indeed, sir. He did speak like a true virtuoso. I confess I was the more struck by his learning than by the place itself. He asked me, as it were in passing, if I gave credit to the belief of the ancients in auspicious days. I said I had not thought on the matter. Very well, he said, then by contrary: should you happily open a new piece upon a Friday that was also thirteenth of the month? I confessed I should rather not, though I hold such things superstition. And he said, As do most men, but it may be they are wrong. He then took me a step or two aside and pointed to a great stone some fifty paces off, and informed me that upon Midsummer's Day the sun would rise upon that stone, from the temple's centre where we stood. Some other learned writer, whose name I do not recall, had found it so; that the temple was so set upon its ground that it must always match this one day, which could not be by chance. Then lie said, I will tell you this, Lacy, these ancients knew a secret I should give all I possess to secure. They knew their life's meridian, and I still search mine. In all else the} lived in darkness, he said, yet this great light they had; while : live in light, and stumble after phantoms. I remarked that apprehended the charming object of our journey, from what he had vouchsafed, was no phantom. At which he seemed somewhat set back, sir, but then smiled and said, You an right, I am wandered into dark pastures. We walked some paces in silence, then he resumed. Yet is it not strange, hi said, that these rude savages may have entered a place when we still fear to tread, and have known what we can bare begin to comprehend? Why, to which even that great philosopher Sir Isaac Newton, was but a helpless child? I said I did no understand what arcane knowledge this might be, Mr Ays cough. To which his answer was: why, that God is eternal motion, Lacy. This is his first orrery. Know you the true name for this pile? Chorum Giganteum, the dance of th, Gogs and Magogs. The country people say it will not dance again until the Day of Judgement. But it spins and dance now, Lacy, if we had only eyes to see it.