A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The Adventures of Hugh Trevor

T >> Thomas Holcroft >> The Adventures of Hugh Trevor




Clarke, brave as he was, had lost all his intrepidity in this
golgotha, this place of skulls; the very scent of which, knowing
whence it proceeded, was abhorrent.

No: it was not their arms, nor their numbers, but these fears that
induced me, when he that saw my eyes move was in danger of giving
the alarm, to close them; and, profiting by the fellow's sympathetic
terror, counterfeit the death by which I was environed.

Here then we were. And must we here remain? To sleep was impossible.
Must we rise and grapple with the dead; trample on their limbs, and
stumble over their unearthed bones, in endeavouring to get out?

Neither could we tell what new horrors were in store for us. Who
had not heard of trap doors, sliding wainscots, and other murderous
contrivances? And could they be now forgotten? Impossible. All the
phantoms memory could revive, or fancy could create, were realized and
assembled.

Of the two, I certainly had more the use of my understanding than
Clarke; but I was so absorbed, in the terrors which assailed me,
on every side, that I was intent on them only; and forgot, while
the lanthorn glimmered its partial and dull rays, to consider the
geography of the place; or to plan the means of escape, till the
moment the men were departing; when I caught a glimpse of what I
imagined to be a window facing me.

As soon as our fears would permit us, we began, in low and cautious
whispers, to communicate our thoughts. Clarke was pertinaciously
averse to rise, and hurtle in the dark with the bones of the dead. By
the intervening medium of the straw, he had pushed away the terrific
hand; and was determined, he said, to lie still; till day-light should
return, and prevent him from treading, at random, on the horrible
objects around him; or stumbling over and being stretched upon a
corpse.

I had as little inclination to come in contact with dead hands,
cadaverous bodies, and dissevered joints, as he could have; yet was
too violently tormented to remain quiet, and suffer myself to be
preyed on by my imagination. Had I resigned myself to it, without
endeavouring to relieve it by action, it would have driven me frantic.
I half rose, sat considering, ventured to feel round me and shrunk
back with inexpressible terror, from the first object that I touched.
Again I ruminated, again ventured to feel, and again and again
shivered with horrible apprehensions.

Use will reconcile us to all situations. Experience corrects fear,
emboldens ignorance, and renders desire adventurous. The builder will
walk without dread on the ridge of a house: while the timid spectator
standing below is obliged to turn his eyes away, or tumble headlong
down and be dashed to pieces in imagination. Repeated trials had a
similar effect on me: they rendered me more hardy; and I proceeded, as
nearly as I could guess, toward the window; touching, treading on, and
encountering, I knew not what; subject, every moment, to new starts of
terror; and my heart now sinking, now leaping, as the sudden freaks
and frights of fancy seized upon me.

After the departure of the desperadoes, we had heard various noises,
in the adjoining house; among others the occasional ringing of a
chamber bell. While I was thus endeavouring to explore my way,
arrested by terror at every step, as I have been describing, we again
heard sounds that approached more nearly; and presently the inner-door
once more opened, and a livery servant, bearing two lighted candles,
came in; followed by a man with an apron tied round him, having a kind
of bib up to his chin, and linen sleeves drawn over his coat.

The master, for so he evidently was, had a meagre, wan, countenance;
and a diminutive form. The servant had evidently some trepidation.

'Do not be afraid, Matthew,' said the master. 'You will soon be
accustomed to it; and you will then laugh at your present timidity.
Unless you conquer your fears, you will not be able to obey my
directions, in assisting me; and consequently will not be fit for your
place; and you know you cannot get such good wages in any other.'

'I will do my best, sir,' said the servant: 'but I can't say but, for
the first time, it is a little frightful.'

'Mere prejudice, Matthew. I am studying to gain knowledge, which will
be serviceable to mankind: and that you must perceive will be doing
good.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Reach me those instruments--Now, lift up the body; and turn the head
a little this way--Why do you tremble? Are you afraid of the dead?'

'Not much, sir.'

'Lift boldly, then.'

'Yes, sir.'

As the servant turned round, half stupefied with his fears, he beheld
me standing with my eyes fixed, watchful and listening with my whole
soul, for the interpretation of these enigmas. The man stared, gaped,
turned pale, and at last dropped down; overcome with his terrors.

The master was amazed; and, perceiving which way the servant's
attention had been directed, looked round. His eye caught mine. He
stood motionless. His pale face assumed a death-like hue; and, for a
few moments, he seemed to want the power of utterance.

Clarke had remained, astonished and confounded, a silent spectator
of the scene. But there was now light; and, though the objects of
horror were multiplied in reality, they were less numerous to the
imagination. Seeing the fear of the servant, observing his fall, and
remarking the gentle and feeble appearance of the master, armed though
he was with murderous instruments, Clarke was now rising; determined
to come to action. His proceeding disturbed our mutual amazement.
He was on his legs; and, as I perceived, advancing with hostile
intentions.

The dialogue I had heard, and the objects which I had distinctly seen
and examined, had, by this time, unravelled the whole mystery. I
discovered that we were in the dissecting-room of an anatomist. Clarke
was clenching his fist and preparing to direct a blow at the operator;
and I had but just time to step forward, arrest his arm, and impede
its progress. 'Be quiet,' said I, 'Clarke; we have been mistaken.'

'For God's sake, who are you, gentlemen?' said the owner of the
mansion: recovered in part from his apprehensions, by my pacific
interference.

'We are benighted travellers, sir,' answered I; 'who got entrance into
this place by accident; and have ourselves been suffering under false,
but excessive, fear. Pray, sir, be under no alarm; for we are far from
intending you injury.'

He made no immediate reply, and I continued.

'Fear, I find, though she has indeed a most active fancy, has no
understanding: otherwise, among the innumerable conjectures with which
my brain has been busied within this hour, the truth would certainly
have suggested itself. But, instead of supposing I was transported to
the benignant regions of science, I thought myself certain of being in
the purlieus of the damned; in the very den of murder.'

My language, manner, and tone of voice, relieved him from all alarm;
and he said, with a smile, 'This is a very whimsical accident.'

'You would think so, indeed, sir,' replied I, 'if you knew but half
of the horrible images on which we have been dreaming. But it was
distress that drove us to take shelter here; and if there be any
village, or if not, even any barn, in which we could take a little
rest till daylight, we should be exceedingly obliged to you for that
kind assistance which, from your love of science, and from the remarks
I have heard you make to your servant, I am persuaded, you will be
very willing to afford.'

By this time, the servant was recovered from his fright; and on his
legs. 'Go, Matthew,' said the master, 'and call up one of the maids.'

And turning to me he added, 'Be kind enough to follow me, sir, with
your companion. I doubt if you could procure either lodging or
refreshment, within three miles of the place; and I shall therefore be
very happy in supplying you with both.'


We obeyed; I highly delighted with the benevolent and hospitable
manner of our host; and Clarke most glad to escape, from a scene which
no explanation had yet reconciled to his feelings, or notions of good
and evil.




CHAPTER IX


_A review of emotions and mistakes: Repose after fatigue: Singular
thoughts concerning property: Benevolence on a large scale. A proposal
accepted; which greatly alters the face of affairs: Sketches of war:
The hero: The raptures of a poet: Projects and opinions, relative to
law. Thoughts on the science of surgery_


In the relation of this adventure, I have given a picture, not of
things as they were afterward discovered to be, but, as they appeared
to us at the time; reflected through the medium of consternation and
terror. We had been powerfully prepared for these, by the previous
circumstances. Our imaginations had been strongly preyed upon by
our distress, by the accidents of falling, and by the mingled
noises we had heard: proceeding from the church-yard robbers, from
the village-dogs and curs disturbed by them and us, and from the
whistling, roaring, and howling which are so common to high gusts
of wind; and so almost distracting to a mind already in a state of
visionary deception and alarm. There was indeed enough to excite that
wild and uncontroulable dread, which rushed upon us every moment.
Mingled as they were with darkness, ignorance, and confusion, the
succeeding objects were actually horrible.

Thus the discourse and dialect, as well as the voices, of the men
employed to furnish dead bodies, were gross and rude; and the timidity
and prejudices of those, who probably were young in the employment,
contrasted with the jokes, vulgar sarcasms, and oaths, of the
boisterous and hardened adepts, though habitual to such people, gave
a colouring to the preceding circumstances, that so confirmed and
realized our fears as not to allow us the leisure to doubt. To repeat
such coarse colloquies and vulgar ribaldry is no pleasing task; except
as a history of the manners of such men, and of the emotions with
which on this occasion they were accompanied. These indeed made the
repetition necessary.

It is likewise true that, in their own opinion, these men were more or
less criminal: and guilt always assumes an audacity, and fierceness,
which it does not feel. They were not intentionally acting well:
but were doing that which they supposed to be a deed of desperate
wickedness, for selfish purposes. Had the consent of any one of them
when dying been asked, to have his body dug up and dissected, he would
have heard the proposal with detestation. Consequently, they deceived
us the more effectually: for they had the manners of that guilt which,
as far as intention was concerned, they actually possessed.

Add to this the spectacle of a dissecting-room; seen indistinctly by
the partial glimmerings of a lanthorn. Whoever has been in such a
place will recognise the picture. Here preparations of arms, pendent
in rows, with the vessels injected. There legs, feet, and other limbs.
In this place the intestines: in that membranes, cartilages, muscles,
with the bones and all their varieties of clothing, in every imaginary
mangled form. These things ought not to be terrible: but to persons of
little reflection, and not familiarized to them, they always are.

Escaped from this scene, restored as it were to human intercourse,
and encouraged by the kindness of our host, whose name was Evelyn,
our pulses began to grow temperate; and our imaginations to relax
and gravitate toward common sense. We took the refreshment that was
brought us, and conversed during the meal with Mr. Evelyn: partly on
the incidents of the night, and partly in answering a few questions;
which he put with a feeling that denoted a desire rather to afford us
aid than to gratify his own curiosity. After which, as we were weary
and he disposed to pursue his nocturnal researches, we immediately
retired to rest. Clarke was full to overflowing with cogitation:
but, for the present, it was too large, or rather too confused, for
utterance; and it soon overpowered and sunk him into sleep.

For my own part, my mind was too much alive to be immediately overcome
by fatigue. I lay revolving in thought the incidents of the night;
which led me into reveries on the singular character of Mr. Evelyn, on
my own forlorn state, on the bleak prospect before me, and on Olivia.

This last train of thinking was not easily dismissed. At length,
however, both mind and body were so overwearied that I fell into an
unusually profound sleep; from which I did not awake till Clarke, who
had risen two hours before, came between nine and ten o'clock and
rouzed me, to inform me that breakfast was waiting, and that our host
expected my company.

While I was dressing, he told me that Mr. Evelyn had been making
many enquiries concerning me; and apologized himself, with marks of
apprehension lest he should have done wrong, while he owned that he
had answered these interrogatories, by relating such particulars as he
knew.

We then went down; and, among other conversation at breakfast, Mr.
Evelyn remarked that he understood, from Clarke, we had no urgent
business which would make a day sooner or a day later of any material
consequence; and he therefore particularly requested we would delay
our departure till the next morning. The reason he gave was a kind
expression of interest, which what he had heard from my companion had
excited; and a desire, not of inquisitive prying but evidently of
benevolence, to be as fully informed of my history as I should think
proper to make him.

There was something soothing both in the request and in his manner,
which induced me to readily comply. Poor Clarke excepted, I seemed as
if no human being took any concern in my fate; and to discover that
there was yet a man who was capable of sympathizing with me was like
filling a painful vacancy of the heart, and afforded something of an
incoherent hope of relief.

Not that I was prepared to ask or even to accept favours. I had rather
entertained a kind of indignant sense of injury, against any one who
should presume to make me his debtor: or to suppose I was incapable
of not rather enduring all extremities than so to subject and
degrade myself as, in my own apprehension, I should do by any such
condescension.

After breakfast, Mr. Evelyn desired me to walk with him; that we might
converse the more freely when alone. He then repeated what Clarke
had told him, gave a strong and affecting picture of the overflowing
kindness and compassion with which my companion had related all he
knew, and proceeded afterward to speak of himself in the following
terms.

'I am a man, Mr. Trevor, engaged in a trust which I find it very
difficult conscientiously to discharge. I have an estate of fifteen
hundred a year, and am a creature whose real wants, like those of
other human creatures, are few. I live here surrounded by some
hundreds of acres; stored with fruits, corn, and cattle; which the
laws and customs of nations call mine. But what is it that these laws
and customs mean? That I am to devour the whole produce of thus much
land? The thing is impossible!'

'Why impossible? You may convert a hundred head of oxen into a service
of gold plate. Liveries, laces, equipage, gilding, garnishing, and
ten thousand other modes or fashionable wants, which if not gratified
render those that have them miserable, would eat up all that ten
thousand acres, if you had them, could yield. Are you an Epicure? You
may so stew, distill, and titillate your palate with essences that a
hecatomb shall be swallowed at every meal. The means of devouring are
innumerable, and justified by general usage.'

'General usage may be an apology, but not a justification. Happiness
is the end of man: but it cannot be single. On the contrary, the more
beings are happy the greater is the individual happiness of each: for
each is a being of sympathies, and affections; which are increased by
being called into action. It is the miserable mechanism of society
which, by giving legal possession of what is called property to the
holders, puts it absolutely and unconditionally in their disposal.'

'Why the miserable mechanism? Are you a friend to the Agrarian
system?'

'By no means. I was incorrect: The mechanism is defective enough, but
I rather meant to have said the miserable moral system of society;
which allows every man to exercise his own caprice, and thinks him
guilty of no crime though he is in the daily habit of wasting that
which might render numbers happy, who are in absolute want.'

'This is an evil of which the world has for ages been complaining: but
for which I see no remedy.'

'You mean no remedy which laws or governments, by the inflicting of
pains and penalties, can afford: at which, to do them justice, they
have been much too often aiming; but have as continually failed.'

'And you imagine, sir, you are possessed of a more effectual
prescription?

'I dare not prescribe: it would be an arrogant assumption of wisdom.
But I may advise a regimen which has numerous probabilities in its
favour. Yet what I must advise has been so many thousand times advised
before that it seems impertinence to repeat it; if not mockery. To
tell the rich that they seek enjoyment where it is not to be found,
that the parade by which they torment themselves to gain distinction
renders them supremely ridiculous, that their follies, while they are
oppressive and hateful to the poor, are the topics of contempt and
scandal even in their own circles, and that the repetition of them
inevitably proves that they bring weariness, disgust, ruin, pain, and
every human misery, is mere common-place declamation.

'But there is one truth of which they have not been sufficiently
reminded. They are not, as they have too long been taught to suppose
themselves, placed beyond the censure of the multitude. It is found
that the multitude can think, and have discovered that the use
the wealthy too often make of what they call their own is unjust,
tyrannical, and destructive.

'This memento will come to them with the greater force the oftener
they are made to recollect that the spirit of enquiry is abroad,
that their voluptuous waste is daily becoming more odious, and that
simplicity of manners, a benevolent economy, a vigorous munificence,
and a comprehensive philanthropy, can alone redeem them; and preserve
that social order which every lover of the human race delights to
contemplate, but of which they arrogate to themselves the merit of
being the sole advocates.

'It is the moral system of society that wants reform. This cannot be
suddenly produced, nor by the efforts of any individual: but it may
be progressive, and every individual may contribute: though some much
more powerfully than others. The rich, in proportion as they shall
understand this power and these duties, will become peculiarly
instrumental: for poverty, by being subjected to continual labour, is
necessarily ignorant; and it is well known how dangerous it is for
ignorance to turn reformer.

'Let the rich therefore awake: let them encourage each other to
quit their pernicious frivolities, and to enquire, without fear or
prejudice, how they may secure tranquillity and promote happiness;
and let them thus avert those miseries at which they so loudly and so
bitterly rail, but into which by their conduct a majority of them is
so ready to plunge.

'The intentions of those among them who think the most are excellent:
to assert the contrary is equally false and absurd. But, when they
expect to promote peace and order by irritating each other against
this or that class of men, however mistaken those men may be, and
by disseminating a mutual spirit of acrimony between themselves and
their opponents, they act like madmen; and, if they do not grow calm,
forgiving, and kind, the increasing fury of the mad many will overtake
them.'

'They are like the brethren of Dives. They pay but little regard to
Moses and the prophets.'

'Well, Mr. Trevor, you will own at least that, since I can talk
with all this seeming wisdom, a small share of the practice will be
becoming in me; and what you and all mankind would expect.'

'I may: but not all mankind. There are some who pretend to be so
learned, in what they call the depravity of human nature, that, after
having heard you speak thus admirably in favour of virtue, they would
think it more than an equal chance that you are one of the wickedest
of men.'

'Oh, with respect to that, some of my very neighbours do not scruple
to affirm that I am so. But, I repeat, I have what I consider as a
large estate in trust; and it is a serious and a sacred duty imposed
upon me to seek how it may be best employed. I seldom am satisfied
with the means which offer themselves; and am therefore always in
quest of new.'

'I wonder at that, sir, with your system. Have you no poor in the
country?'

'O yes: enough to grieve any penetrable heart. But I know no task
more difficult than that of administering to their wants, without
encouraging their vices. Of these wants I consider instruction as the
greatest; and to that I pay the greatest attention. Food, cloathing,
and disease are imperious necessities; and to leave them unprovided
would be guilt incredible to speculation, did we not see it in hourly
practice. But the poor are so misled, by the opinions they are taught
to hold and the oppressions to which they are subject, that, by
relieving these most urgent wants we are in danger of teaching them
idleness, drunkenness, and servility. I do them the little good that
I can, most willingly: but I consider the diffusion of knowledge, by
which that which I call the moral system of mankind is to be improved,
as the most effectual means of conferring happiness. Are you of that
opinion?'

'I certainly am.'

'Then I cannot but think you intend to promote this beneficial plan.'

'I scarcely know my own intentions. They are unsettled, incoherent,
and the dreams of delirium; rather than the system of a sage, such as
you have imagined.'

'I wish we had been longer acquainted and were intimate enough to
induce you to relate your history, and confide your thoughts to me, as
to a friend; or, if you please, as to one who holds it a duty to offer
aid, whenever he imagines it will answer a good end.'

'To offer aid is kind: but there are very few cases in which he that
receives it is not mean and degraded. You however are actuated by
a generous spirit; and, as you are inclined to listen, I will very
willingly inform you of the chief incidents of a life that has already
been considerably checkered, and the future prospects of which are
sufficiently gloomy.'

After this preface, I began my narrative; and succinctly related the
principal of those events with which the reader already is acquainted.
Nor did the state of my feelings and the strong sense of injury which
was ever present to my imagination, when I came to recapitulate my
adventures since I first left college, suffer me to colour with a
negligent or a feeble hand.

Some of the incidents necessarily induced me to mention Olivia, and
betray my sentiments in part: which the questions of Mr. Evelyn, put
with kindness, delicacy, and interest that was evidently unaffected,
induced me at length wholly to reveal, with all the tenderness and the
vehemence of passion.

I was encouraged or rather impelled to this confidence by the emotions
which Mr. Evelyn betrayed, in his countenance, voice, and manner. His
hopes, his fears, and his affections, were so much in unison with my
own, his eye so often glistened and his cheek so frequently glowed,
that it was impossible for the heart not to open all its recesses, and
pour out not only its complaints but its very follies.

Of all the pleasures in which the soul of man most delights that of
sympathy is surely the chief. It can unite and mingle not only two
but ten millions of spirits as one. Could a world be spectators of
the sorrows of Lear, a world would with one consent participate in
them: so omnipotent is the power of sympathy. It is the consolation of
poverty, it is the cordial of friendship, it is the essence of love.
Pride and suspicion are its chief enemies; and they are the vices that
engender the most baneful of the miseries of man.

Mr. Evelyn remained, after I had ended, for some time in deep
meditation; now and then casting his eyes toward me and then taking
them away, as if fearful of offending my sensibility and again falling
into thought. At length, fixing them more firmly and with an open
benignity of countenance, he thus broke silence.

'I have been devising, my noble young friend, allow me to call you so,
by what means I should best make myself understood to you; and how
most effectually prevail on you to contribute to my happiness, and to
those great ends for which souls of ardour like yours are so highly
gifted. I have already sketched my principles, concerning the use
and abuse of property. One of those rare occasions on which it may
be excellently employed now presents itself. You are in pursuit of
science, by which a world is to be improved. To the best of my ability
I follow the same track: but I have the means, which you want. You
have too little: I have too much. It is my province, and, if you
consent, as I hope and trust you will, it will be my supreme pleasure
to supply the deficiency. I am acquainted with the delicacy of your
sentiments: but I am likewise acquainted with the expansion of your
heart, and with its power of rising superior to the false distinctions
which at present regulate society. I might assume the severe tone of
the moralist, and urge your compliance with my request as a duty: but
I would rather indulge what may perhaps be the foible of immature
virtue, and follow the affectionate impulse which binds me to you as
my friend and brother. Beside these are vibrations with which I am
persuaded your warm and kindred heart will more readily harmonize.
In youth, we willingly obey impetuous sensations: but reluctantly
listen to the slow and frigid deductions of reason, when they are
in contradiction to our habits and prejudices. I therefore repeat,
you are my friend and brother; and I conjure you, by those generous
and magnanimous feelings of which your whole life proves you are so
eminently susceptible, not to wound me by refusal. Do not consider me
as the acquaintance of a day; for, by hearing your history, I have
travelled with you through life, and seem as if I had been the inmate
of your bosom even from your years of infancy. No: far from being
strangers, we have been imbibing similar principles, similar views,
and similar affections. Our souls have communed for years, and rejoice
that the time at length is come in which that individual intercourse
for which they may most justly be said to have panted is opened. If
you object, if you hesitate, if you suspect me, you will annihilate
the purest sensations which these souls have mutually cherished: you
will wrong both yourself and me.'

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.