VI

When Edric left his father to seek Dr. Entwerfen, he encountered Father Morris in the way; and so absorbed was he in his own meditations that he had almost passed the reverend father without seeing him.

“This is quite en philosophe,” said the priest with a smile, as he intercepted his pupil’s path. “What is the matter, Edric? I did not think King Cheops himself could have made you so soon forget your old friends.”

“Indeed I had not forgotten you, for I was thinking of you that very moment. Do you really think it possible, that if I went to Egypt, I might succeed in resuscitating a mummy?”

“I do not doubt it. The ancient Egyptians you know, believed that the souls of their mummies were chained to them in a torpid state till the final day of judgment, and supposing this hypothesis to be correct, there is every reason to imagine that by employing so powerful an agent as galvanism, reanimation may be produced.”

“If I recollect rightly, the ancient Egyptians did not imagine the souls of their dead remained in their bodies, but that they would return to them at the expiration of three thousand years.”

“And it is now about three thousand years since Cheops was entombed.”

“It is strange,” continued Edric, musing, “what influence your words have upon my mind: whilst I listen to you, the racking desire I feel to explore these mysteries becomes almost torture; and I muse upon it till I fancy it an impulse from a superior power, and that I am really selected to be the mortal agent of their revelation to man.”

“And why may not this impulse, which seems to operate with such irresistible force upon your mind, and which you say you fancy, be a real feeling implanted in you by the Divine Author of your being, to guide you to a country where you are destined to attain immortality? Egypt is rich in monuments of antiquity; and all historians unite in declaring her ancient inhabitants to have possessed knowledge and science far beyond even the boasted improvements of modern times. For instance, could we attempt to erect stupendous buildings like the pyramids, where enormous masses are arranged with geometrical accuracy, and the labours of man have emulated the everlasting durability of nature? Are we even capable of conceiving works so majestic as those they put in execution? We assuredly are not; and in every point, excepting in their religion, they surpassed us.”

“And though,” returned Edric, “every scheme of religion falls infinitely below the divine perfection of Christianity; yet as Christianity was not revealed in the times we are speaking of, it cannot be denied that the Egyptians made some approach to wisdom even in their devotions. They worshipped Nature, though they disguised her under the symbols of her attributes, and gratified the vulgar taste by giving them tangible objects to represent ideas too sublime for their unenlightened comprehension. That they entertained the divine idea of a resurrection, and of rewards and punishment in a future life, is evident, not only from their favourite fable of the Phoenix, and the use they made of the now hackneyed image of the Butterfly; but by the care they bestowed upon the preservation of the body; their mournings for the loss of Osiris, and rejoicings when he was found; and the kind of trial to which they subjected the human corpse after death, when, if serious crimes were alleged, and proved against it, it was denied the rites of sepulture, and left to decay unlamented. Then, can any modern institutions excel the wisdom of the laws enacted by the Pharaohs? or can any modern magnificence equal that displayed in the cities of Memphis and Thebes? And since this will hardly be disputed, what country can be more fitting than that once so highly favoured, to be the scene of the most important discovery ever made by Man?”

“I perfectly agree with you,” replied Father Morris; “and only wonder, with these impressions upon your mind, that you can hesitate an instant about undertaking your voyage to Egypt.”

“Alas! I have no longer any occasion to hesitate!”

“What do you mean?”

“My father has just ordered me to quit his house immediately, unless I marry Rosabella; and that no tortures shall ever induce me to do⁠—for I hate her!”

“Then the Duke has spoken,” said Father Morris, gloomily; “I thought this success of Edmund’s would open his lips; but,” continued he, addressing Edric, “I think you ought to rejoice at such a circumstance, as your principal objection to visiting the pyramids, was the difficulty of getting your father to consent to such an expedition; that objection, at least, is now removed.”

“But how removed, Father Morris? Think you, that I could bear to leave England, perhaps forever, and upon an expedition so awful in its tendency and consequences, whilst labouring under a father’s curse? I cannot do it. I must again see my father, and obtain his forgiveness before I go.”

“You are then prepared to comply with his wishes?”

“Never! I have before told you, no force shall compel me to marry Rosabella!”

“And do you imagine Sir Ambrose will relinquish his project so easily? Is it not more probable that your opposition will only increase his determination; and that another interview, if you still refuse to obey his commands, may provoke the curse you now seem to dread?”

“What shall I do then? For in my present state of mind, life is a burden to me;⁠—my brain feels bewildered.”

“Go to Dr. Entwerfen’s study, and remain there concealed for the present, till the effervescence of your father’s rage shall have evaporated. My duty now calls me to my patron, but I shall soon return; I will then see your father, and perhaps a conversation with me may bring him to reason.”

“I trust my cause in your hands, father,” said Edric, “and may your eloquence bring it to a happy issue.”

“You may depend upon me,” rejoined the reverend father; “I feel deeply interested in the business:” and they parted, Edric proceeding to seek his tutor, and Father Morris returning to the house of the Duke of Cornwall.

When Edric entered the study of Dr. Entwerfen, he found him engaged in what, considering his age and station, seemed a very extraordinary amusement. He was apparently dancing a hornpipe, drawing his heels together, and alternately rising and sinking like a clown in a pantomime, twisting his face, in the meantime, into the most hideous grimaces.

“What is the matter?” cried Edric, gazing at him with surprise.

“I⁠—I⁠—I am galvanized,” cried the doctor, in a piteous tone; nodding his head with a sudden jerk, that seemed to threaten every instant to throw it out of its socket; and then, suddenly starting, he kicked out one leg horizontally, and twirled round upon the other with an air of an opera dancer.

“How did it happen?” cried Edric, excessively shocked at the unnatural contrast exhibited between the doctor’s serious countenance, and involuntary antics.

“I can’t⁠—exactly⁠—tell,” replied the doctor, bolting forth his words with difficulty, and still swimming, grinning, and capering, to the inexpressible horror of his companion, till by degrees his grimaces subsided, and he was enabled at last to stand tolerably steady. He now informed his pupil, that trying some experiments with his galvanic battery, he had unfortunately operated upon himself; and in his turn listened to the account of what had passed between Edric and Sir Ambrose. Instead of expressing sorrow, however, when he found his pupil had quarrelled with his father, the doctor’s eyes sparkled with joy⁠—“Then you must inevitably travel,” exclaimed he. “We shall visit the pyramids, we shall animate the mummies, and we shall attain immortality.”

“No! I cannot leave England without being reconciled to my father: he is old, and I may never see him again; I could not bear to part from him in anger.”

“But consider the object you have in view; and the countries you will visit: all the English travel. I never knew a young Englishman in my life who was not fond of it. The inhabitants of other countries journey for what they can get, or what they hope to learn; but an Englishman travels because he does not know what to do with himself. He spares neither time, trouble, nor money; he goes everywhere, sees everything; after which, he returns⁠—just as wise as when he set out. Not that I blame curiosity⁠—no⁠—I admire it above all things!⁠—it is that which has led to all the great discoveries that have been made since the creation of the world, and it is that which now impels us to explore the pyramids.”

Edric looked annoyed at the conclusion of this speech, and, to change the subject, asked the doctor, if he thought his galvanic battery powerful enough for the experiment they meant to try with it.

“Powerful!” exclaimed the doctor; “why I feel it even now tingling to my fingers’ ends. I should think, Sir, the effect it has had upon me is a sufficient proof of the force of the machine.”

“If we do go,” said Edric, apparently pursuing the thread of his own reflections, “I should feel inclined to visit other countries besides Egypt.”

“And so should I.⁠—I should like particularly to see India, for some black-letter pamphlets in my possession, allude to its being once governed by an old woman; and as the regular historians make no mention of the fact, I should like to see what traditions I could gather respecting it on the spot. The religion of the ancient Hindus, before they were converted to Christianity, has been said to have resembled that of the ancient Egyptians; by comparing the monuments of both, one might be made to illustrate the other. I should also like, before we quit Africa, to see the celebrated court of Timbuktu. I have long been in correspondence with a learned pundit there, who has communicated to me some of the most sublime discoveries.

“The whole of the interior of Africa must be interesting, particularly the rising states on the banks of the Niger. It is generally instructing as well as amusing to watch the birth and struggles of infant republics; and to remark first how fast the people encroach, and then the governors. Whilst the rulers are weak, they are always liberal; but their exalted sentiments in general decrease in exact proportion as they become powerful.

“In short,” resumed the doctor, “I would willingly traverse the whole world; I know but one country that I should dislike to visit.”

“And which is that?” asked Edric.

“America. I have no wish to have my throat cut, or my breath stopped by a bowstring. I have a perfect horror of despotic governments.”

“Then how do you endure the one we live under?”

“The case is quite different. With us, the spur of despotism is scarcely felt; and the people, being permitted occasionally to think and act for themselves, are not debased and brutalized as the slaves of absolute power are in general. Despotism, with us, is like a rod which the schoolmaster keeps hung up in sight of his boys, but which he has very seldom any occasion to make use of. From such despotism as that of the Americans, however, Heaven defend us!”

“Amen! For, as we are happy now, we should be idiots to desire a change.”

“What an unphilosophical sentiment!” exclaimed the doctor: “I am really quite shocked that you, Edric, should utter such a speech. What an abominable doctrine! Remember, that if you once allow innovation to be dangerous, you instantly put a stop to all improvement⁠—you absolutely shut and bolt your doors against it. Oh! it is horrible, that such a doctrine should be ever broached in a civilized country. You surely could not be aware of what you were saying?”

“Perhaps I was not: for I own candidly I scarcely do know what I am doing!”

“To amuse you then, I will give you a treat. I will show you a curious collection of ballads, all of which are at least three hundred years old, which a friend of mine picked up in London for me the other day, and sent me down this morning by the stage-balloon. They are all of the genuine rag paper, a certain proof of their antiquity; for, you know, the asbestos paper we now use has not been invented more than two hundred years. But you shall see them: follow me.”

So saying, the doctor trotted off to his library, that paradise of half-forgotten volumes, most of which had been accidentally saved from their well-merited destination of covering over butter, and wrapping up cheese, to be drawn from the dust and obscurity in which they had lain for centuries, to ornament the shelves of Doctor Entwerfen; and whose authors, if they could have taken a peep upon earth, and beheld them, would have been quite astonished to find themselves immortal. Entering this emporium of neglected learning, the doctor hastily advanced to a table, on which lay his newly acquired treasures, and holding them up, exclaimed, “Look, Edric, how beautifully dirty the paper is; no art could counterfeit this dingy hue. This sooty tinge is the genuine tint of antiquity. You know, Edric, in ancient times, the caloric employed in culinary purposes, and indeed for all the common usages of life, was produced by the combustion of wood, and of a black bituminous substance, or amphilites, drawn from the bowels of the earth, called coal, of which you may yet see specimens in the cabinets of the curious. As these substances decomposed, or rather expanded, by the force of heat, the attraction of cohesion was dissolved, and the component parts flew off in the shape of smoke or soot. This smoke, rising into the air, was dispersed by it, and the minute particles, or atoms, of which it was composed, falling and resting upon everything that chanced to be in their way, produced that incomparable dusky hue, which the moderns have so often tried, though in vain, to imitate. I beg your pardon, Edric, for using such vulgar language to express what I wished to say, but really, treating upon such a subject, I did not know how to explain myself elegantly.”

“Oh! I understood you very well, Sir. After all, the only true use of language is to convey the ideas of one person to the understanding of another; and, provided that end be attained, I really do not see that it is of any consequence what words we make use of.”

“True, Edric dear! you make very just observations sometimes. Well, but the ballads; I was going to show you my treasures⁠—my jewels! as the Roman lady said of her children. Look what beautiful specimens these are! A little torn here and there, and with a few of the lines illegible⁠—but genuine antiques. I’ll warrant every one of them above three hundred years old. Look, it is real linen paper; you may tell it by the texture; and then the spelling, see what a number of letters they put into their words that were of no use. Look at the titles of them. Here is the ‘Tragical End of Poor Miss Bailey’⁠—and here ‘Cherry Ripe’⁠—and ‘I’ve Been Roaming.’ Here is ‘The Loves of Captain Wattle and Miss Roe’⁠—and here are ‘Jessy the Flower of Dumblane,’ and ‘Dunois the Brave.’ But this is my Phoenix⁠—here is what will be the envy of collectors! here is my invaluable treasure! This, I believe, is absolutely unique, and that I am so blessed as to possess the only copy extant. The date is wanting, but the manners it describes are so unpolished, that I should almost think it might be traced back to the times of the aboriginal Britons.⁠—Thus it begins:⁠—

‘At Wednesbury there was a cocking,
A match between Newton and Scroggins;
The nailors and colliers left work,
And to Spittle’s they all went jogging.
Tol de rol lol.’

I used to be very much puzzled at this burden, which is one of frequent recurrence in ancient songs. At first, I thought it a relic of some language now irrevocably lost. Then it struck me, it might be an invocation to the deities of the aborigines. In short, I was quite perplexed, and knew not what to think, when a learned friend of mine hit upon an idea the other day, which seems completely to solve the difficulty. He suggests that it was an ancient manner of running up and down the scale; and that ‘Tol de rol lol’ had the same signification as ‘Do re mi fa;’⁠—which solution is at once so simple and ingenious, that I am sure you, as well as myself, must be struck by it. I here omit a few stanzas, in which the author enumerates his heroes exactly in the Homeric manner. The names are so barbarous, that I am afraid of loosening my teeth in pronouncing them:⁠—

‘There was plenty of beef at the dinner,
Of a bull that was baited to death:
Bunny Hyde got a lump in his throat,
Which had like to have stopped his breath.’

What a beautiful simplicity there is in that last line,

‘Which had like to have stopped his breath.’

Oh, we moderns have nothing equal to it!⁠—

‘The company fell in confusion,
To see this poor Bunny Hyde choke,
So they hurried him down to the kitchen,
And held his head over the smoke.’

“This develops a curious practice of antiquity. You know, Edric, I explained to you just now the manner in which combustion was formerly effected, and the causes of the production of what was called smoke. I own, however, it seems a strange way of reviving a half-suffocated man, to hold his head over smoke, which, being loaded, as I said before, with innumerable atoms of all sorts and sizes, would, one might think be more likely to impede respiration than restore it. The fact, however, is undoubted; and it not only affords a curious illustration of the manner of the ancients, but is of itself a strong proof of the authenticity of the ballad; for such an idea never could have entered the head of a modern. To return to poor Hyde⁠—

‘One gave him a kick o’ th’ stomach,
And another a thump o’ th’ brow.
His wife cried throw him i’ th’ stable,
And he will be better just now.’

This unfeeling conduct of his wife does not say much in commendation of the ladies of those times. Here follows an hiatus of several stanzas: I find, however, by a word or two here and there, that they celebrated the exploits of two gallic heroes:⁠—

‘The best i’ th’ country bred;
The one was a brassy-wing black,
And the other a dusky-wing’d red.’

These unfortunate victims of the cruelty of man seem both to have perished. There is a stanza, however, before this catastrophe, which seems to relate to the combat.

‘The conflict was hard upon each,
Till glossy-wing’d blacky was choked,
The colliers were nationally vex’d,
And the nailers were all provoked.’

This passage seems very obscure: ‘Nationally’ is evidently a sign of comparison, but I cannot say I ever saw it employed before. It is, however, another proof of the amazing antiquity of the ballad. After this, it appears that the people broke in upon the ring, and both cocks were crushed to atoms. I don’t know whether you are acquainted with the manner in which these gallic combats were conducted, Edric. A kind of amphitheatre was formed, upon which the birds were pitted one against the other, whence the name cockpit. The combatants were armed with large iron spurs, and the victor generally left his rival dead upon the field. The ballad proceeds:⁠—

‘The cockpit was near to the church,
As an ornament to the town;
One side was an old coal-pit,
And the other was well gorsed round.’

Gorse was a kind of heath or furze.

‘Peter Hadley peep’d through the gorse,
In order to see the cocks fight;
Spittle jobb’d his eye out with a fork,
And said, ‘Blast you, it sarves you right!’

This is very spirited and expressive, though the false quantities render it difficult to read.

‘Some folks may think this is strange,
Who Wednesbury never knew,
But those who have ever been there,
Won’t have the least doubt but it’s true.

For they are all savage by nature,
And guilty of deeds that are shocking,
Jack Baker he whack’d his own feyther,
And so ended the Wednesbury cocking.’ ”

“It is very fine certainly,” said Edric, who was half asleep.

“Upon my word,” returned the doctor, “I don’t think you have heard a single word I have been saying.”

“Oh! yes, I have,” replied Edric, “every syllable. It was about a man killing his own father, and putting his eyes out with a fork.”

“Eh!” cried the doctor, somewhat annoyed at this unequivocal proof that though his words might have struck upon the auricular organs of his pupil, they had not reached his brains. The exclamation of the doctor restored Edric to his senses, and he began to apologize.

“I am really very sorry,” said he, “but you must excuse my inattention. Sometimes, you know, the mind is not in tune for literary discussions, even when proceeding from the most eloquent lips. This is my case at the present moment. My mind is so occupied by the important change that has just taken place in my affairs, that, I own, even your learning and eloquence were thrown away upon me.”

“If that be the state of your mind,” replied the doctor, with chagrin, “it is of no use to show you any more of my literary treasures; else I have some of matchless excellence. Here is a letter addressed to Sheridan, a witty writer of comedies, in the eighteenth century, which has never been opened⁠—and here is a tailor’s bill of the immortal Byron, which may possibly never have been looked at. But here is the most inestimable of my relics. Look, at least, at this. This piece of paper, covered carelessly with irregular strokes and lines, was once in the possession of that enchanting, that inimitable novelist of the nineteenth century, generally distinguished in the works of contemporary writers by the mysterious title of ‘The Great Unknown!’ See, here is half the word ‘Waverley,’ written upon it, and doubtless all these other irregular marks and scratches proceeded directly from his pen. I confess, Edric, I never contemplate this relic of genius without a feeling of reverence, and almost of awe. ‘Perhaps,’ say I to myself, when I look at it, ‘when these letters were formed, the first idea had but just arisen in the mind of the author of those immortal works, which were afterwards destined to improve and delight mankind. Perhaps, at that very moment gigantic thoughts were rushing through his brain, and a variety of new ideas opening their treasures to his imagination.’ Oh, there is something in the mere random stroke of the pen of a celebrated character, inexpressibly affecting to the mind;⁠—it carries one back to the very time when he lived⁠—it seems to make one acquainted with him, and to let us into the secrets of his inmost thoughts. But I see you are not attending to me, Edric!”

“I am very sorry⁠—another time I should be happy⁠—but now⁠—I cannot. However, when we return, perhaps⁠—”

“It may be then too late,” said the doctor, with solemnity; and locking up his cabinet, he led the way back to his common sitting-room, in high dudgeon.