Read Delphi Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft (Illustrated) Online
Authors: H. P. Lovecraft
A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johns
on
The Privilege of Reminiscence, however rambling or tiresome, is one generally allow’d to the very aged; indeed, ’tis frequently by means of such Recollections that the obscure occurrences of History, and the lesser Anecdotes of the Great, are transmitted to Posterity.
Tho’ many of my readers have at times observ’d and remark’d a Sort of antique Flow in my Stile of Writing, it hath pleased me to pass amongst the Members of this Generation as a young Man, giving out the Fiction that I was born in
I am now, however, resolv’d to unburthen myself of a Secret which I have hitherto kept thro’ Dread of Incredulity; and to impart to the Publick a true knowledge of my long years, in order to gratifie their taste for authentick Information of an Age with whose famous Personages I was on familiar Terms. Be it then known that I was born on the family Estate in
Devonshire,
of the 10th day of August, 1690 (or in the new
Gregorian
Stile of Reckoning, the 20th of August), being therefore now in my 228th year. Coming early to
London,
I saw as a Child many of the celebrated Men of King
William’s
Reign, including the lamented Mr.
Dryden,
who sat much at the Tables of
Will’s
Coffee-House. With Mr.
Addison
and Dr.
Swift
I later became very well acquainted, and was an even more familiar Friend to Mr.
Pope,
whom I knew and respected till the Day of his Death. But since it is of my more recent Associate, the late Dr.
Johnson,
that I am at this time desir’d to write; I will pass over my Youth for the present.
I had first Knowledge of the Doctor in May of the year 1738, tho’ I did not at that Time meet him. Mr.
Pope
had just compleated his Epilogue to his
Satires
(the Piece beginning: “Not twice a Twelvemonth you appear in Print.”), and had arrang’d for its Publication. On the very Day it appear’d, there was also publish’d a Satire in Imitation of
Juvenal,
intitul’d “
London
”, by the then unknown
Johnson;
and this so struck the Town, that many Gentlemen of Taste declared, it was the Work of a greater Poet than Mr.
Pope.
Notwithstanding what some Detractors have said of Mr.
Pope’s
petty Jealousy, he gave the Verses of his new Rival no small Praise; and having learnt thro’ Mr.
Richardson
who the Poet was, told me `that Mr.
Johnson
wou’d soon be
deterré.’
I had no personal Acquaintance with the Doctor till 1763, when I was presented to him at the
Mitre
Tavern by Mr.
James Boswell,
a young
Scotchman
of excellent Family and great Learning, but small Wit, whose metrical Effusions I had sometimes revis’d.
Dr.
Johnson,
as I beheld him, was a full, pursy Man, very ill drest, and of slovenly Aspect. I recall him to have worn a bushy Bob-Wig, untyed and without Powder, and much too small for his Head. His cloaths were of rusty brown, much wrinkled, and with more than one Button missing. His Face, too full to be handsom, was likewise marred by the Effects of some scrofulous Disorder; and his Head was continually rolling about in a sort of convulsive way. Of this Infirmity, indeed, I had known before; having heard of it from Mr.
Pope,
who took the Trouble to make particular Inquiries.
Being nearly seventy-three, full nineteen Years older than Dr.
Johnson
(I say Doctor, tho’ his Degree came not till two Years afterward), I naturally expected him to have some Regard for my Age; and was therefore not in that Fear of him, which others confess’d. On my asking him what he thought of my favourable Notice of his Dictionary in
The Londoner,
my periodical Paper, he said: “Sir, I possess no Recollection of having perus’d your Paper, and have not a great Interest in the Opinions of the less thoughtful Part of Mankind.” Being more than a little piqued at the Incivility of one whose Celebrity made me solicitous of his Approbation, I ventur’d to retaliate in kind, and told him, I was surpris’d that a Man of Sense shou’d judge the Thoughtfulness of one whose Productions he admitted never having read. “Why, Sir,” reply’d
Johnson,
“I do not require to become familiar with a Man’s Writings in order to estimate the Superficiality of his Attainments, when he plainly shews it by his Eagerness to mention his own Productions in the first Question he puts to me.” Having thus become Friends, we convers’d on many Matters. When, to agree with him, I said I was distrustful of the Authenticity of
Ossian’s
Poems, Mr.
Johnson
said: “That, Sir, does not do your Understanding particular Credit; for what all the Town is sensible of, is no great Discovery for a
Grub-Street
Critick to make. You might as well say, you have a strong Suspicion that
Milton
wrote
Paradise Lost
!”
I thereafter saw
Johnson
very frequently, most often at Meetings of THE LITERARY CLUB, which was founded the next Year by the Doctor, together with Mr.
Burke,
the parliamentary Orator, Mr.
Beauclerk,
a Gentleman of Fashion, Mr.
Langton,
a pious Man and Captain of Militia, Sir J.
Reynolds,
the widely known Painter, Dr.
Goldsmith,
the prose and poetick Writer, Dr.
Nugent,
father-in-law to Mr.
Burke,
Sir
John Hawkins,
Mr.
Anthony Chamier,
and my self. We assembled generally at seven o’clock of an Evening, once a Week, at the
Turk’s-Head,
in
Gerrard-Street, Soho,
till that Tavern was sold and made into a private Dwelling; after which Event we mov’d our Gatherings successively to
Prince’s
in
Sackville-Street, Le Tellier’s
in
Dover-Street,
and
Parsloe’s
and
The Thatched House
in
St. James’s-Street.
In these Meetings we preserv’d a remarkable Degree of Amity and Tranquillity, which contrasts very favourably with some of the Dissensions and Disruptions I observe in the literary and amateur Press Associations of today. This Tranquillity was the more remarkable, because we had amongst us Gentlemen of very opposed Opinions. Dr.
Johnson
and I, as well as many others, were high Tories; whilst Mr.
Burke
was a
Whig,
and against the
American
War, many of his Speeches on that Subject having been widely publish’d. The least congenial Member was one of the Founders, Sir
John Hawkins,
who hath since written many misrepresentations of our Society. Sir
John,
an eccentrick Fellow, once declin’d to pay his part of the Reckoning for Supper, because ’twas his Custom at Home to eat no Supper. Later he insulted Mr.
Burke
in so intolerable a Manner, that we all took Pains to shew our Disapproval; after which Incident he came no more to our Meetings. However, he never openly fell out with the Doctor, and was the Executor of his Will; tho’ Mr.
Boswell
and others have Reason to question the genuineness of his Attachment. Other and later Members of the CLUB were Mr.
David Garrick,
the Actor and early Friend of Dr.
Johnson,
Messieurs
Tho.
and
Jos. Warton,
Dr.
Adam Smith,
Dr.
Percy,
Author of the “Reliques”, Mr.
Edw. Gibbon,
the Historian, Dr.
Burney,
the Musician, Mr.
Malone,
the Critick, and Mr.
Boswell.
Mr.
Garrick
obtain’d Admittance only with Difficulty; for the Doctor, notwithstanding his great Friendship, was for ever affecting to decry the Stage and all Things connected with it.
Johnson,
indeed, had a most singular Habit of speaking for
Davy
when others were against him, and of arguing against him, when others were for him. I have no Doubt but that he sincerely lov’d Mr.
Garrick,
for he never alluded to him as he did to
Foote,
who was a very coarse Fellow despite his comick Genius. Mr.
Gibbon
was none too well lik’d, for he had an odious sneering Way which offended even those of us who most admir’d his historical Productions. Mr.
Goldsmith,
a little Man very vain of his Dress and very deficient in Brilliancy of Conversation, was my particular Favourite; since I was equally unable to shine in the Discourse. He was vastly jealous of Dr.
Johnson,
tho’ none the less liking and respecting him. I remember that once a Foreigner, a
German,
I think, was in our Company; and that whilst
Goldsmith
was speaking, he observ’d the Doctor preparing to utter something. Unconsciously looking upon
Goldsmith
as a meer Encumbrance when compar’d to the greater Man, the Foreigner bluntly interrupted him and incurr’d his lasting Hostility by crying, “Hush, Toctor
Shonson
iss going to speak!”
In this luminous Company I was tolerated more because of my Years than for my Wit or Learning; being no Match at all for the rest. My Friendship for the celebrated Monsieur
Voltaire
was ever a Cause of Annoyance to the Doctor; who was deeply orthodox, and who us’d to say of the
French
Philosopher: “Vir est acerrimi Ingenii et paucarum Literarum.”
Mr.
Boswell,
a little teazing Fellow whom I had known for some Time previously, us’d to make Sport of my aukward Manners and old-fashion’d Wig and Cloaths. Once coming in a little the worse for Wine (to which he was addicted) he endeavour’d to lampoon me by means of an Impromptu in verse, writ on the Surface of the Table; but lacking the Aid he usually had in his Composition, he made a bad grammatical Blunder. I told him, he shou’d not try to pasquinade the Source of his Poesy. At another Time
Bozzy
(as we us’d to call him) complain’d of my Harshness toward new Writers in the Articles I prepar’d for
The Monthly Review.
He said, I push’d every Aspirant off the Slopes of Parnassus. “Sir,” I reply’d, “you are mistaken. They who lose their Hold do so from their own Want of Strength; but desiring to conceal their Weakness, they attribute the Absence of Success to the first Critick that mentions them.” I am glad to recall that Dr.
Johnson
upheld me in this Matter.
Dr.
Johnson
was second to no Man in the Pains he took to revise the bad Verses of others; indeed, ’tis said that in the book of poor blind old Mrs. Williams, there are scarce two lines which are not the Doctor’s. At one Time
Johnson
recited to me some lines by a Servant to the Duke of
Leeds,
which had so amus’d him, that he had got them by Heart. They are on the Duke’s Wedding, and so much resemble in Quality the Work of other and more recent poetick Dunces, that I cannot forbear copying them:
“When the Duke of Leeds shall marry’d be
To a fine young Lady of high Quality
How happy will that Gentlewoman be
In his Grace of Leeds’ good Company.”
I ask’d the Doctor, if he had ever try’d making Sense of this Piece; and upon his saying he had not, I amus’d myself with the following Amendment of it:
When Gallant LEEDS auspiciously shall wed
The virtuous Fair, of antient Lineage bred,
How must the Maid rejoice with conscious Pride
To win so great an Husband to her Side!
On shewing this to Dr.
Johnson,
he said, “Sir, you have straightened out the Feet, but you have put neither Wit nor Poetry into the Lines.”
It wou’d afford me Gratification to tell more of my Experiences with Dr.
Johnson
and his circle of Wits; but I am an old Man, and easily fatigued. I seem to ramble along without much Logick or Continuity when I endeavour to recall the Past; and fear I light upon but few Incidents which others have not before discuss’d. Shou’d my present Recollections meet with Favour, I might later set down some further Anecdotes of old Times of which I am the only Survivor. I recall many things of
Sam Johnson
and his Club, having kept up my Membership in the Latter long after the Doctor’s Death, at which I sincerely mourn’d. I remember how
John Burgoyne,
Esq., the General, whose Dramatick and Poetical Works were printed after his Death, was blackballed by three Votes; probably because of his unfortunate Defeat in the
American
War, at
Saratoga.
Poor
John!
His Son fared better, I think, and was made a Baronet. But I am very tired. I am old, very old, and it is Time for my Afternoon Nap.
OR THE HEART OF A COUNTRY GIRL
Chapter I.
A Simple Rustic Maid
Ermengarde Stubbs was the beauteous blonde daughter of Hiram Stubbs, a poor but honest farmer-bootlegger of Hogton, Vt. Her name was originally Ethyl Ermengarde, but her father persuaded her to drop the praenomen after the passage of the 18th Amendment, averring that it made him thirsty by reminding him of ethyl alcohol, C2H5OH. His own products contained mostly methyl or wood alcohol, CH3OH. Ermengarde confessed to sixteen summers, and branded as mendacious all reports to the effect that she was thirty. She had large black eyes, a prominent Roman nose, light hair which was never dark at the roots except when the local drug store was short on supplies, and a beautiful but inexpensive complexion. She was about 5ft 5.33...in tall, weighed
Ermengarde’s hand was sought in matrimony by two ardent lovers. ‘Squire Hardman, who had a mortgage on the old home, was very rich and elderly. He was dark and cruelly handsome, and always rode horseback and carried a riding-crop. Long had he sought the radiant Ermengarde, and now his ardour was fanned to fever heat by a secret known to him alone — for upon the humble acres of Farmer Stubbs he had discovered a vein of rich GOLD!! “Aha!” said he, “I will win the maiden ere her parent knows of his unsuspected wealth, and join to my fortune a greater fortune still!” And so he began to call twice a week instead of once as before.
But alas for the sinister designs of a villain— ‘Squire Hardman was not the only suitor for the fair one. Close by the village dwelt another — the handsome Jack Manly, whose curly yellow hair had won the sweet Ermengarde’s affection when both were toddling youngsters at the village school. Jack had long been too bashful to declare his passion, but one day while strolling along a shady lane by the old mill with Ermengarde, he had found courage to utter that which was within his heart.
“O light of my life,” said he, “my soul is so overburdened that I must speak! Ermengarde, my ideal [he pronounced it i-deel!], life has become an empty thing without you. Beloved of my spirit, behold a suppliant kneeling in the dust before thee. Ermengarde — oh, Ermengarde, raise me to an heaven of joy and say that you will some day be mine! It is true that I am poor, but have I not youth and strength to fight my way to fame? This I can do only for you, dear Ethyl — pardon me, Ermengarde — my only, my most precious—” but here he paused to wipe his eyes and mop his brow, and the fair responded:
“Jack — my angel — at last — I mean, this is so unexpected and quite unprecedented! I had never dreamed that you entertained sentiments of affection in connexion with one so lowly as Farmer Stubbs’ child — for I am still but a child! Such is your natural nobility that I had feared — I mean thought — you would be blind to such slight charms as I possess, and that you would seek your fortune in the great city; there meeting and wedding one of those more comely damsels whose splendour we observe in fashion books.
“But, Jack, since it is really I whom you adore, let us waive all needless circumlocution. Jack — my darling — my heart has long been susceptible to your manly graces. I cherish an affection for thee — consider me thine own and be sure to buy the ring at Perkins’ hardware store where they have such nice imitation diamonds in the window.”
“Ermengarde, me love!”
“Jack — my precious!”
“My darling!”
“My own!”
“My Gawd!”
[Curtain]
Chapter II.
And the Villain Still Pursued Her
But these tender passages, sacred though their fervour, did not pass unobserved by profane eyes; for crouched in the bushes and gritting his teeth was the dastardly ‘Squire Hardman! When the lovers had finally strolled away he leapt out into the lane, viciously twirling his moustache and riding-crop, and kicking an unquestionably innocent cat who was also out strolling.
“Curses!” he cried — Hardman, not the cat— “I am foiled in my plot to get the farm and the girl! But Jack Manly shall never succeed! I am a man of power — and we shall see!”
Thereupon he repaired to the humble Stubbs’ cottage, where he found the fond father in the still-cellar washing bottles under the supervision of the gentle wife and mother, Hannah Stubbs. Coming directly to the point, the villain spoke:
“Farmer Stubbs, I cherish a tender affection of long standing for your lovely offspring, Ethyl Ermengarde. I am consumed with love, and wish her hand in matrimony. Always a man of few words, I will not descend to euphemism. Give me the girl or I will foreclose the mortgage and take the old home!”
“But, Sir,” pleaded the distracted Stubbs while his stricken spouse merely glowered, “I am sure the child’s affections are elsewhere placed.”
“She must be mine!” sternly snapped the sinister ‘squire. “I will make her love me — none shall resist my will! Either she becomes muh wife or the old homestead goes!”
And with a sneer and flick of his riding-crop ‘Squire Hardman strode out into the night.
Scarce had he departed, when there entered by the back door the radiant lovers, eager to tell the senior Stubbses of their new-found happiness. Imagine the universal consternation which reigned when all was known! Tears flowed like white ale, till suddenly Jack remembered he was the hero and raised his head, declaiming in appropriately virile accents:
“Never shall the fair Ermengarde be offered up to this beast as a sacrifice while I live! I shall protect her — she is mine, mine, mine — and then some! Fear not, dear father and mother to be — I will defend you all! You shall have the old home still [adverb, not noun — although Jack was by no means out of sympathy with Stubbs’ kind of farm produce] and I shall lead to the altar the beauteous Ermengarde, loveliest of her sex! To perdition with the crool ‘squire and his ill-gotten gold — the right shall always win, and a hero is always in the right! I will go to the great city and there make a fortune to save you all ere the mortgage fall due! Farewell, my love — I leave you now in tears, but I shall return to pay off the mortgage and claim you as my bride!”
“Jack, my protector!”
“Ermie, my sweet roll!”
“Dearest!”
“Darling! — and don’t forget that ring at Perkins’.”
“Oh!”
“Ah!”
[Curtain]
Chapter III.
A Dastardly Act
But the resourceful ‘Squire Hardman was not so easily to be foiled. Close by the village lay a disreputable settlement of unkempt shacks, populated by a shiftless scum who lived by thieving and other odd jobs. Here the devilish villain secured two accomplices — ill-favoured fellows who were very clearly no gentlemen. And in the night the evil three broke into the Stubbs cottage and abducted the fair Ermengarde, taking her to a wretched hovel in the settlement and placing her under the charge of Mother Maria, a hideous old hag. Farmer Stubbs was quite distracted, and would have advertised in the papers if the cost had been less than a cent a word for each insertion. Ermengarde was firm, and never wavered in her refusal to wed the villain.
“Aha, my proud beauty,” quoth he, “I have ye in me power, and sooner or later I will break that will of thine! Meanwhile think of your poor old father and mother as turned out of hearth and home and wandering helpless through the meadows!”
“Oh, spare them, spare them!” said the maiden.
“Neverr . . . ha ha ha ha!” leered the brute.
And so the cruel days sped on, while all in ignorance young Jack Manly was seeking fame and fortune in the great city.
Chapter IV.
Subtle Villainy
One day as ‘Squire Hardman sat in the front parlour of his expensive and palatial home, indulging in his favourite pastime of gnashing his teeth and swishing his riding-crop, a great thought came to him; and he cursed aloud at the statue of Satan on the onyx mantelpiece.
“Fool that I am!” he cried. “Why did I ever waste all this trouble on the girl when I can get the farm by simply foreclosing? I never thought of that! I will let the girl go, take the farm, and be free to wed some fair city maid like the leading lady of that burlesque troupe which played last week at the Town Hall!”
And so he went down to the settlement, apologised to Ermengarde, let her go home, and went home himself to plot new crimes and invent new modes of villainy.
The days wore on, and the Stubbses grew very sad over the coming loss of their home and still but nobody seemed able to do anything about it. One day a party of hunters from the city chanced to stray over the old farm, and one of them found the gold!! Hiding his discovery from his companions, he feigned rattlesnake-bite and went to the Stubbs’ cottage for aid of the usual kind. Ermengarde opened the door and saw him. He also saw her, and in that moment resolved to win her and the gold. “For my old mother’s sake I must” — he cried loudly to himself. “No sacrifice is too great!”
Chapter V.
The City Chap
Algernon Reginald Jones was a polished man of the world from the great city, and in his sophisticated hands our poor little Ermengarde was as a mere child. One could almost believe that sixteen-year-old stuff. Algy was a fast worker, but never crude. He could have taught Hardman a thing or two about finesse in sheiking. Thus only a week after his advent to the Stubbs family circle, where he lurked like the vile serpent that he was, he had persuaded the heroine to elope! It was in the night that she went leaving a note for her parents, sniffing the familiar mash for the last time, and kissing the cat goodbye — touching stuff! On the train Algernon became sleepy and slumped down in his seat, allowing a paper to fall out of his pocket by accident. Ermengarde, taking advantage of her supposed position as a bride-elect, picked up the folded sheet and read its perfumed expanse — when lo! she almost fainted! It was a love letter from another woman!!
“Perfidious deceiver!” she whispered at the sleeping Algernon, “so this is all that your boasted fidelity amounts to! I am done with you for all eternity!”
So saying, she pushed him out the window and settled down for a much needed rest.
Chapter VI.
Alone in the Great City
When the noisy train pulled into the dark station at the city, poor helpless Ermengarde was all alone without the money to get back to Hogton. “Oh why,” she sighed in innocent regret, “didn’t I take his pocketbook before I pushed him out? Oh well, I should worry! He told me all about the city so I can easily earn enough to get home if not to pay off the mortgage!”
But alas for our little heroine — work is not easy for a greenhorn to secure, so for a week she was forced to sleep on park benches and obtain food from the bread-line. Once a wily and wicked person, perceiving her helplessness, offered her a position as dish-washer in a fashionable and depraved cabaret; but our heroine was true to her rustic ideals and refused to work in such a gilded and glittering palace of frivolity — especially since she was offered only $3.00 per week with meals but no board. She tried to look up Jack Manly, her one-time lover, but he was nowhere to be found. Perchance, too, he would not have known her; for in her poverty she had perforce become a brunette again, and Jack had not beheld her in that state since school days. One day she found a neat but costly purse in the park; and after seeing that there was not much in it, took it to the rich lady whose card proclaimed her ownership. Delighted beyond words at the honesty of this forlorn waif, the aristocratic Mrs. Van Itty adopted Ermengarde to replace the little one who had been stolen from her so many years ago. “How like my precious Maude,” she sighed, as she watched the fair brunette return to blondeness. And so several weeks passed, with the old folks at home tearing their hair and the wicked ‘Squire Hardman chuckling devilishly.
Chapter VII.
Happy Ever Afterward
One day the wealthy heiress Ermengarde S. Van Itty hired a new second assistant chauffeur. Struck by something familiar in his face, she looked again and gasped. Lo! it was none other than the perfidious Algernon Reginald Jones, whom she had pushed from a car window on that fateful day! He had survived — this much was almost immediately evident. Also, he had wed the other woman, who had run away with the milkman and all the money in the house. Now wholly humbled, he asked forgiveness of our heroine, and confided to her the whole tale of the gold on her father’s farm. Moved beyond words, she raised his salary a dollar a month and resolved to gratify at last that always unquenchable anxiety to relieve the worry of the old folks. So one bright day Ermengarde motored back to Hogton and arrived at the farm just as ‘Squire Hardman was foreclosing the mortgage and ordering the old folks out.
“Stay, villain!” she cried, flashing a colossal roll of bills. “You are foiled at last! Here is your money — now go, and never darken our humble door again!”
Then followed a joyous reunion, whilst the ‘squire twisted his moustache and riding-crop in bafflement and dismay. But hark! What is this? Footsteps sound on the old gravel walk, and who should appear but our hero, Jack Manly — worn and seedy, but radiant of face. Seeking at once the downcast villain, he said: