CHAPTER I.
THE PHANTOM FLEA.--THE LAWYER'S STORY.[1]
One morning, many years ago, whilst sitting idly in my chambers in town,I received a letter from Baron ---- to come down for a few days to hiscountry seat in ----shire. It was on business he wanted me; he had gotinvolved in some quarrel. The case was about to be brought before thecourt, and the Baron wanted a legal adviser.
[1] In the spirit world all those who have been bloodthirsty to excess inhabit the forms of fleas.--WILLIAM BLAKE, _Poet and Visionary_. (_Quoted from memory._)
Having heard much of my abilities, as he said, he thought he could notdo better than write to me at once. He regretted that business wouldprevent him from being at the Hall on my arrival, but he hoped to returnhome some time the next day. In the meantime he had told his housekeeperto make up a bed for me at the Hall, and had left open his bookcase,lest the time might hang heavy on my hands.
Glad of an excuse to leave town, as it was getting very hot and I hadnothing to do, I took the stage, and towards the middle of the next dayfound myself in front of the Baron's country seat.
It was a fine, stately mansion, surrounded by a moat. I crossed thedrawbridge, and inquired whether the Baron was at home. A respectablematron answered the door. She replied in the negative to my question.
Then, asking if I were Mr. Hardcase, the lawyer, and learning that Iwas, she said "The Baron left word that he would be at home some timeto-morrow, or the day after for certain; that in the meantime you wereto make yourself quite at home, sir."
"Oh, very well," said I; "I am rather tired just at present. Leave mehere among the Baron's books. When I have sufficiently rested I shouldlike to look over the house. It seems a curious old place."
"Yes, sir, it is a _very_ old place," said the housekeeper. "Butwouldn't you like to take a little refreshment first?"
Being then past one o'clock, and having had but a hurried breakfast, Ithanked her and said I thought I could manage a little lightrefreshment. She then left me alone, but soon returned with a traycontaining what seemed to be the fag end of a sumptuous banquet. Therewas venison pasty, a boiled leg of turkey, some ham, vegetables, breadand cheese, salad, raspberry and currant tart, a bottle of good oldcrusted port, some sherry, Burgundy, etc.
Having done justice to this light repast, I rang the bell for the thingsto be cleared away; after which I took down a great number of volumesfrom the bookcase, and throwing myself into an easy-chair, I depositedthe books in a heap upon the floor, and began examining their titles,and occasionally reading a passage here and there when it interested me.
The first book I laid hands on was "Fox's Book of Martyrs," with platesshowing the various modes of torture by which the early Christians wereput to death. I passed on to the next. This was a book of Chinesepunishments, with Chinese illustrations. I opened the book at a plate ofa man being skinned alive.
Having little taste for these sort of horrors, I closed the book andpassed on to the next. The third book was a description of celebratedexecutions, with a plate as frontispiece of a man being hanged, drawn,and quartered. "The Baron seems fond of the horrible," I thought, and Itook up another. This was on bull-baiting, cock-fighting, and othercruel sports. Another was a book on poisons. A sixth, on the variousmodes of self-defence. A seventh, a book on field sports. I put down thebook for a moment and sat musing, trying to imagine to myself whatmanner of man the Baron might be. I gazed round the room, and noticedthat it was hung round by trophies of the chase--stags' antlers, foxes'brushes, intermingled with guns, powder-flasks, etc. Here and there werehung half suits of armour, belonging, no doubt, to the Baron'sancestors.
Then, from musing I fell into a dose, and dreamed of the wild hunter andall sorts of curious and horrible things.
On awaking I reflected that I had not been over the house, so I went insearch of the housekeeper, who asked me if I would like to see thepicture gallery. Nothing loth, I followed my guide, who pointed me outthe portraits of the present Baron's ancestors for I know not how manygenerations back.
The portrait of the present Baron was not amongst them. I noticed astrong family likeness running through all of the portraits, and Iwondered if the Baron inherited the likeness. I asked the housekeeper,and she assured me that he did in a very striking degree. On leaving thegallery, I passed through long oaken corridors, through immense chambershung with tapestry, on which were depicted either battles or scenes ofthe chase.
"The Baron inherits the tastes of his ancestors, it would appear," Isaid to the matron.
"Ah! sir," said she, with a sigh, and tried to force a smile, but it wasa bitter one.
I took little notice of her expression at the time, and soon after lefther, to stroll about in the garden. It was a spacious one, laid out ingood taste. There were terraces, broad velvet lawns, cedars of Lebanon,avenues of yew trees, glimpses of distant hills, flower beds, luxuriantwith every variety of the choicest flowers. There were broad walks andserpentine paths, oaks, beeches, elms; a lake with an island in themiddle, which was reached by a rustic bridge; weeping-willows,summer-houses, and everything that could be desired. I strolled aboutthe garden, struck with admiration every step I took at the exquisitetaste with which everything was carried out, and wondered how it wasthat the same mind which took such delight in the horrible shouldpossess such exquisite refinement of taste in the planning of hisgarden.
I doubted the garden being the result of the Baron's own taste, nor wasI mistaken, as I afterwards ascertained from the housekeeper. I strolledback towards the house, which I examined carefully over for the secondtime, then strolled out again into the garden, and so on till supper,which I took about nine o'clock.
Feeling rather lonely, I invited Mrs. Wharton, the housekeeper, to keepme company during my solitary meal. She sat down opposite to me as Icommenced devouring my cold fowl and tongue, and helped myself to aglass of the Baron's ale. She was an agreeable old lady, and seemed tohave known better days.
"This is a curious old place," I began. "Have you any rats here?"
"No, sir, none now," answered the matron.
"Nor bugs?"
"No."
"Nor fleas?"
"No, sir,--that is to say, only one," and her face assumed a solemnexpression.
"Only _one_!" I exclaimed, laughing.
"Yes, sir," said she, gravely--"only the _Phantom_; only the _Baron_."
"_Phantom! Baron!_" I exclaimed, bewildered. "Ah, you have a ghost storyin the family, I see; but I don't think you quite understood myquestion," I said. "I did not inquire about phantoms, or barons; myquestion referred simply to fleas."
"Yes, yes; I perfectly understand, sir," replied the matron; "and Irepeat that the _phantom flea_ is the only flea that inhabits thismansion."
"_The Phantom Flea!_" Here I exploded. "Well, of all the oddsuperstitions I ever heard of, that beats them all. Really, my goodwoman, you should _not_--you should not, indeed, believe in such trash."
"Ah, sir," replied the matron, "it is plain to see that you are astranger in these parts. Is it possible you have never heard of the'Baron's flea?'"
"Never in all my life before, I assure you, my good woman," I replied;"but, as it is a thing apparently well known, I should like to hear theparticulars of the case."
"Well, sir," began the housekeeper, "you must know that some two hundredyears or so back one of the Baron's ancestors, one Sir Ralph ----inhabited this mansion. The room that you will sleep in to-night was hisroom; the self same bed and furniture that you saw this morning werethere in his time. He was not a man generally liked by those around him;in fact, it would not be too much to say that he was universally hated.No one could remember any good act or kind word of the Baron's. He wascruel, bloodthirsty, tyrannical, avaricious, ambitious, and sensual.From early youth he was always allowed to have his own way, and when hecame into power he was the scourge of the neighbourhood.
"There was no restraining his cruelty and malignity. Anyone who daredoppose himself to his
will was put to death. He thought no more oftaking the life of a peasant than one would in wringing the neck of afowl. Maidens were carried off with impunity, and sometimes murdered;men were found stabbed or mangled to death by the Baron's hounds;cottages were set fire to, and their inhabitants driven out to seekrefuge where they could; robberies were committed, churches pillaged,convents sacked, monks driven out and occasionally burnt alive forpastime; nuns carried off by ruffians to the Baron's hall; in short,every species of outrage and plunder conceivable. Such a state ofaffairs could not endure for ever. It gave rise to a rebellion. Thelong-oppressed people would suffer it no longer, and rose to a man. Theywould fain have broken into the Baron's hall, and have torn him limbfrom limb; but the Baron's myrmidons were powerful and well armed; and,cutting their way through the crowd with the Baron at their head, sparedneither man, woman, nor child.
"The mob, driven back, were subdued for a time; but the law interfered,though with little better success; for the first time that constableswere sent to arrest the Baron, he sent them back again to those who sentthem with their noses and ears slit. Such an insult as this against theservants of the law could not be stood any longer. Grand preparationswere made for the immediate arrest of the Baron and his ruffians, withan order to raze his castle to the ground, which would most assuredlyhave been carried into effect, had not the sudden death of the Baronrendered such measures unnecessary.
"The Baron's death was mysterious. Some say he made away with himself,rather than fall into the hands of justice. Others assert that he wasstruck by lightning as a punishment for his many crimes. Others, that hewas killed in a fray. But the story most current is, that a manintroduced himself into the Baron's household as servant, whose bridethe Baron had dishonoured, and avenged himself by putting an end to theBaron's life by poison.
"However this was, testimony goes much to prove that the Baron was founddead in his bed. How long he took dying is uncertain, but traditiontells that his last moments were horrible. He refused to see a fatherconfessor, and died in his sins.
"He was succeeded by his son, a peaceful and studious youth, muchbeloved by the people, who did not seem to inherit a drop of the oldBaron's blood. In some of his later descendants, however, the spirit ofthe old Baron seemed to reign again. When the death of the Baron wasmade known, great rejoicings manifested themselves in the neighbourhood.Everyone wanted to know the particulars of the Baron's mysterious end.Strange stories were set afloat, many of which are believed to this day.But one thing universally believed is, that, as a punishment for hissins, the Baron's spirit is condemned to inhabit the form of a flea ofuncommon size, which sucks the blood of all strangers who sleep in thatbed. His power, however, is confined to that chamber. Other rooms areleft unmolested. The marks left on the body by the bite of this fellinsect are extremely large, being about the size of a wen, and the painendures for a considerable time. I can speak from experience, for I havebeen bitten myself. The flea may be seen by anyone who chooses to sleepin that room. One night spent in that chamber will be enough to convinceany unbeliever of the truth of my assertion.
"Many and futile have been the attempts to catch this obnoxious insect.It eludes all chase. It was not for many years after the Baron's death,and until many of the occupants of that chamber had been repeatedlybitten, and all attempts to capture the offensive creature had beenabandoned in despair, that the belief that the Baron's spirit inhabitedits fell body grew firmly rooted in the minds of the surrounding gentry.
"If, after what I have related to you, sir, you feel inclined to changeyour room, I shall have much pleasure in making you up a bed in anotherchamber, although it is against the Baron's orders; for, knowing what awretched night you _must_ spend within that haunted chamber, I feel acompassion for you, sir, and all strangers that the Baron cruelly handsover to the spirit of his wicked ancestor."
"On the contrary, Mrs. Wharton," I said, "I have the greatest curiosityto encounter this wonderful flea. Your conversation has been mostinteresting, and as it is now past ten o'clock, I don't care how soon Imake his aristocratic acquaintance."
"Do as you please, sir," said Mrs. Wharton, "but if you should feeluncomfortable in the night, you've but to knock at my door, the nextroom to yours, and I will gladly make you up a bed in No. 12."
"No, thank you, Mrs. Wharton; I am much obliged to you all the same. Ihave no doubt that the Baron and I will be capital friends."
"Well, sir, I wish you a pleasant night of it, I am sure," said thehousekeeper, as she handed me a candle. "Good-night, sir."
"Good-night, Mrs. Wharton."
I walked up stairs to the haunted chamber. Having reached the landing, Ientered my room and locked myself in for the night. In spite of myforced levity, I must admit that I felt a certain feeling of awe comeover me upon entering the chamber once occupied by the author of so manycrimes. I could not but think that Mrs. Wharton herself thoroughlybelieved in what seemed to me a popular superstition, but the more Ireflected on what she had told me of the Baron's crimes, the lessludicrous did the idea of the Baron's metempsychosis appear to me.
What, after all, was there ridiculous in a flea more than in any otherhideous creature? The feeling of the ludicrous in my mind was supplantedby one of horror. "There are more things in heaven and earth than aredreamed of in our philosophy," I muttered. I could not make up my mindto go to rest immediately. In fact, I did not feel in the least sleepy.I busied myself in examining the room minutely to see if there were anytrap-door or sliding panel; and, tapping all the walls, expected everymoment to touch some spring and for some panel to fly back, discoveringa secret staircase. I examined the bed and under the bed, but coulddiscover nothing. The Baron's portrait hung over the mantelpiece. Ilifted up the picture to see if there was any hole in the wallunderneath, but there was nothing but good solid panel; nor could I inany part of the room discover anything suspicious. I partially undressedand seated myself in a large arm-chair in front of the Baron's portrait.I was extremely interested in the perusal of his features, and had nodifficulty in believing all the atrocities attributed to the original.The more I gazed at it, the more it fascinated me. I could not take myeyes from it. Somehow or other the features seemed familiar to me; Ifancied I had seen them somewhere. I tried to collect my thoughts. Wherehad I seen them before?
Suddenly I recollected a horrible criminal, who had murdered a wholefamily and committed other heinous atrocities, and had been executed ayear or two before. I had to plead for him at the trial, but theevidence was so strong against him, that no earthly power could save himfrom the gibbet. The likeness between this wretch and the portraitbefore me was very remarkable. This, then, was the incarnation of deepcrime. These are the features that mark a life given up to every sort ofcruelty, licentiousness, and depravity. The physiognomy was peculiar,and never to be forgotten when once seen. The head was round as abullet, the hair red, short and bristly, the moustache and peaked beardof the same hue; the eyes greenish, and obliquely set in the head, likethose of a cat, with an expression of the most indescribable ferocityand malice. The eyebrows red and tufted, running up also in an obliquedirection, one of them being considerably higher than the other. Betweenthe brows was a deep line. The forehead was flat, and retired from thetemples in two separate peaks, that appeared to run up nearly to theback of his head; the nose was at once hooked and flat, like the bill ofa parrot; the mouth was wide; the lips thin and compressed, withunpleasant lines at the corners; the chin and jaw square and massive;the neck resembling that of a bull; the ears were unusually large, andstuck out at the sides; the complexion was florid, with two pouchesunder the eyes, which seemed to drag the eyes down and give them abloodshot appearance. A deep line in the cheeks, extending from eachwing of the nose to the corners of the mouth, gave to the countenance alook of cynical disdain, and completed a portrait at once characteristicand revolting. The costume was early Elizabethan, and the arms of theBaron, together with his name and his age--forty-six--when the portraitwas taken, were depicted with th
e date in the corner of the picture. Fora while I sat musing. "Fit spirit," I muttered, "to inhabit the form ofa flea! Heartless, worthless, bloodthirsty." I gazed at the portraitwith feelings of horror and disgust. The eyes seemed to answer myexpression with a look of anger.
I was unable to judge of the merits of the picture as a work of art,being little versed in such matters; but of one thing I am certain, thatthe painter had endeavoured to imitate as truthfully as it lay in hispower all the leading characteristics of the Baron's physiognomy withoutany attempt at flattery.
As I mused it grew late; it was now just upon midnight. I finishedundressing and climbed into my bed, a high old-fashioned four-posterwith heavy embroidered curtains. The Baron still scowled at me from themantelpiece, but, without returning his gaze, I set to work diligentlyto search for the flea. I drew back the top sheet slowly until the wholebed was uncovered. I shook the blankets and counterpane and looked underthe pillow, but all in vain, not a glimpse of a flea was visible. It wasa clean, well-aired bed, so, feeling now rather sleepy, I covered myselfup with the bed-clothes and blew out the light, with every prospect ofa good night's rest before me. But, alas! how soon was I undeceived.Hardly had I gone off into my first sleep, when I was suddenly awokefrom a delicious dream with a sharp, sudden pang, like a stab or thetooth of some venomous reptile in the fleshy part of my thigh. I startedup in horror, hardly able to restrain a slight shriek. The night wasdark and stormy, the winds howled without, and the old mansion shookfrom its foundations. "The Phantom Flea!" I muttered, horrified, andreached out my hand for my tinder-box; but before I was able to strike alight, I experienced a second sharp stinging pain in the small of theback, then another in the calf of my leg. By this time I had succeededin striking a light. Some scorpion, I thought. So, lighting my candle, Icommenced a rigid search.
At length I caught sight of the vile insect. There it was, sure enough,a flea, and no mistake about it, but what a monster! It must have beenthe size of a coffee bean. What legs! How it hopped from one side of thebed to the other!
Well, gentlemen, I used my utmost endeavours to capture it; and here letme add that I am generally rather expert at that sort of game, havinghad some practice in my time; but, would you believe it, gentlemen, itfoiled all my best endeavours, although I kept it in sight all the time.I was a full hour and a half engaged in this undignified chase. The"Phantom Flea" defied me to the last. What was I to do? I couldn't situp all night hunting a flea, and yet to get any sleep with such amonster in the bed was equally impossible. Suddenly I recollected that Ihad a small bottle of opium in my waistcoat pocket, which I hadpurchased the day before to relieve a toothache that I had caught fromsitting in the theatre at one end of a row of stalls, close to the door,which kept continually opening and shutting. I rose and searched for thebottle, and swallowed more, perhaps, than under ordinary circumstanceswould have been good for me, got into bed again, and blew out the light.The first sensation I experienced was that of a deliciously gradualdropping off to sleep, but the keenness of my senses was increased ahundred-fold. My memory and my imagination bordered on the abnormal.Every event in my life, from the cradle up to the present moment, rosebefore my mind in microscopic detail.
The room was dark; nevertheless, my eye, grown accustomed to the light,and sharpened by the effects of the opium, enabled me to discover everyobject in the room distinctly. There was the bed, the counterpane, everylittle tuft worked on it with painful distinctness. There was thetexture of the sheets; every fibre of the blankets, and last, but notleast, the "Phantom Flea" hopping about and around me, and biting mehere and there at his pleasure. The opium in some measure relieved theseverity of the bite, though the latter was still painful enough toprevent me from going off to sleep altogether. The sensation of delirium(for I can call it nothing else) caused by the opium seemed toincrease. The room appeared to grow lighter and lighter, till it seemedto glow with a phosphoric glare.
My sight, hearing, and other senses grew rapidly more and more acute.Everything around me seemed to swell and dilate into proportionspositively enormous. I felt myself grow larger, the bed grew larger, theroom grew larger, the picture grew larger, and the _flea_ grew larger.Larger and larger swelled the bed; larger, _larger_, and ever largergrew the flea, till it attained the proportions of a horse. I noticedthat the larger it grew, the less like a flea and more human it became.At length it appeared to stop growing, and to decrease, if anything. Ithad now assumed the size of a man, and a form almost human. There itstood at the foot of my bed, with its arms folded on its breast, and itseye steadily fixed upon mine. How shall I describe the horror of mysituation--feeling my eyes rivetted on that hideous face with apreternatural fascination? To remove them was impossible. Yet to gaze onit further was death. I can describe my feelings to nothing else thanthe sensation of gradually turning into stone. I felt life fast ebbingfrom me. My head whirled, I gasped for breath. I tried to speak, toimplore for mercy, but my voice was gone. I felt my last moment hadcome.
The remorseless flea seemed conscious of my agony, and gloated on mysufferings, for he never took his stony eye off me all the while. Unableto move, and bathed in a profuse perspiration, I must have died inanother instant from sheer agony and terror, had I not by a supernaturaleffort gathered up my last dying energies, and burst out in a loud,despairing yell that seemed to pierce the walls of the whole house. Ifelt the spell broken for the time. The fiend himself seemed startled bythe sudden and preternatural shrillness of the scream, and for a momentchanged the expression of his countenance. Feeling his eye no longerfixed upon mine with that fearful intensity, I dared to breathe again;but I had awoke Mrs. Wharton in the next room, and she knocked at mydoor to ask me what was the matter.
"Nothing, thank you," I said; "only a dream; don't be alarmed."
So Mrs. Wharton retired to her room again.
The monster who had never left me during all this time, at length spoke.
"I have summoned you here to-night, because I have need of you. I amthat Baron Ralph, the ruthless, whose deeds of bloodshed you havealready heard of, and for which deeds he is condemned nightly to inhabitthe form of a flea. You have experienced my power, and your paltryscepticism has been shaken. Listen now to me. I do not always inhabitthe contemptible form in which you first saw me. In the daytime I wanderto and fro on the earth, and inhabit by turns the bodies of such menwhose natural propensities are in harmony with my own. Wretch! do youknow that the man, who, through your inability to save, was executedfor some few paltry murders, was none other than myself in the flesh?That it was _my_ body that suffered the pain and disgrace of execution,_my_ spirit that was driven back by your incapacity, to inhabit the formof one of the vilest of insects? Think not to escape my resentment. Ihave need of you again, it is true, but I do not ask you a favour, Icommand you to obey. Spirits of my order do not ask; they command andthreaten, and if disobeyed, punish."
Aware of the awful power of this fell being and knowing all resistancevain, I thought it best to assume as humble a position as I could, inorder to milden the severity of his look and manner--that fearful lookthat I had experienced only a few minutes ago, and which might kill meoutright a second time. Therefore I prostrated myself before him on thebed, and in the most abject tones began.
"Illustrious flea! I will do all----"
"Irreverent varlet!" exclaimed the Baron, fiercely, darting at me aglance from his evil eye that froze my very marrow. "That name isoffensive to me, another such title as that, and I'll--I'll"--here theBaron's face went through the most hideously savage contortions that itis possible to imagine. The Baron's portrait taken in the flesh was uglyenough, but it was an ideal of manly beauty compared with the infernalaspect of this demon flea before me.
"Mercy! mercy!" cried I, gasping.
"Oh, yes, 'Mercy, mercy,'" retorted the Baron, with a sneer. "Very well,then, this time, but mind----" Here his countenance again assumed aferocious expression. "Ha! ha!" he cried. "You thought to outwit me bytaking opium to deaden my bite.
Fool! know it was _I_ who made you buythat opium; not to make you _sleep_, but to _awaken_ your dull senses tosuch a pitch that the gross material clay that clogs your vision mightbe, as it were, doffed for a moment, and that your keener eyesight mightbe able to grasp my form a degree nearer resembling that which I bore inthe flesh, thereby in a measure removing the barrier between our beings;and each, as it were, meeting on neutral ground, to the end that youshould know my pleasure and obey my commands. It was I who caused you tocatch that toothache, by inspiring you to go to the theatre. It was Iwho so ordained the distribution of the tickets that that ticket nearthe door should fall to your lot, where I knew you would take cold inthe tooth, being subject to the toothache. I then, by my subtle arts,caused you to buy that bottle of opium and bring it here with you. Ithen worried you by continual biting, till I forced you to seek comfortin that opium bottle, and now that your usually obtuse senses are raisedto that abnormal state necessary to converse with beings of my order,listen, and give ear to what I have to say."
"Awful being, say on," I muttered.
"You must know, then," he continued, "that my spirit inhabits by daythe body of the present Baron who bears my name, though at night I amcompelled to assume the ignoble shape of a flea. At this present momentmy descendant lies in his bed lifeless. My spirit will animate his clayto-morrow. Call upon him early, and you will learn from him what I havenot time to discuss with you now, as it is now daybreak and my power ison the wane. Farewell."
So saying, he gradually decreased in size, losing every moment more andmore of the _human_ element that he had assumed, and growing more andmore into the likeness of a flea the smaller he grew, till he returnedto the size he appeared when I first saw him, and then vanishedmysteriously. The exciting effects of the opium had worn off, but theyhad given place to a feeling of deep depression. My head felt too heavyfor me, and ached terribly; my eyeballs were as if weighed down by lead.I could not sleep comfortably, and I was too lazy to get up. I loathedmy own existence, and hated everybody and everything around me. Thoughtsof suicide haunted me, and I had a momentary thought of emptying thewhole of the remaining contents of the bottle down my throat, and so putan end to my misery for ever. But then I bethought me of the Baron; itmight be the means of invoking again the "Phantom Flea."
He might be angry at being recalled, and possibly carry me off, soul andall. I turned and tossed about restlessly in my bed, and kicked thebed-clothes on to the floor. The cold grey dawn broke in at my window.I thought I would get up, so, giving one desperate spring, I foundmyself upon my feet. My tongue was parched, and a cold sweat matted myhair. I felt a prodigious thirst, and emptied a whole water-bottle; thenI proceeded to dress, but I soon found that to shave was an utterimpossibility. My hand shook as with the palsy, so I abandoned theattempt. Unshaven, unkempt, and negligently dressed, with haggard lookand listless steps, I sauntered about the lonely corridors of themansion like a restless spirit, until I heard the footsteps of Mrs.Wharton about the house. I started at the slightest noise. I was soonaccosted by that worthy, who, of course, wanted to know how I had slept.
"I passed an indifferent night," I replied. "I foolishly took some opiumto make me sleep, and it has given me the headache. By the by,"--I said,to change the conversation, so as to avoid being questioned, for I sawthe old lady was scanning my countenance--"by the by, where did you saythe Baron was staying? If not too far off, I should like to call uponhim; a walk might do me good."
"About five miles off, sir, in the next village, at the sign of 'TheSwan,'" said the housekeeper; "as straight as ever you can go, sir, youcan't miss it."
"Thank you," said I.
"Poor, poor, gentleman," I heard the housekeeper mutter to herself, as Istarted off, "I knew he would suffer."
I set off at a brisk pace; the sun had just risen, a silver mist wasrising, and a gentle breeze somewhat alleviated the fever of my burningbrow, but my legs felt weak. I tottered on for half-a-mile further; hereI found a mile-stone and sat down to rest upon it. My reflections weregloomy. My recollections of the previous night were painfully vivid. Mydream, my vision, my spiritual visitation, or whatever you like to callit, did not vanish upon waking, like an ordinary dream, but remaineddeeply rooted in my brain with fearful accuracy of detail. I recollectedword for word all the monster had uttered; recalled his tone of voice,his remarkable shape--that curious and hideous blending of thecharacteristics of the flea with the human form, the revolting, fiendishugliness of the _tout ensemble_, but above all, of that basilisk eye. Myblood ran cold as I thought of it.
"Have I then lived to hold converse with a being of the lower world?" Imuttered, to myself. "Am I awake, or is this but a continuation of thedream?" I gave my arm a pinch, a hard twisted pinch, with all my mightand main, to ascertain if I were sleeping or waking, but the scenebefore me remained the same, and my recollections of the past night wereas vivid as ever. I took off my hat to wipe my brow and let the coolbreeze play with my locks and about my heated temples. I gazed at thesmiling scene around me. What a contrast to the hell I bore within.
"O glorious orb!" I ejaculated, "author and vivifier of all nature,through every grade of creation, illumine the haunted chambers of mydark soul with thy golden beams; bring balm to my jaded spirit and renewthe bright hope of my earlier years. Give me strength to bear mytottering limbs to the end of my pilgrimage; or, if that be not grantedme, take all there is left--take my life, great orb of day! Type of myown once aspiring youth, quicken my flagging energies and breathe intome new life, new hope, new strength."
Whilst thus apostrophising the rising sun, I experienced something likethe fire of my boyish days returning to my frame. I actually felt anappetite. I rose from my seat considerably refreshed, and continued myjourney. I walked on with buoyant step; I had all but forgotten theadventure of the past night. If it rose up before me again at intervals,I speedily chased it from my mind.
At length I espied the village in the distance. Another half-mile led meup to the door of "The Swan Inn." It was then about seven o'clock. A rawcountry youth, evidently the boots, was beating a mat outside the door.
"Is the Baron within?" I asked.
"Wal, he b'ain't up yet, zur," replied the youth.
"Oh, never mind," I said, "I will wait, and as soon as he is up tell hima gentleman is waiting to see him."
"Very well, zur."
"Would you like to wait here in the parlour, sir?" said the buxomlandlady, who had overheard our dialogue. "The Baron can't be long; heis generally up by this time, or if you will follow me, sir, I willknock at his door, and you can wait in his sitting-room till he comesout."
"Thank you," I said, as I followed the landlady upstairs, and was ledinto the sitting-room. The landlady knocked at the Baron's door. Noanswer.
"Don't awake him, pray," said I, "if he's asleep."
"Oh, but the Baron told me to call him early, sir."
She knocked again. Again no answer. The landlady paused a few moments tolisten if he was getting up, then tapped again louder, louder still, butall was silent. The hostess ventured to open the door ajar. The Baronwas in bed. She entered the room. A pause, a slight scream, and thelandlady came running out to me, pale and terrified.
"Oh, sir," she said, in a faint voice, "the Baron--theBaron--is--_dead_!"
"_Dead!_" I exclaimed. "When? how?"
"It is true, sir. Come and see."
I entered the Baron's chamber. There he lay, sure enough, to allappearance dead. I touched him; he was as cold as ice. I was much struckwith the singular resemblance of the defunct Baron before me to theportrait of Baron Ralph that hung over the mantelpiece in my chamber. Itis true that the Baron before me was a younger man, that he wore ashaven face instead of a moustache and peaked beard, that the lividcolour of the corpse was unlike the florid complexion of Baron Ralph;but the features were exact, the shape of the head, the colour of thehair and the way it grew; the same tufted red eyebrows, the right oneconsiderably higher than the left; the same bent flat nose a
nd tightlycompressed lips, with cruel lines at the corners; the chin, the jaw, thedeep line between the brows, in fact, the whole man seemed the exactcounterpart of the old Baron.
A horrible recollection passed through my mind. I remembered having seenthe criminal before alluded to after his execution. What a startlinglikeness between the features of the executed criminal and those of theBaron's corpse before me. I shuddered. A portion of the phantom'sconversation on the preceding night occurred to me suddenly. Whatif--could it be that----
I called the landlady. The whole inn was in a state of confusion. Thenews of the Baron's death had circulated through the whole village bythis time.
"Perhaps," said I, "the Baron may not be quite dead, he may be in atrance, he may be---- At any rate, don't you think it would be best tosend for the doctor, to hear his opinion?"
The doctor was accordingly sent for, and arriving shortly, was at onceshown into the Baron's room. The landlady and a great part of thehousehold followed.
"Why, of course he's dead," replied the leech, brusquely, in answer totheir eager questions. "Can't you see that?"
"If, nevertheless," said I, timidly, "you would not mind opening avein----"
"I'll open a vein, if you like," he answered, bluntly; "but, I tell you,the man's dead!"
Then, taking out his lancet, he opened a vein in the right arm.
"You see now, I hope," said the leech, "that it is utterly useless;there is not a drop of blood."
"Then," said the landlady, "the Baron really _is_--dead?"
"Dead! _Dead as mutton_," replied the doctor.
At this juncture the face of the corpse grew violently convulsed, hiseyes rolled, the colour returned suddenly to his cheeks, and leapingfrom the bed with terrific energy, he seized the bolster, with which hebelaboured the terrified inmates of "The Swan" right and left, knockingover the little doctor, and sending me into the landlady's lap, and the"boots" flying out of the room with a yell of terror, besides upsettingevery utensil of crockery that stood in the way.
"Dead, am I!" roared the Baron, "dead, eh! Where's that scurvyapothecary--that spreader of plaisters, that pill-maker, thatcow-bleeder--that dared to open one of _my_ veins?"
The little doctor had crept under the bed.
"And you, sir," cried he, turning upon me, "for advising him to try hisfilthy experiments upon me," and swinging round his bolster, sent metottering against the wall.
"Dead as _mutton_, eh! By the blood of my ancestors, I never had suchfoul language used to me before. What! compare the aristocratic fleshof one descended from such a line of ancestors as mine to mutton! Ugh!_Mutton_, quotha? I'll mutton _you_," cried the Baron, aiming a blow atthe little doctor's head, which he caught peeping from beneath the bed.
The doctor ducked in his head, and attempted a clandestine escape on hishands and knees by the door, but was immediately pulled back by thecoat-tails by the Baron.
"Not so easily, young vein-opener, do you escape the clutches of theBaron. Bind up my wound, Sir Shaveling, and think yourself lucky that Ispare your paltry life for the vile trick which you, in your blindignorance of this phenomenon of my aristocratic constitution, dared topractise upon me. Keep that instrument for the bleeding of cows andhorses. That's more in your line than the flesh of great nobles likeme."
The Baron's wound was bleeding profusely. The floor was covered withpools of blood. The landlady had fallen into hysterics, and had to becarried out of the room. The leech stammered out a sort of apology andset meekly about his task of binding up the Baron's wound.
"Silence!" roared the Baron, "and no more prattle."
The arm being at length bound up, the doctor took his departure withoutfurther severity on the part of the Baron, who had now cooled downconsiderably.
Whether it was the loss of blood, or what, a marked change had takenplace in the Baron's demeanour. He apologised amply to me for theeffects of hereditary temper of which he was the victim, and invited meto breakfast. The breakfast was brought up by the landlord himself, aseveryone else refused to enter the Baron's apartments, saying that theBaron must be the devil himself, and no one else.
"I'm afraid," said the Baron, addressing the landlord, "that Ifrightened your good lady dreadfully this morning, eh?"
"Well, my lord," said the host, "she did take on about it a little,but----"
"I am sincerely sorry for my rudeness," apologised the Baron, "but myinfirmity is ungovernable. It is a disease I inherit from my ancestors;I am given every now and then to some uncontrollable burst of passionwhen my nerves are a little out of order, which is generally the firstthing in the morning."
"Indeed, my lord," said the good-hearted landlord, with some compassionin his face, "but your lordship's sudden coming to life again after thedoctor had pronounced you dead, that was what staggered us alldownstairs."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the Baron. "Yes; well, I dare say it did appear ratherstartling, but it is nothing to those who know me. The fact is, I amsubject to a peculiar sort of trance, much resembling death; that also Iinherit from my ancestors."
"Well, my lord, it's strange. I hope it's nothing dangerous. At anyrate, I am glad to see your lordship looking so well again," said thehost.
"Thank you, thank you, my good host," replied the Baron.
"It would have been an ugly thing, you know, my lord, for your lordshipto have died suddenly in my inn. It would have looked like foul play,"said the landlord.
"True, true, my good host; I understand," replied his lordship. "I trustyou'll convey my best apologies to your good lady for----"
"Oh, I trust your lordship won't mention it," said the landlord; "and ifthere is anything else your lordship may require----"
"Nothing, thank you," said the Baron; and the landlord left the room.
I was surprised at the change in the Baron's manner. Perhaps, after all,he might not be so bad as he appeared. His infirmity of temper wascertainly against him. His personal appearance no less so. Nevertheless,in his better moments he appeared to possess the manners of a gentleman.I began to fancy that the experiences of the past night might, afterall, have been a dream, until I caught sight again of the enormousflea-bites on my hands, which still smarted.
The Baron's manner to me during breakfast was most affable. Afterbreakfast we left the inn together and strolled leisurely towards theHall. On the way the Baron made me acquainted with the particulars ofhis case, and I promised to do the best I could to serve him.Nevertheless, I saw at once that the Baron was most decidedly in thewrong. I told him it was likely to go hard with him; in fact, I said Idid not see how he could well get off.
The Baron frowned, and we walked on in silence towards the Hall. Thatvery day the case was tried at the assizes, and in spite of all myefforts, the Baron lost. I will not weary you with the details of thecase. Suffice it that there was oppression and injustice on the part ofthe Baron which could not be excused, resulting from a morbid belief inhis own importance.
After the court broke up the Baron led me in silence to the Hall andbeckoned me to his room, the walls of which were covered over with everysort of weapon of defence under the sun. There were pistols, daggers,blunderbusses, rapiers, broadswords, cutlasses, Malay creases, poisonedspear heads, a two-handed sword, probably belonging to his ancestor ofcruel memory, and an iron bar to which were attached a chain and ball ofspikes.
On entering the room he slammed the door, and turning suddenly upon me,he hissed out, "Paltry pettifogger, this is the second time that throughyour d----d bungling I have been brought to disgrace. Not content withhanging me once, you have played me foul a second time. But think not toescape me now," and he cleared the room with one terrific stride. (Nowalmost for the first time I noticed the enormous length of the Baron'slegs.) "Choose your weapons," he cried, "and thank your stars that Idon't fell you on the spot as I would an ox."
"But--but--I don't see how you have a right to--to--I did all in mypower to----" stammered I. "I don't think you ought to be offended.Reflect, my dear Baron,"
I said. "I am sure, in your better mood, youwill see the matter in another light."
"No more prating, but choose your weapon," screamed the Baron.
"Really, Baron," I said, "this conduct of yours is contrary to all thegenerally received etiquette in duelling. There are no seconds present,nothing regular. I accept your challenge, if you really cannot bebrought to reason, but if I die, it must be like a gentleman, in aregular duel, with all the usual ceremony."
"Driveller! dost prate to me of ceremony? But have it your own way,"said the Baron. "You do not escape me this time."
"I will write to a friend of mine from town," I said. "Meanwhile, I havethe pleasure of wishing your lordship a remarkably good morning."
I opened the door and made for the staircase, but, with two immensestrides, the Baron was at my heels.
"Take that, Sir Bungler," cried he, and lifting one of his enormouslegs, lunged forth a kick upon that part of my person anatomically knownas the _Glutaeus Major_, which sent me flying from the top of the stairsto the bottom, at the imminent risk of breaking my neck; but, as goodluck would have it, I landed safely on my feet. Nevertheless the insultstung me to the quick.
I turned round indignantly, yet striving to master my passion, in orderto preserve my dignity, and said, "Baron, you are no gentleman."
With the yell of a wounded tiger, the Baron vaulted with one bound fromthe top of the staircase to the bottom, just as my hand was on the door.I opened it and slammed it again in his face, and walked briskly in thedirection of the village. I heard the door open behind me and theBaron's fearful footsteps after me.
I do not know what would have become of me, if just at that moment anover-driven bull had not come to my rescue and stood between me and theBaron. Seeing a man striding towards him furiously, he imagined theattack was meant for himself, and accordingly stood on the defensive.The Baron tried to pass, but the bull lowered his horns, and lookedmenacing, so he wisely retreated to his Hall.
Arrived at "The Swan," I demanded pen, ink, and paper, and wrote to myfriend in town to come to me for the purpose of performing the office ofsecond, after which I endeavoured to kill time in this lonely villagetill dinner. Feeling hungry, I made a sumptuous repast and turned intobed with feelings full of revenge towards the Baron.
"No more Phantom Fleas to-night," I said to myself as I tucked myselfup in my comfortable little bed at "The Swan," and soon fell into asound sleep.
And now, said the lawyer, when he had got thus far in his narrative, Imust root up an old and very painful subject that occurred in my earlylife, and which I would fain have allowed to rest for ever.
In my earlier days, when as yet I had no fixed profession, during mytravels in Italy, I became enamoured of a beautiful Italian girl. PoorMariangela! how she loved me! That girl possessed the soul of an angel.I see her before me now, with her sweet, dreamy, saintlike eyes, and herquiet graceful step. We were never married, for I was not in a positionthen to support a wife. She vowed that she would never love anyone elsebut me. We parted, and--and--she died; died through love of me.
(Here the lawyer became visibly affected and hastily brushed away atear-drop with his hand. Mastering himself at length, he resumed.)
On her death-bed she sent for me. I arrived just in time to catch herparting breath. When I stooped down to kiss her she hung a small relicof some saint that had been blessed by the Pope, suspended with a pieceof ribbon, round my neck, and begged me to wear it for her sake, andsaid that it would preserve me from all harm. Poor girl! she died in myarms; I followed her to the grave and was for a long time inconsolable.
But time, that changes everything, changed me. A tender recollection ofher past love only remained; the wild tumultuous passion I had felt forher while living, and the overwhelming grief I experienced at her death,had subsided. For two years I wore the relic she gave me round my neck.Not because I believed in its virtue, not being a Roman Catholic myself,but for her sake alone--in remembrance of _her_. Afterwards, however, Iwore it less often, and at length discontinued wearing it altogether. Ikept it still at the bottom of my trunk, between the leaves of a book.
This trunk I left in town when I went down to the Baron's. The key, Imust tell you, I had lost a day or two before. I was just thinking ofsending for the locksmith when I received the Baron's letter to comedown to his place for a day or two. I left town hurriedly and the boxbehind me, locked--the key lost.
Ever since poor Mariangela's death, even long after I had ceased tothink of her regularly, I have remarked that in those periods of my lifewhen I was in any difficulty her spirit used to appear to me in a dreamand counsel me, and being guided by her counsel, I found my wayinvariably out of my dilemma. When weighed down by any great grief shewas sure to appear and console me.
That night when I turned into my snug little bed at "The Swan," no onewas further from my thoughts than that poor Italian girl who loved me sowell. My thoughts were far too full of ill-feeling towards the Baron andthe preparations for the coming duel to allow room for anything else.Nevertheless, I had a most remarkable dream towards morning. I thoughtMariangela came towards me as I lay in bed, and reproached me for havingleft off wearing the charm that she had hung round my neck.
"Your life is in danger," she said. "Good swordsman and expert with thepistol as you are, you are no match for the Baron with either, whoseskill is from the Evil One. Listen to me, and do not refuse my lastpetition. Wear this round your neck, and it will protect you from allharm."
Having spoken thus, she kissed me on the brow and vanished. I awoke, andwould you believe it, gentlemen, I found suspended round my neck thatidentical relic that I left at the bottom of my trunk in town, the keyof which was lost. Well, I could no longer doubt this being a spiritualvisitation, so I left the relic there suspended.
In the course of the day my friend arrived. The usual ceremonies weregone through, and the meeting was to be at sundown, in a wood belongingto the Baron's estate. A surgeon was also provided to bind up the woundsof the one who should fall, should they not be mortal. As I was asked mychoice of weapon, I chose the rapier, having at that time noinconsiderable skill in the use of it.
The hour arrived, and we met on the spot. The Baron, at the sight of me,was unable to restrain his rage, and it was with difficulty that he wasprevented from breaking through every rule of etiquette appertaining tothe duello. Without waiting for the customary salute beforehand, herushed at me sword in hand at the first sight of me like a savage. Theseconds interfered, and something like order was restored.
We advanced, retired, clashed swords, lunged, parried. "_Tierce_,_quarte_, _quinte_, _flanconade_, single attack, double attack, lunge."
The Baron lunged furiously, I parried, and the Baron was disarmed.Without waiting for my permission to pick up his sword, he, disregardingall etiquette, made a sudden grab at it, and flew at me again in fury.The Baron's fencing was very wild. He made three or four successivedesperate lunges at me, but was foiled every time. He grew more and morefurious; he had never been accustomed to be thus thwarted.
I felt my hand grow lame, however. It was like fencing withMephistopheles. To tire him out was impossible. His long wind was his_forte_. I could only try to match the Baron's fury by the most guardedcoolness and self-possession. For some time past I had done nothing butparry, waiting calmly for an opportunity. At length an opening presenteditself. I lunged, and the Baron fell, pierced right through the heart,at the foot of one of his own stately oaks. He rolled up his eyes, andafter death still retained the same expression of ferocity that he worewhen living.
Thus died the last Baron ----. With his death the line became extinct,and the property fell into other hands. Duelling even in those days wasfast falling into disuse, and I had to fly the country. I travelled formany years, and at length returned home, but never from the day of theduel up to the present time have I once neglected to wear the piousrelic of that poor Italian girl round my neck.
* * * * *
&nb
sp; Bursts of applause followed the lawyer's recital. Mr. Blackdeed said itought to be dramatised; that it would "create a sensation," and "bringdown the house." The doctor shook his head gravely. The chairman, in ashort speech, proposed the health of the narrator, and expressed a hopethat he might be free from all such clients for the future.
"Shiver my timbers!" cried Captain Toughyarn, "if that yarn won't do forthe marines. Odds, blood and thunder, if I thought anyone but a tarcould have spun such a yarn as that. I tell you what it is, Hardcase,you've mistaken your calling. You were meant for the sea."
"I hope, Captain Toughyarn," said the lawyer, "you don't doubt theveracity of my statement."
"Not I," answered the captain, but with a most provoking look ofscepticism, which belied his words.
"I do believe the captain's a sceptic," said the chairman. "Take care,captain, the rules of this club are severe. If any member or guestpresumes to doubt the statement of any other member of the club, givenout by the said member as a fact, he shall incur the penalty of beingforced to drink a cup of cold water on his bended knees, and----"
"Ugh!" groaned the captain, before the chairman had finished hissentence. "Well, chairman," he said, humbly awed at the severity of thesentence, "I don't mean to say that I'll give a 'lee lurch,' and throwMr. Hardcase's cargo overboard altogether; but the fact is I have beenon shore so long, that I have got quite out of the way of shipping thosesorts of goods into my hold, and it rather sticks in my tramway, but Ihave no doubt that another glass of grog will send it clean down, andthat I shall find storage-room in my hull for that and as much morecargo as any of our messmates choose to ship this evening."
"Hear, hear," cried the guests, passing the bowl towards the captain,who, after having filled up his glass and drained it, declared himselfready to set sail.
"Another bowl, landlord!" shouted the chairman; "and whilst you areabout it, you might bring up another log as well. See how the cold makesthe fire burn." Then, turning to his guest, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, heobserved, "It is lucky you arrived in time to-night for our greatmeeting. You have now heard a specimen of these stories, the fame ofwhich has reached Rome."
At this moment the host returned with a fresh bowl of punch, which wasreceived with a murmur of approbation. The landlord then stirred up thefire, and put on a fresh log. It was getting late, but that was nothingfor the members of the "Wonder Club" on such an occasion as this.
"It's freezing hard to-night, sir," said the landlord to the chairman.
"Is it, mine host?" said Mr. Oldstone, rendered still more good humouredunder the influence of the punch. "Then fill up a bumper and drink tothe health of our club, after which you may sit down here and listen tothe next story, if you can prevent falling asleep. Our first story youhave missed. Oh, I can assure you it would have given you the horrors tohave listened to it."
Here our worthy host filled up a glass, and, nodding his head, drank tothe long life of all the members and guests, and hoped that the clubmight have as many more anniversaries as there were hairs in the headsof all the members put together.
This sentiment was received with applause, and the health of thelandlord was drunk with three times three. He replied to it in a short,bluff, and unembarrassed speech, amid cheers; and rattling of glasses.Then modestly taking a seat at some little distance from the table,filled his pipe, lighted it, and put himself into a listening attitude.
"It is your turn now, doctor," said the chairman. "We're all waiting,and, mind, we all expect a good one. On this evening, gentlemen, eachone must strive to outdo his neighbour."
"I cannot promise that I will outdo Mr. Hardcase's narrative," said thedoctor, modestly, "but I will do my best to add to the entertainment ofthe company in my humble way."
"Bravo, doctor!" cried several voices at once.
Mr. Oldstone thumped the table and called out, "Silence, gentlemen; Dr.Bleedem will favour us with a story."
Silence immediately ensued, and the doctor began.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume I Page 2
