by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXXV
Of airy tongues that syllable men's names. --COMUS.
Julian had fallen asleep, with his brain rather filled with his own sadreflections, than with the mystical lore of the little Knight; and yetit seemed as if in his visions the latter had been more present to hismind than the former.
He dreamed of gliding spirits, gibbering phantoms, bloody hands, which,dimly seen by twilight, seemed to beckon him forward like errant-knighton sad adventure bound. More than once he started from his sleep, solively was the influence of these visions on his imagination; and healways awaked under the impression that some one stood by his bedside.The chillness of his ankles, the weight and clatter of the fetters, ashe turned himself on his pallet, reminded him on these occasions wherehe was, and under what circumstances. The extremity to which he saw allthat was dear to him at present reduced, struck a deeper cold on hisheart than the iron upon his limbs; nor could he compose himself againto rest without a mental prayer to Heaven for protection. But when hehad been for a third time awakened from repose by these thick-stirringfancies, his distress of mind vented itself in speech, and he was unableto suppress the almost despairing ejaculation, "God have mercy upon us!"
"Amen!" answered a voice as sweet and "soft as honey dew," which soundedas if the words were spoken close by his bedside.
The natural inference was, that Geoffrey Hudson, his companion incalamity, had echoed the prayer which was so proper to the situationof both. But the tone of voice was so different from the harsh anddissonant sounds of the dwarf's enunciation, that Peveril was impressedwith the certainty it could not proceed from Hudson. He was struck withinvoluntary terror, for which he could give no sufficient reason; and itwas not without an effort that he was able to utter the question, "SirGeoffrey, did you speak?"
No answer was returned. He repeated the question louder; and the samesilver-toned voice, which had formerly said "_Amen_" to his prayers,answered to his interrogatory, "Your companion will not awake while I amhere."
"And who are you?--What seek you?--How came you into this place?" saidPeveril, huddling, eagerly, question upon question.
"I am a wretched being, but one who loves you well.--I come for yourgood.--Concern yourself no farther."
It now rushed on Julian's mind that he had heard of persons possessedof the wonderful talent of counterfeiting sounds to such accuracy, thatthey could impose on their hearers the belief, that they proceededfrom a point of the apartment entirely opposite to that which the realspeaker occupied. Persuaded that he had now gained the depth of themystery, he replied, "This trifling, Sir Geoffrey, is unseasonable.Say what you have to say in your own voice and manner. These apishpleasantries do not become midnight in a Newgate dungeon."
"But the being who speaks with you," answered the voice, "is fitted forthe darkest hour, and the most melancholy haunts."
Impatient of suspense, and determined to satisfy his curiosity, Julianjumped at once from his pallet, hoping to secure the speaker, whosevoice indicated he was so near. But he altogether failed in his attempt,and grasped nothing save thin air.
For a turn or two, Peveril shuffled at random about the room, with hisarms extended; and then at last recollected, that with the impediment ofhis shackles, and the noise which necessarily accompanied his motions,and announced where he was, it would be impossible for him to lay handson any one who might be disposed to keep out of his reach. He thereforeendeavoured to return to his bed; but, in groping for his way, lightedfirst on that of his fellow-prisoner. The little captive slept deep andheavy, as was evinced from his breathing; and upon listening a moment,Julian became again certain, either that his companion was the mostartful of ventriloquists and of dissemblers, or that there was actuallywithin the precincts of that guarded chamber, some third being, whosevery presence there seemed to intimate that it belonged not to theordinary line of humanity.
Julian was no ready believer in the supernatural; but that age was veryfar from being so incredulous concerning ghostly occurrences as ourown; and it was no way derogatory to his good sense, that he shared theprejudices of his time. His hair began to bristle, and the moisture tostand on his brow, as he called on his companion to awake, for Heaven'ssake.
The dwarf answered--but he spoke without awaking.--"The day may dawnand be d--d. Tell the master of the horse I will not go to the hunting,unless I have the little black jennet."
"I tell you," said Julian, "there is some one in the apartment. Have younot a tinder-box to strike a light?"
"I care not how slight my horse be," replied the slumberer, pursuinghis own train of ideas, which, doubtless, carried him back to the greenwoods of Windsor, and the royal deer-hunts which he had witnessed there."I am not overweight--I will not ride that great Holstein brute, thatI must climb up to by a ladder, and then sit on his back like apin-cushion on an elephant."
Julian at length put his hand to the sleeper's shoulder, and shook him,so as to awake him from his dream; when, after two or three snorts andgroans, the dwarf asked peevishly, what the devil ailed him?
"The devil himself, for what I know," said Peveril, "is at this verymoment in the room here beside us."
The dwarf on this information started up, crossed himself, and beganto hammer a flint and steel with all despatch, until he had lighted alittle piece of candle, which he said was consecrated to Saint Bridget,and as powerful as the herb called _fuga daemonum_, or the liver of thefish burnt by Tobit in the house of Raguel, for chasing all goblins, andevil or dubious spirits, from the place of its radiance; "if, indeed,"as the dwarf carefully guarded his proposition, "they existed anywhere,save in the imagination of his fellow-prisoner."
Accordingly, the apartment was no sooner enlightened by this holycandle's end, than Julian began to doubt the evidence of his own ears;for not only was there no one in the room save Sir Geoffrey Hudson andhimself, but all the fastenings of the door were so secure, that itseemed impossible that they could have been opened and again fixed,without a great deal of noise, which, on the last occasion at least,could not possibly have escaped his ears, seeing that he must have beenon his feet, and employed in searching the chamber, when the unknown, ifan earthly being, was in the act of retreating from it.
Julian gazed for a moment with great earnestness, and no littleperplexity, first on the bolted door, then on the grated window; andbegan to accuse his own imagination of having played him an unpleasanttrick. He answered little to the questions of Hudson, and returningto his bed, heard, in silence, a long studied oration on the merits ofSaint Bridget, which comprehended the greater part of her long-windedlegend, and concluded with the assurance, that, from all accountspreserved of her, that holy saint was the least of all possible women,except those of the pigmy kind.
By the time the dwarf had ceased to speak, Julian's desire of sleep hadreturned; and after a few glances around the apartment, which was stillilluminated by the expiring beams of the holy taper, his eyes were againclosed in forgetfulness, and his repose was not again disturbed in thecourse of that night.
Morning dawns on Newgate, as well as on the freest mountain-turf whichWelshman or wild-goat ever trode; but in so different a fashion, thatthe very beams of heaven's precious sun, when they penetrate into therecesses of the prison-house, have the air of being committed to jail.Still, with the light of day around him, Peveril easily persuadedhimself of the vanity of his preceding night's visions; and smiled whenhe reflected that fancies, similar to those to which his ear was oftenexposed in the Isle of Man, had been able to arrange themselves in amanner so impressive, when he heard them from the mouth of so singular acharacter as Hudson, and in the solitude of a prison.
Before Julian had awaked, the dwarf had already quitted his bed, andwas seated in the chimney-corner of the apartment, where, with hisown hands, he had arranged a morsel of fire, partly attending to thesimmering of a small pot, which he had placed on the flame, partlyoccupied with a huge folio volume which lay on
the table before him, andseemed well-nigh as tall and bulky as himself. He was wrapped up inthe dusky crimson cloak already mentioned, which served him fora morning-gown, as well as a mantle against the cold, and whichcorresponded with a large montero-cap, that enveloped his head. Thesingularity of his features, and of the eyes, armed with spectacles,which were now cast on the subject of his studies, now directed towardshis little cauldron, would have tempted Rembrandt to exhibit him oncanvas, either in the character of an alchymist, or of a necromancer,engaged in some strange experiment, under the direction of one of thehuge manuals which treat of the theory of these mystic arts.
The attention of the dwarf was bent, however, upon a more domesticobject. He was only preparing soup, of no unsavoury quality, forbreakfast, which he invited Peveril to partake with him. "I am an oldsoldier," he said, "and, I must add, an old prisoner; and understand howto shift for myself better than you can do, young man.--Confusion tothe scoundrel Clink, he has put the spice-box out of my reach!--Will youhand it me from the mantelpiece?--I will teach you, as the French haveit, _faire la cuisine;_ and then, if you please, we will divide, likebrethren, the labours of our prison house."
Julian readily assented to the little man's friendly proposal, withoutinterposing any doubt as to his continuing an inmate of the same cell.Truth is, that although, upon the whole, he was inclined to regard thewhispering voice of the preceding evening as the impression of his ownexcited fancy, he felt, nevertheless, curiosity to see how a secondnight was to pass over in the same cell; and the tone of the invisibleintruder, which at midnight had been heard by him with terror, nowexcited, on recollection, a gentle and not unpleasing species ofagitation--the combined effect of awe, and of awakened curiosity.
Days of captivity have little to mark them as they glide away.That which followed the night which we have described afforded nocircumstance of note. The dwarf imparted to his youthful companion avolume similar to that which formed his own studies, and which proved tobe a tome of one of Scuderi's now forgotten romances, of which GeoffreyHudson was a great admirer, and which were then very fashionable both atthe French and English Courts; although they contrive to unite intheir immense folios all the improbabilities and absurdities of the oldromances of chivalry, without that tone of imagination which pervadesthem, and all the metaphysical absurdities which Cowley and the poets ofthe age had heaped upon the passion of love, like so many load of smallcoal upon a slender fire, which it smothers instead of aiding.
But Julian had no alternative, saving only to muse over the sorrowsof Artamenes and Mandane, or on the complicated distresses of his ownsituation; and in these disagreeable divertisements, the morning creptthrough as it could.
Noon first, and thereafter nightfall, were successively marked by abrief visit from their stern turnkey, who, with noiseless step andsullen demeanour, did in silence the necessary offices about the mealsof the prisoners, exchanging with them as few words as an official inthe Spanish Inquisition might have permitted himself upon a similaroccasion. With the same taciturn gravity, very different from thelaughing humour into which he had been surprised on a former occasion,he struck their fetters with a small hammer, to ascertain, by the soundthus produced, whether they had been tampered with by file or otherwise.He next mounted on a table, to make the same experiment on thewindow-grating.
Julian's heart throbbed; for might not one of those grates have been sotampered with as to give entrance to the nocturnal visitant? But theyreturned to the experienced ear of Master Clink, when he struck them inturn with the hammer, a clear and ringing sound, which assured him oftheir security.
"It would be difficult for any one to get in through these defences,"said Julian, giving vent in words to his own feelings.
"Few wish that," answered the surly groom, misconstruing what waspassing in Peveril's mind; "and let me tell you, master, folks will findit quite as difficult to get out." He retired, and night came on.
The dwarf, who took upon himself for the day the whole duties of theapartment, trundled about the room, making a most important clatter ashe extinguished their fire, and put aside various matters which had beenin use in the course of the day, talking to himself all the while in atone of no little consequence, occasionally grounded on the dexteritywith which an old soldier could turn his hand to anything. Then came therepetition of his accustomed prayers; but his disposition to conversedid not, as on the former occasion, revive after his devotions. On thecontrary, long before Julian had closed an eye, the heavy breathing fromSir Geoffrey Hudson's pallet declared that the dwarf was already in thearms of Morpheus.
Amid the total darkness of the apartment, and with a longing desire,and at the same time no small fear, for the recurrence of the mysteriousaddress of the preceding evening, Julian lay long awake without histhoughts receiving any interruption save when the clock told the passinghour from the neighbouring steeple of St. Sepulchre. At length he sunkinto slumber; but had not slept to his judgment above an hour, when hewas roused by the sound which his waking ear had so long expected invain.
"Can you sleep?--Will you sleep?--Dare you sleep?" were the questionsimpressed on his ear, in the same clear, soft, and melodious voice,which had addressed him on the preceding night.
"Who is it asks me the question?" answered Julian. "But be thequestioner good or evil, I reply that I am a guiltless prisoner; andthat innocence may wish and dare to sleep soundly."
"Ask no questions of me," said the voice; "neither attempt to discoverwho speaks to you; and be assured that folly alone can sleep, with fraudaround and danger before him."
"Can you, who tell me of dangers, counsel me how to combat or how toavoid them?" said Julian.
"My power is limited," said the voice; "yet something I can do, as theglow-worm can show a precipice. But you must confide in me."
"Confidence must beget confidence," answered Julian. "I cannot reposetrust in I know not what or whom."
"Speak not so loud," replied the voice, sinking almost into a whisper.
"Last night you said my companion would not awake," said Julian.
"To-night I warrant not that he shall sleep," said the voice. And as itspoke, the hoarse, snatching, discordant tones of the dwarf were heard,demanding of Julian why he talked in his sleep--wherefore he did notrest himself, and let other people rest--and, finally, whether hisvisions of last night were returned upon him again?
"Say yes," said the voice in a whisper, so low, yet so distinct,that Julian almost doubted whether it was not an echo of his ownthought.--"Say but yes--and I part to return no more!"
In desperate circumstances men look to strange and unusual remedies;and although unable to calculate the chances of advantage which thissingular communication opened to him, Julian did not feel inclined tolet them at once escape from him. He answered the dwarf, that he hadbeen troubled by an alarming dream.
"I could have sworn it, from the sound of your voice," said Hudson."It is strange, now, that you overgrown men never possess the extremefirmness of nerves proper to us who are cast in a more compact mould.My own voice retains its masculine sounds on all occasions. Dr. Cockerelwas of opinion, that there was the same allowance of nerve and sinewto men of every size, and that nature spun the stock out thinner orstronger, according to the extent of surface which they were to cover.Hence, the least creatures are oftentimes the strongest. Place a beetleunder a tall candlestick, and the insect will move it by its effortsto get out; which is, in point of comparative strength, as if one of usshould shake his Majesty's prison of Newgate by similar struggles. Catsalso, and weasels, are creatures of greater exertion or endurance thandogs or sheep. And in general, you may remark, that little men dancebetter, and are more unwearied under exertion of every kind, than thoseto whom their own weight must necessarily be burdensome. I respect you,Master Peveril, because I am told you have killed one of those giganticfellows, who go about swaggering as if their souls were taller thanours, because their noses are nearer to the clouds by a cubit or two.But do not value yourself on t
his as anything very unusual. I would haveyou to know it hath been always thus; and that, in the history of allages, the clean, tight, dapper little fellow, hath proved an overmatchfor his bulky antagonist. I need only instance out of Holy Writ, thecelebrated downfall of Goliah, and of another lubbard, who had morefingers to his hand, and more inches to his stature, than ought tobelong to an honest man, and who was slain by a nephew of good KingDavid; and of many others whom I do not remember; nevertheless they wereall Philistines of gigantic stature. In the classics, also, you haveTydeus, and other tight, compact heroes, whose diminutive bodies werethe abode of large minds. And indeed you may observe, in sacred as wellas profane history, that your giants are ever heretics and blasphemers,robbers and oppressors, outragers of the female sex, and scoffersat regular authority. Such were Gog and Magog, whom our authenticchronicles vouch to have been slain near to Plymouth, by the good littleKnight Corineus, who gave name to Cornwall. Ascaparte also was subduedby Bevis, and Colbrand by Guy, as Southampton and Warwick can testify.Like unto these was the giant Hoel, slain in Bretagne by King Arthur.And if Ryence, King of North Wales, who was done to death by the sameworthy champion of Christendom, be not actually termed a giant, it isplain he was little better, since he required twenty-four kings' beards,which were then worn full and long, to fur his gown; whereby computingeach beard at eighteen inches (and you cannot allow less for abeard-royal), and supposing only the front of the gown trimmedtherewith, as we use ermine; and that the back was mounted and lined,instead of cat-skins and squirrels' fur, with the beards of earls anddukes, and other inferior dignitaries--may amount to--But I will workthe question to-morrow."
Nothing is more soporific to any (save a philosopher or moneyedman) than the operation of figures; and when in bed, the effect isirresistible. Sir Geoffrey fell asleep in the act of calculating KingRyence's height, from the supposed length of his mantle. Indeed, hadhe not stumbled on this abstruse subject of calculation, there is noguessing how long he might have held forth upon the superiority ofmen of little stature, which was so great a favourite with him, that,numerous as such narratives are, the dwarf had collected almost allthe instances of their victories over giants, which history or romanceafforded.
No sooner had unequivocal signs of the dwarf's sound slumbers reachedJulian's ears, than he began to listen eagerly for the renewal of thatmysterious communication which was at once interesting and awful. Evenwhilst Hudson was speaking, he had, instead of bestowing his attentionupon his eulogy on persons of low statue, kept his ears on watchfulguard to mark if possible, the lightest sounds of any sort which mightoccur in the apartment; so that he thought it scarce possible thateven a fly should have left it withouts its motion being overheard. If,therefore, his invisible monitor was indeed a creature of thisworld--an opinion which Julian's sound sense rendered him unwilling torenounce--that being could not have left the apartment; and he waitedimpatiently for a renewal of their communication. He was disappointed;not the slightest sound reached his ear; and the nocturnal visitor, ifstill in the room, appeared determined on silence.
It was in vain that Peveril coughed, hemmed, and gave other symptoms ofbeing awake; at length, such became his impatience, that he resolved, atany risk, to speak first, in hopes of renewing the communication betwixtthem. "Whoever thou art," he said, in a voice loud enough to be heardby a waking person, but not so high as to disturb his sleepingcompanion--"Whoever, or whatever thou art, thou hast shown some interestin the fate of such a castaway as Julian Peveril, speak once more, Iconjure thee; and be your communication for good or evil, believe me, Iam equally prepared to abide the issue."
No answer of any kind was returned to this invocation; nor did the leastsound intimate the presence of the being to whom it was so solemnlyaddressed.
"I speak in vain," said Julian; "and perhaps I am but invoking thatwhich is insensible of human feeling, or which takes a malign pleasurein human suffering."
There was a gentle and half-broken sigh from a corner of the apartment,which, answering to this exclamation, seemed to contradict theimputation which it conveyed.
Julian, naturally courageous, and familiarised by this time to hissituation, raised himself in bed, and stretched out his arm, to repeathis adjuration, when the voice, as if alarmed at his action and energy,whispered, in a tone more hurried than that which it had hitherto used,"Be still--move not--or I am mute for ever!"
"It is then a mortal being who is present with me," was the naturalinference of Julian, "and one who is probably afraid of being detected;I have then some power over my visitor, though I must be cautious how Iuse it.--If your intents are friendly," he proceeded, "there was nevera time in which I lacked friends more, or would be more grateful forkindness. The fate of all who are dear to me is weighed in the balance,and with worlds would I buy the tidings of their safety."
"I have said my power is limited," replied the voice. "_You_ I may beable to preserve--the fate of your friends is beyond my control."
"Let me at least know it," said Julian; "and, be it as it may, I willnot shun to share it."
"For whom would you inquire?" said the soft, sweet voice, not withouta tremulousness of accent, as if the question was put with diffidentreluctance.
"My parents," said Julian, after a moment's hesitation; "how farethey?--What will be their fate?"
"They fare as the fort under which the enemy has dug a deadly mine. Thework may have cost the labour of years, such were the impediments to theengineers; but Time brings opportunity upon its wings."
"And what will be the event?" said Peveril.
"Can I read the future," answered the voice, "save by comparison withpast?--Who has been hunted on these stern and unmitigable accusations,but has been at last brought to bay? Did high and noble birth, honouredage, and approved benevolence, save the unfortunate Lord Stafford? Didlearning, capacity of intrigue, or high Court favour, redeem Coleman,although the confidential servant of the heir presumptive of the Crownof England?--Did subtilty and genius, and exertions of a numerous sect,save Fenwicke, or Whitbread, or any other of the accused priests?--WereGroves, Pickering, or the other humble wretches who have suffered, safein their obscurity? There is no condition in life, no degree of talent,no form of principle, which affords protection against an accusation,which levels conditions, confounds characters, renders men's virtuestheir sins, and rates them as dangerous in proportion as they haveinfluence, though attained in the noblest manner, and used for thebest purposes. Call such a one but an accessory to the Plot--let himbe mouthed in the evidence of Oates or Dugdale--and the blindest shallforesee the issue of their trial."
"Prophet of Evil!" said Julian, "my father has a shield invulnerable toprotect him. He is innocent."
"Let him plead his innocence at the bar of Heaven," said the voice; "itwill serve him little where Scroggs presides."
"Still I fear not," said Julian, counterfeiting more confidence thanhe really possessed; "my father's cause will be pleaded before twelveEnglishmen."
"Better before twelve wild beasts," answered the Invisible, "than beforeEnglishmen, influenced with party prejudice, passion, and epidemicterror of an imaginary danger. They are bold in guilt in proportion tothe number amongst whom the crime is divided."
"Ill-omened speaker," said Julian, "thine is indeed a voice fittedonly to sound with the midnight bell, and the screeching owl. Yetspeak again. Tell me, if thou canst"--(He would have said of AliceBridgenorth, but the word would not leave his tongue)--"Tell me," hesaid, "if the noble house of Derby----"
"Let them keep their rock like the sea-fowl in the tempest; and it mayso fall out," answered the voice, "that their rock may be a safe refuge.But there is blood on their ermine; and revenge has dogged them for manya year, like a bloodhound that hath been distanced in the morningchase, but may yet grapple the quarry ere the sun shall set. At present,however, they are safe.--Am I now to speak farther on your own affairs,which involve little short of your life and honour?"
"There is," said Julian, "one, from whom
I was violently partedyesterday; if I knew but of her safety, I were little anxious for myown."
"One!" returned the voice, "only _one_ from whom you were partedyesterday?"
"But in parting from whom," said Julian, "I felt separated from allhappiness which the world can give me."
"You mean Alice Bridgenorth," said the Invisible, with some bitternessof accent; "but her you will never see more. Your own life and hersdepend on your forgetting each other."
"I cannot purchase my own life at that price," replied Julian.
"Then DIE in your obstinacy," returned the Invisible; nor to all theentreaties which he used was he able obtain another word in the courseof that remarkable night.