"Madame Joyeuse, I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted our host, very angrily. "You can either conduct yourself as a lady should do, or you can quit the table forthwith—take your choice."
The lady (whom I was much astonished to hear addressed as Madame Joyeuse, after the description of Madame Joyeuse she had just
given) blushed up to the eyebrows and seemed exceedingly abashed at the reproof. She hung down her head and said not a syllable in reply. But another and younger lady resumed the theme. It was my beautiful girl of the little parlour!
"Oh, Madame Joyeuse was a fool!" she exclaimed, "but there was really much sound sense, after all, in the opinion of Eugenie Salsafette. She was a very beautiful and painfully modest young lady who thought the ordinary mode of habiliment indecent and wished to dress herself, always, by getting outside instead of inside of her clothes. It is a thing very easily done, after all. You have only to do so—and then so—so—so —and then so—so—so—and then—"
"Mon Dieu! Ma'mselle Salsafette!" here cried a dozen voices at once. "What are you about?—forbear!—that is sufficient!—we see, very plainly, how it is done!—hold! hold!" and several persons were already leaping from their seats to withhold Ma'mselle Salsafette from putting herself upon a par with the Medicean Venus, when the point was very effectually and suddenly accomplished by a series of loud screams, or yells, from some portion of the main body of the chateau.
My nerves were very much affected indeed by these yells, but the rest of the company I really pitied. I never saw any set of reasonable people so thoroughly frightened in my life. They all grew as pale as so many corpses and, shrinking within their seats, sat quivering and gibbering with terror and listening for a repetition of the sound. It came again-louder and seemingly nearer—and then a third time very loud, and then a fourth time with a vigour evidently diminished. At this apparent dying away of the noise the spirits of the company were immediately regained and all was life and anecdote as before. I now ventured to inquire the cause of the disturbance.
"A mere bagatelle" said Monsieur Maillard. "We are used to these things and care really very little about them. The lunatics, every now and then, get up a howl in concert, one starting another, as is sometimes the case with a bevy of dogs at night. It occasionally happens, however, that the concerto yells are succeeded by a simultaneous effort at breaking loose, when, of course, some little danger is to be apprehended."
"And how many have you in charger 1 "
"At present we have not more than ten altogether."
"Principally females, I presume?"
"Oh, no—every one of them men, and stout fellows, too, I can tell you."
"Indeed! I have always understood that the majority of lunatics were of the gentler sex."
"It is generally so, but not always. Some time ago there were about twenty-seven patients here and of that number no less than eighteen were women, but lately matters have changed very much, as you see."
"Yes—have changed very much, as you see," here interrupted the gentleman who had broken the shins of Ma'mselle Laplace.
"Yes—have changed very much, as you see!" chimed in the whole company at once.
"Hold your tongues, every one of you!" said my host, in a great rage. Whereupon the whole company maintained a dead silence for nearly a minute. As for one lady she obeyed Monsieur Maillard to the letter and thrusting out her tongue, which was an excessively long one, held it very resignedly, with both hands, until the end of the entertainment.
"And this gentlewoman," said I to Monsieur Maillard, bending over and addressing him in a whisper—"this good lady who has just spoken, and who gives us the cock-a-doodle-de-doo—she, I presume, is harmless —quite harmless, eh?"
"Harmless!" ejaculated he, in unfeigned surprise, "Why—why, what can you mean?"
"Only slightly touched?" said I, touching my head. "I take it for granted that she is not particularly—not dangerously affected, eh?"
"Mon Dieul what is it you imagine? This lady, my particular old friend, Madame Joyeuse, is as absolutely sane as myself. She has her little eccentricities to be sure—but then, you know, all old women—all very old women are more or less eccentric!"
"To be sure," said I—"to be sure—and then the rest of these ladies and gentlemen—"
"Are my friends and keepers," interrupted Monsieur Maillard, drawing himself up with hauteur— -"my very good friends and assistants."
"What! all of them?" I asked-"the women and all?"
"Assuredly," he said—"we could not do at all without the women, they are the best lunatic nurses in the world; they have a way of their own, you know; their bright eyes have a marvellous effect—something like the fascination of the snake, you know."
"To be sure," said I—"to be sure! They behave a little odd, eh?—they are a little queer, eh?—don't you think so?"
"Odd!—queer!—why, do you really think so? We are not very prudish, to be sure, here in the South—do pretty much as we please—enjoy life, and all that sort of thing, you know—"
"To be sure/* said I, "to be sure."
"And then, perhaps, this Clos de Vougeot is a little heady, you know —a little strong— you understand, eh?"
"To be sure," said I, "to be sure. By-the-by, monsieur, did I understand you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of the celebrated soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?"
"By no means. Our confinement is necessarily close, but the treatment—the medical treatment, I mean—is rather agreeable to the patients than otherwise."
"And the new system is one of your own invention?"
"Not altogether. Some portions of it are referable to Doctor Tarr, of whom you have necessarily heard; and again there are modifications in my plan which I am happy to acknowledge as belong of right to the celebrated Fether, with whom, if I mistake not, you have the honour of an intimate acquaintance."
"I am quite ashamed to confess/' I replied, "that I have never even heard the name of either gentleman before."
"Good Heavens!" ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly and uplifting his hands. "I surely do not hear you aright! You did not intend to say, eh? that you had never heard either of the learned Doctor Tarr or of the celebrated Professor Fether?"
"I am forced to acknowledge my ignorance," I replied, "but the truth should be held inviolate above all things. Nevertheless I feel humbled to the dust not to be acquainted with the works of these, no doubt, extraordinary men. I will seek out their writings forthwith and peruse them with deliberate care. Monsieur Maillard, you have really—I must confess it—you have really— made me ashamed of myself!"
And this was the fact.
"Say no more, my good young friend," he said kindly, pressing my hand—"join me now in a glass of Sauteme."
We drank. The company followed our example, without stint. They chatted—they jested—they laughed—they perpetrated a thousand absurdities—the fiddles shrieked—the drum row-de-dowed—the trombones bellowed like so many brazen bulls of Phalaris—and the whole scene, growing gradually worse and worse as the wines gained the ascendancy, became at length a sort of Pandemonium in petto. In the meantime, Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of Sauteme and Clos Vougeot between us, continued our conversation at the top of the voice. A word spoken in an ordinary key stood no more chance of being heard than the voice of a fish from the bottom of Niagara Falls.
"And, sir," said I, screaming in his ear, "you mentioned something before dinner about the danger incurred in the old system of soothing. How is that?"
"Yes," he replied, "there was occasionally very great danger indeed. There is no accounting for the caprices of madmen and, in my opinion, as well as in that of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, it is never safe to permit them to run at large unattended. A lunatic may be 'soothed', as it is called, for a time, but in the end he is very apt to become obstreperous. His cunning, too, is proverbial and great. If he has a project in view he conceals his desi
gn with a marvellous wisdom, and the dexterity with which he counterfeits sanity presents to the metaphysician one of the most singular problems in the study of mind. When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a strait jacket."
"But the danger, my dear sir, of which you were speaking—in your own experience—during your control of this house—have you had practical reason to think liberty hazardous in the case of a lunatic?"
"Here?—in my own experience?—why, I may say yes. For example, no very long while ago a singular circumstance occurred in this very house. The 'soothing system', you know, was then in operation and the patients were at large. They behaved remarkably well—especially so— any one of sense might have known that some devilish scheme was brewing from that particular fact, that the fellows behaved so remarkably well. And, sure enough, one fine morning the keepers found themselves pinioned hand and foot and thrown into the cells, where they were attended, as if they were the lunatics, by the lunatics themselves, who had usurped the offices of the keepers."
"You don't tell me so! I never heard of anything so absurd in my life!"
"Fact—it all came to pass by means of a stupid fellow—a lunatic— who by some means had taken it into his head that he had invented a better system of government than any ever heard of before—of lunatic government, I mean. He wished to give his invention a trial, I suppose, and so he persuaded the rest of the patients to join him in a conspiracy for the overthrow of the reigning powers."
"And he really succeeded?"
"No doubt of it. The keepers and kept were soon made to exchange places. Not that exactly either, for the madmen had been free, but the keepers were shut up in cells forthwith and treated, I am sorry to say, in a very cavalier manner."
"But I presume a counter-revolution was soon effected. This condition of things could not have long existed. The country people in the neighbourhood—visitors coming to see the establishment—would have given the alarm."
"There you are out. The head rebel was too cunning for that. He admitted no visitors at all—with the exception, one day, of a very stupid-looking young gentleman of whom he had no reason to be afraid. He let him in to see the place—just by way of variety—to have a little fun with him. As soon as he had gammoned him sufficiendy, he let him out and sent him about his business."
"And how long, then, did the madmen reign?"
"Oh, a very long time, indeed—a month certainly—how much longer I can't precisely say. In the meantime, the lunatics had a jolly season of it—that you may swear. They doffed their own shabby clothes and made free with the family wardrobe and jewels. The cellars of the chateau were well stocked with wine; and these madmen are just the devils that know how to drink it. They lived well, I can tell you."
"And the treatment—what was the particular species of treatment which the leader of the rebels put into operation?"
'Why, as for that, a madman is not necessarily a fool, as I have already observed; and it is my honest opinion that his treatment was a much better treatment than that which it superseded. It was a very capital system indeed—a simple—neat—no trouble at all, in fact it was delicious—it was—"
Here my host's observations were cut short by another series of yells, of the same character as those which had previously disconcerted us. This time, however, they seemed to proceed from persons rapidly approaching.
"Gracious heavens!" I ejaculated—"the lunatics have most undoubtedly broken loose."
"I very much fear it is so," replied Monsieur Maillard, now becoming excessively pale. He had scarcely finished the sentence before loud shouts and imprecations were heard beneath the windows; and immediately afterwards it became evident that some persons outside were endeavouring to gain entrance into the room. The door was beaten with what appeared to be a sledge-hammer and the shutters were wrenched and shaken with prodigious violence.
A scene of the most terrible confusion ensued. Monsieur Maillard, to my excessive astonishment, threw himself under the sideboard. I had expected more resolution at his hands. The members of the or-
chestra, who for the last fifteen minutes had been seemingly too much intoxicated to do duty, now sprang all at once to their feet and to their instruments and, scrambling upon their table, broke out with one accord into "Yankee Doodle", which they performed, if not exactly in tune at least with an energy superhuman, during the whole of the uproar.
Meantime, upon the main dining-table, among the bottles and glasses, leaped the gentleman who with such difficulty had been restrained from leaping there before. As soon as he fairly settled himself he commenced an oration, which no doubt was a very capital one if it could only have been heard. At the same moment, the man with the tee-totum predilections set himself to spinning around the apartment with immense energy, and with arms outstretched at right angles with his body, so that he had all the air of a tee-totum in fact and knocked everybody down that happened to get in his way. And now, too, hearing an incredible popping and fizzing of champagne, I discovered at length that it proceeded from the person who performed the bottle of that delicate drink during dinner. And then, again, the frog-man croaked away as if the salvation of his soul depended upon every note that he uttered. And in the midst of all this, the continuous braying of a donkey arose over all. As for my old friend Madame Joyeuse, I really could have wept for the poor lady, she appeared so terribly perplexed. All she did, however, was to stand up in a corner by the fireplace and sing out incessantly, at the top of her voice, "Cock-a-doodle-de-dooooooh!"
And now came the climax—the catastrophe of the drama. As no resistance beyond whooping and yelling and cock-a-doodleing was offered to the encroachments of the party without, the ten windows were very speedily and almost simultaneously broken in. But I shall never forget the emotions of wonder and horror with which I gazed when, leaping through these windows and down among us yete-mele, fighting, stamping, scratching and howling, there rushed a perfect army of what I took to be chimpanzees, orang-outangs or big black baboons of the Cape of Good Hope.
I received a terrible beating, after which I rolled under a sofa and lay still. After lying there some fifteen minutes, however, during which time I listened with all my ears to what was going on in the room, I came to some satisfactory denouement of this tragedy. Monsieur Mail-lard, it appeared, in giving me the account of the lunatic who had excited his fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his own exploits. This gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years before been the
superintendent of the establishment, but grew crazy himself and so became a patient. This fact was unknown to the travelling companion who introduced me. The keepers, ten in number, having been suddenly overpowered, were first well tarred, then carefully feathered and then shut up in underground cells. They had been so imprisoned for more than a month, during which period Monsieur Maillard had generously allowed them not only the tar and feathers (which constituted his "system"), but some bread and abundance of water. The latter was pumped on them daily. At length, one escaping through a sewer gave freedom to all the rest.
The "soothing system", with important modifications, has been resumed at the chateau; yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard that his own "treatment" was a very capital one of its kind. As he justly observed, it was "simple, neat and gave no trouble at all—not the least".
I have only to add that although I have searched every library in Europe for the works of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, I have, up to the present day, utterly failed in my endeavours at procuring an edition.
PURITAN PASSIONS
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
(Film Guild-Hodkinson: 1923)
Film makers on both sides of the Atlantic were soon drawing on lit-erature for their raw material, and in America the booming Broadway stage was also able to provide excellent contributions to the horror film genre in the twenties and thirties (The Bat and The Cat and the Canary are two examples*).
One of the successes of the twenties wa
s The Scarecrow by Percy MacKay, a story of witchcraft set in Salem and based on an almost unknown piece by Nathaniel Hawthorne called Feathertop. In the tale an old woman brings a scarecrow to life and sends it off to court the daughter of a local dignitary—with the most surprising and unexpected results.
The film, based on both the original story and the stage play, was directed by the talented Frank Tuttle and sardonically depicted much of the fanaticism which surrounded witchcraft in the seventeenth century. It had an eerie, netherworld quality—heightened by the lack of sound or music—and today still retains the power to send a shiver up the spine of even the most hardened horror fan.
"DICKON," cried Mother Rigby, "a coal for my pipe!"
The pipe was in the old dame's mouth when she said these words. She had thrust it there after filling it with tobacco, but without stooping to light it at the hearth, where indeed there was no appearance of a fire having been kindled that morning. Forthwith, however, as soon as the order was given, there was an intense red glow out of the bowl of the pipe, and a whiff of smoke from Mother Rigby's lips. Whence the coal came, and how brought thither by an invisible hand, I have never been able to discover.
"Good!" quoth Mother Rigby, with a nod of her head. "Thank ye,
Dickon! And now for making this scarecrow. Be within call, Dickon, in case I need you again."
The good woman had risen thus early (for as yet it was scarcely sunrise) in order to set about making a scarecrow which she intended to put in the middle of her corn-patch. It was now the latter week of May, and the crows and blackbirds had already discovered the little green, rolled-up leaf of the Indian com just peeping out of the soil. She was determined, therefore, to contrive as life-like a scarecrow as ever was seen, and to finish it immediately from top to toe, so that it should begin its sentinel's duty that very morning. Now Mother Rigby (as everybody must have heard) was one of the most cunning and potent witches in New England, and might, with very litde trouble, have made a scarecrow ugly enough to frighten the minister himself. But on this occasion, as she had awakened in an uncommonly pleasant humour, and was further dulcified by her pipe of tobacco, she resolved to produce something fine, beautiful, and splendid, rather than hideous and horrible.
The ghouls Page 4