Lizard World (21 page)

Read Lizard World Online

Authors: Terry Richard Bazes

BOOK: Lizard World
8.06Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

      
But I did not flee, nor fail to do my duty -- no, notwithstanding the prodigious vileness of that nether appendage the which now, perforce, I overstept. Indeed, by the pale moonlight thro’ that casement window, I pluck’d off the crimson coverlet and, in short and plain, made discovery, ‘neath the sweated bobs of his Lordship’s periwig, of a morbid and most altogether curious excrescence of the cranium.

      
The colony of carbuncles which had fix’d thereon is nothing to the purpose -- nor is his Lordship’s foaming lethargy, nor his most singular coldness the which, by the by, I did my humble best to relieve with sudorifick herbs. Nay, rather what did, upon the sudden, enflame my curiosity was the peculiar circumstance that this most unnatural excrescence did seem to be a broadening of the brain-pan. But moreover than this, so evidently bony was this increase that I could not but grievously question whether the very brain had not swell’d up like a Yorkshire pudding and occasion’d an extuberance of the skull. ’Twas, in fine, this hideous misdoubt that did occupy my thoughts as, once again -- having done my best endeavour to attend his Lordship -- I betook me to the sanctuary of my cabinet.

No
sooner, in point of fact, had I there return’d and shut to my chamber door than it pleased Almighty God, in His Wisdom and His Mercy, to vouchsafe me a manifest and full wondrous sign. Now I had, as I have heretofore made mention, but lately fortuned to acquire a most exceeding choice edition of Descartes. This volume happ’ning now to lay upon my table hard by my open casement, a great gust of wind burst in and ruffled thro’ the pages. This occurring, as I have told, when most I made question of a swelling of the brain, I doubt not in the least that this was no earthly wind, but the Immediate Finger of Almighty God. For as soon as this wind had abated of its vigour and this book, by consequence, had left off the turning of its leaves, I found therein the very certain answer that I sought. It was, in fine, a
passage wherein this right worthy and compleat philosopher disserts upon that little glandule in the brain which is the very dwelling-place of the Immortal Soul.

      
Straightways, as one might surmize, I did perceive that it was this very glandule, the pineal kernel, which had most curiously and prodigiously enlarged. None, save those who have themselves found out the secret jewels of science, can well conceive what manner of jubilant excitement and feverish speculation did now overtake my spirits. For altho’ his Lordship’s tail full plain enough bespoke a frightful degeneracy of the body, yet the extraordinary enlargement of this little gland could not but indubitably imply the singular tenacity and endurance of his soul. I was not, I must own, slow to grasp the unexampled opportunity this robust glandule afforded me for the advancement of chirurgery. For had not Descartes (who cannot be enough commended) most clearly and distinctly demonstrated that the soul alone thinks and may exist without the body, which is but a mere, stupid species of machine? Therefore did it not, by force of logick, follow that -- so long as this prodigious gland remained -- his Lordship’s soul upon this earth could survive the excision of his limbs and organs -- yea, even the removal of his brain?

Thus
it was, at the very nonce when my gentlemanly honour had quite entirely determined me to quit his Lordship’s household, that I was held back, as it were, by the Immediate Hand of Providence. I am indeed all too sensible that there are those who might be pleased to make some most ungenerous and, in a word, improper observations on this account. But, forasmuch as my chiefest care must perforce have been the health -- nay, the very salvation -- of my noble patient, I venture to affirm that I could not, of all conscience, have done elsewise. I shall content myself, henceforth, to say nothing more upon this head. For the simple knowledge that I have done my duty is, in very truth, reward enough for the myriad indignities which now I
suffer’d.

Of
these, to be sure, the most frequent was the continuance of my nightly service to the grandees of the gaming-table where, as ever, it was my humble charge to fetch and bow and endure whatever manner of mortification might be contrived by this pack of silken worthies and their practised harlots. For when (as it oftentimes befell) his Lordship was sick abed in his chamber and could neither rouse nor dress himself for cards, there was indeed no end to the liberties they took. Of this set, as I have elsewhere had occasion to remark, I most especially call to remembrance Lord Amberly, Viscount Chommeley, a stinkardly fat-cheeked rake who vouchsafed to find some sportful recreation in my torment. The other conspicuous creature and his confederate in all such merriment was the infamous Mistress Felsham, a pox’d and painted old bawd, a cunning and liquorish old animal who, for the riotous diversion of this company, did not scruple to lift up the red flannel of her petticoats so that I might kiss her wrinkled rump.

      
The better to endure such drolleries, it was my wont, whensoever I had their gracious leave to run some fool’s errand or stand in silent service next their table, to rally up my spirits by thinking on the metaphysick virtues of chirurgery. For my profession -- nay, my calling -- was (as I did only now most lucidly perceive it) to adapt the principles of engraftment in horticulture to the practice of a philosophick chirurgery. It must, I own, be conceded that the old barber, Frobin, had, in some measure, made a rude beginning in this art. But whereas the old hump-back had stumbled upon the mechanicks, he was verily bat-blind to their philosophick implications. For whilst he had aimed merely to please the vulgar by the means of the exhibition of monstrosities -- and did therefore confine his care to the chirurgery of singular appearances, my more philosophick enthusiasm was to ascertain how such chirurgical engraftment might effect the admixture and transmutation of essences. For altho’ the body is (as Monsieur Descartes hath most excellently observed) but only a species of machine like a pendulum-clock, yet is it to be wondered at that if the interiour work of one clock were to be exchanged for the wheels and springs of another that the mechanick engine thus alter’d would tick and toll and count the hours differently? But moreover than this, if the sin in his Lordship’s soul had (as I did now surmize) been mechanically generated in the pineal kernel by a distemper of the animal spirits and if, in their turn, these animal spirits had thither transmitted this distemper through the arteries from the poisonous malignance of the snakish extremities, then might not the chirurgic alteration of this bodily machine verily accomplish his salvation?

      
In such sort as this, at all events, was I most fixedly a-thinking when (having brought them up a platterful of oysters from the kitchen) I return’d to find this honourable company peculiarly intent upon a game at cards. It was, as I recall, but an ordinary hand at ombre played by three men of quality at table -- and yet I have the picture of it most distinctly in remembrance by reason that my sportive persecutor, the right worthy Viscount Chommeley, was full evidently at a painful disadvantage. Indeed, never before had I seen such a pasty pallor o’erspread his proud, plump cheeks and fat-sagg’d chops. The silken ladies of this company, like a pack of slavering wolves, had encircled him and now watched his every move. No doubt he afforded these creatures a sufficiently droll amusement -- sourly squinting at his cards and fingering his coins, ever and again fetching sighs and loosening his cravat as tho’ he were unaccountably at a loss for breath.

      
It may well be supposed that I could not chuse but relish these most visible tokens of this gallant shittabed’s discomposure -- the more so as it was my noble master, judging by the guineas heaped before him, who had gotten all the gains at his expence. In point of fact his Lordship (who, by the by, had made a shift to conceal his condition ‘neath a more ampler coat and periwig) had full soon taken his last coin. Thereupon this fat-faced worthy fell to fingering his ring -- the like of which I had never before seen for the prodigious bignesss of its ruby. This he had no sooner wrested off his fleshy finger, than he declared that he was grievously athirst and (by the fixt eyes of his scowl) gave me to understand that he required me to attend him. Yet, when I ’gan to fill his cup, he was pleased to declare that he could nowise drink such stuff, that he was not to be treated after the manner of some poor ale-house tipler and (as if I had been the occasion of his ill success at cards) most churlishly bade me begone and fetch him a choicer liquor from the vault.

      
Inasmuch as I durst not quarrel, but must needs bite my tongue and endeavour to supply every the least want of my betters, it was not long ere I had winded down the stair-case to the vault -- a mightily displeasing and darksome place, dismal and damp withal, yet admirably supplied with all manner of brave vintages. Of these the most choicest -- venerable Hocks and Moselles, Burgundies and Clarets, Ports and Malmseys and Florences which had slumbered for generations in their dunnish casks and uncouth bottles -- lay, beyond a row of low-bent arches, in the darkest and most distant recess of the cellar. ’Twas thither that I now betook me, whereupon, having chosen out a bottle of the oldest Florence, I was upon the point to leave when I chanced to espy some manner of creature with a lantern evanish out of sight behind a file of distant barrels.

      
Would that my headstrong and most shamefully sinful curiosity had not now prompted me to follow. But the plain of the case is, alas, that some inexplicable itching of my soul incited me to haste my step thro’ this charnel-house of bottles until, at the length, I did heartily sicken to behold Frobin’s one-ey’d, dull-brain’d daughter enlightning the stair-case to the cells. Had this filthy and monstrously lamentable object not now been clutching what did seem a joint of meat, I dare say I would have cared as little to ascertain her purpose as I would to find out the employments of a scabby dog. But, as it was, I did tarry here some moments conceal’d behind a fusty barrel until, having watched this creature clamber down the stair, I at last resolv’d to follow.

      
I confess I know not why I had a mind to so wayward a fancy, when I should more properly have hasted upstairs with my bottle. But adown this stair I now did go till, having come upon the dungeon door, I could not forbear from looking thro’ the keyhole. ’Twas not the rusted manacles and disused enginery of torture, nor was it the sight of this wretch laying down her joint of meat upon the foul’d floor which did so fatefully engage my interest. Nay, rather, ’twas the beast I did see a-lurking next a garotte in the shadows. At the first sight I did think it but an ordinary spaniel with somewhat like a hump upon its back. But when this hump did turn and grimace, I did recognise it as the head of a roguish monkey most cunningly fasten’d twixt this spaniel’s shoulders, in such wise that meseem’d this monkey’s head did ride thereon like a horseman on a sorry jade. But ’twas not the mere mechanick cunningness of this prodigy which did so mightily inflame my fancy. For tho’ presently I did both see it sniff its bone and lift its leg to piss after the manner of a common spaniel, yet full soon thereafter I did see it scamper up the rope of the strappado and frolick from the ceiling by its tail as tho’ not the head alone, but the body of the poor dog as well had been inhabited by the nature of the monkey. Only a man of science who has been vouchsafed the rare good fortune to have his fondest hypothesis confirmed by the certainty of fact can well conceive the headiness of my transport. For tho’ I had long entertained the philosophick possibility of such a wondrous admixture of essences, I had never until now beheld the living proof.

      
It required but a moment, like the catching of some virulent distemper, but the sight of this marvel ‘gan now to work upon me with the wasting excitation of a fever. Indeed, no sooner had I uprisen from this keyhole and begun back upstairs with my bottle, than I ’gan to inquire of myself how I might steal the key to this dungeon, whether other such prodigies yet lurked within its depths -- and what new compounds of life, what philosophick advancement, I might make by the practice of a metaphysick splicing, if only I might learn a few mechanick rudiments. For tho’ I doubted not in the least that Frobin had no greater understanding of this marvel than an idiot-born of a learned book, yet he alone possess’d the secrets of the knife.

      
But now that I was come again above-stairs and into the presence of my betters, all these feverish speculations did, perforce, give place to uncorking my bottle and serving them at table. It may well be supposed that I most promptly did attend the Viscount Chommeley.
Not that he did deign to pay me any the least regard or take notice of the wine he had bespoke, so mightily intent was he still upon his game at cards. And yet methinks I never did find myself so merry when filling up his cup, for it pleased me exceedingly well to see how sore he was a-losing. Yea, how passing sweet it was to see that this great-buttocked coxcomb had lost not only abundance of guineas, but moreover than this his gold-cased watch and his inestimable ruby which I now very near laughed aloud to behold upon my master’s finger. ’Twas indeed over the loss of this prodigious ruby that the right honourable Viscount was presently most shrill a-whining, protesting that my Lord owed him, by course of common courtesy, at the very least a chance to win it back. To this request my Lord was now pleas’d to rejoin that he would most willingly stake his ruby upon another hand at cards, were it not that the Viscount Chommeley had full evidently nothing of the like value -- nay, not so much as a dozen of guineas -- wherewith to lay a wager.

Other books

The Hero Strikes Back by Moira J. Moore
For Those Who Hunt the Wounded Down by David Adams Richards
Buddhist Boot Camp by Hawkeye, Timber
Death on the Pont Noir by Adrian Magson
Regret Not a Moment by McGehee, Nicole
Icing Ivy by Evan Marshall
Once A Hero by Michael A. Stackpole
Next Spring an Oriole by Gloria Whelan