|
The Witch Burners (the last page or pages are missing)
From a Collection of Crowley's Plays and Scenarios
“Balmoral” Telekebir Road, Streatham Common.
The Dining Room.
Henry Froggs, 48. Millicent, his wife, 47. Mabel, their daughter, 18.
The year of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ — Ah well, we shall soon discover. The day of the week was Saturday, the month June, and their occupation to take tea.
2.
Mr. Froggs put down the Globe. His face was stern and set. He was remembering that he was a Pillar of the Empire, the Established Church, and the City of London. He could not show weakness before his family, however his heart-strings might be wrung. It was his part to maintain righteousness. One never knew with women; their sympathies were always apt to lead them to take an unworthy, even by implication an almost immoral view of such matters as the present. His wife was hiding her tear-blinded swollen circumstances of the family crises, or was her grief due partly to maternal anxiety lest the punishment had already overtaken the crime? As for Mabel — well, he could read the message of her eyes. Their hard glitter meant defiance. Her cheeks were white with fear, not red with shame. And her silence was ominous.
Mr. Froggs would not stand any such nonsense. “My dear!” he said slowly after clearing his throat, “I hope you have made Mabel understand that this means an end to her engagement with young Lyon.”
His wife choked back a sob and looked up trembling. “Couldn't we keep it from Lord Carnivor?”
“Do you actually mean that you sit there in your sober senses and tell me that you think that we can hush up this horrible business? You can scarcely realise that what you suggest means that Dr. Lyon would be willing to acquiesce in the family disgrace, to be an accomplice in deceiving his own father. I really don't know what we are coming to!”
“Justus loves me,” said Mabel, through her teeth.
“It was such a wonderful match,” moaned Mrs. Froggs.
“I am a good Conservative, I trust,” replied her husband. “But that is only the more reason why I refuse either to toady to the nobility or to deceive them.”
“Justus is too honourable to ruin my life just because — oh!” She could not finish her thought. Her father turned upon her almost savagely.
“It is you who are dishonourable,” he thundered, “to play upon a good man's love. No, don't dare to interrupt! I believe in my heart that you have a sneaking sympathy for your brother — pah!” He snorted and broke off.
“Our son, Henry,” came the maternal sniff.
“Who has brought our white hairs down in sorrow to the grave!” Neither he nor his wife had more than a touch of grey: still a quotation is a quotation.
“But, papa, Robert!”
“I told you never to mention that name again in my hearing! Never let him darken my door again!”
“Oh Henry! when the poor boy may be lying dead at this moment!”
“When he may be a murderer at this moment!”
“He has been led astray by evil companions, I am sure — oh! Henry, do leave the door open for repentance!”
“He has made his bed and he must lie on it.”
Mabel rose to her feet. She was tearing at a small white square of linen; she dropped the shreds on the carpet, and began to pluck nervously at her dress.
“Oh, why isn't Justus here?” she whispered to herself but loudly enough to be heard.
“He has heard of the — oh — of what happened, no doubt. I felt something was wrong when he didn't come in in time for tea. I'm afraid we shall never see him again.” The tears began once more to traverse the good lady's cheeks.
“Better so, my dear, much better so. A scene could only be painful, humiliating and utterly useless. I hope so, indeed! I most heartily hope so!”
3.
Mabel gave a little cry, and started towards the door. Her ear had caught a faint sound on the gravel, and instantly the door-bell rang. The family were stricken into statuary. The parlour maid appeared and announced, “Doctor Lyon.”
A young man in knickerbockers entered the room, and greeted the family with quiet cheerfulness. Their attitude broke off his phrases. Mr. Froggs became ineffably tense. Mabel collapsed on to a sofa, and began to cry. Mrs. Froggs collected her social wits.
“Let me give you some tea, Justus!” she exclaimed rather hysterically, with a forced smile. The young man thought it best to pretend to notice nothing, and devoted himself to the meal, interspersing it with meteorological and political platitudes. The steam-roller of English manners crushed out all reference to the facts for the time being.
4.
The door opened quietly, and a smiling youth came forward. Like Justus Lyon, he was dressed in knickerbockers, and he wore a pair of black shoes curiously laced. The shoes were barred with strips of leather. He greeted his mother tenderly: but she had not the courage to return his kiss. His sister flung herself into his arms and sobbed aloud.
Robert Froggs extended a hand to Justus, and exchanged a smile of amusement with him.
The father of the family had risen to his feet, and was pointing sternly to the door.
“For God's sake, Henry!” cried Mrs. Froggs, “be fair to our poor boy. He may have some excuse — the vilest criminals have the right to speak in their defence.”
“Look at his shoes!” retorted Froggs, his face aflame with mottled purple.
“What is that on the back of your hand?” he went on, with lightning in his eyes, pointing to his son.
There was a moment's silence.
“Blood!” gasped Mrs. Froggs.
Robert laughed gaily.
“Don't worry Mater; I came a bit of a spill, that's all.”
“The blood of Abel riseth unto me from the ground,” quoth his father, unintentionally blasphemous. “Where is thy brother?”
The young man laughed outright.
“This is certainly news to me, pater!”
“I disown you” roared Froggs. “You are no son of mine!”
Mrs. Froggs gave a shrill scream and fainted on the spot.
Between them, Robert and Mabel restored her to consciousness and led her from the room.
5.
Dr. Lyon turned an enquiring eye upon his intended father-in-law. The elder man avoided the glance.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Justus, whose amusement at the ways of the bourgeois family into which he hoped to marry had given place to undefined anxiety. “I don't want to ask awkward questions — but — well, I can't help seeing that there is something wrong — and I'd give my right hand to help you out.”
There was a moment of terrible silence. Then Mr. Froggs went heavily across to a writing-desk, picked up an unsealed letter that lay on it, and returning, handed it to the young man.
“To my father!” he exclaimed in surprise.
The envelope was addressed — The Right Honourable The Lord Carnivor, Machan Manor, Nr. Springon, Bucks.
“Read it!” said Froggs, averting his face.
“My Lord,” ran the letter, “I have the regret and humiliation to inform you than an indelible disgrace of which I beg you to allow me to spare you the disgusting particulars has fallen upon my family. I have disowned the culprit; but it still remains for me to cancel the engagement between your son and my daughter Mabel. I beg you to accept my sincerest apologies and regrets that I can offer no reparation to your Lordship in the tragic circumstances.
I have the humiliation to remain,
Your Lordship's obedient servant, Henry Froggs.”
Lyon's eyes were hugely dilated. He laid down the letter on the tea-table slowly, and tried to collect his thoughts.
“Mr. Froggs,” he said at last, raising his hand, “this letter is quite sufficient for my father, but you will forgive me, with your customary indulgence, if I say that I cannot give up Mabel without knowing more of the circumstances.”
“No,” replied Mr. Froggs. “You are a young man — and what has occurred is too bad to tell you, apart from the question of the pain which any discussion would inflict on myself.”
“I know my father pretty well,” returned Justus, “and he is the last man in the world to sit down under this — insult.” He had hesitated long enough before flinging the last word in the face of his host. When he did so, it shot out like a bullet. Mr. Froggs came near to reeling back physically under the impact; but he struck the table with his fist and stood firm.
6.
Robert and Mabel came back into the room.
“Mother will stay upstairs,” said the boy hotly, his face white with rage. “I shall bow to your commands, sir, and leave this house for ever — and —”
“You will not!” retorted Froggs, in a fury; “you are under age; the police will bring you back.”
Justus interposed. “Really, sir,” he protested, “I cannot admit that I am being treated fairly. What is this frightful mystery, after all? Robert doesn't seemed ashamed of himself, and Mabel is on his side. I'd put my hand in the fire for the innocence of either of them —”
“By Jove, that's something like a pal!” cried Robert, grasping his friend's hand.
Froggs sank into a chair; the strain had been too much for his heart.
“Get me some brandy, Bob!” cried Lyon, his fingers on the invalid's pulse. A smart dose revived the senior.
“Now, sir!” said Lyon with authority, “as your physician I insist on knowing what this trouble is about.”
Froggs shook his head. Justus interrogated Robert with a glance. The boy paled slightly: “Well, I suppose it is pretty rotten, as the pater sees it. But I don't care; I'm not ashamed. I've been to Herne Hill, and now the mischief's out!”
“Herne Hill!” echoed Justus in bewilderment, “what's that? Perfectly reliable suburb I've always heard — but I suppose there's a girl there, eh? Better make a clean breast of it, old fellow!”
“I forbid you to speak,” cried Froggs faintly; “you've said too much already — the papers will tell him only too soon.”
“Oh rats, pater!” exclaimed the unrepentant prodigal. He picked up the Globe, found a paragraph, and pointed to the fatal disclosure. It appeared that Robert Froggs had won the Ten Miles Safety Bicycle Scratch Race, covering the distance in Thirty-eight Minutes, Fourteen Seconds and Three Fifths.
“Yes,” gasped Froggs, with a gulp, “Robert has taken to bicycling.”
7.
Justus Lyon put an amazing question. “Look here, sir, what is your objection to cycling after all?”
The eyes of Mr. Froggs nearly started from his head. He repeated opinions of all sane and honest citizens at great length.
In the first place, cycling was murder, or at least manslaughter of the most culpable kind. It was also a senseless and brutal form of suicide. The bicycle would enable criminals to distance the police. Its silent approach would encourage the burglar and facilitate highway robbery. It was flying in the face of Providence. People who once learnt to cycle would never be content with any other form of locomotion, but become addicted to the vice, and neglect the duties of life. Almighty God had never intended people to cycle. It gave its victims an unfair advantage over their fellows. It destroyed the moral sense. It excited the basest animal passions. It took young people away from the influence of the Home. It encouraged idleness by making the wholesome exercise of walking seem tedious. It would be injurious to religion by tempting people to go into the country for the Sabbath. It was wantonly extravagant. It developed spinal curvature, and ruined the nervous system. It was the indulgence of low-class individuals. It would break down the barriers of society. It would make the railroads bankrupt. It was a menace to the national honour and security. It —
There were many other counts in the indictment; but Mr. Froggs was obliged to stop for want of breath. He took a third glass of brandy, and rose to his feet.
“And now go!” he concluded, covering his son with a trembling forefinger.
Justus Lyon did not laugh. He took the argument seriously.
“One word, I beg, Mr. Froggs, before the lives of five people are irreparably blasted!” Froggs acquiesced with judicial majesty.
“Much of what you say is perfectly true, sir,” the young man went on, “that is, the bicycle may be abused in all the ways you have pointed out. Some people are naturally reckless of their own lives, and of the lives of others. But we have survived the introduction of gunpowder after all. And of course when a new pleasure is invented, some of us take it up with irrational enthusiasm; we ride for the fun of it. But that will soon wear off; in a year or two we shall be sensible once more, and ride only when we want to save time in getting from one place to another on our lawful business. As for criminal, we can teach the police to ride too. Society is sane in the long run; frankly, I can't imagine any development of the application of natural laws to human use which could ultimately damage mankind. Excuse me, too, if I say that it shows little reverence for Almighty God to distrust His government. There is a limit to everything. We shall soon learn exactly what place the bicycle has in the scheme of creation, and to use its evident advantages while we avoid its dangers. As for health, I tell you as a physician that cycling in moderation is eminently calculated to do good to many types of constitution.”
Mr. Froggs wiped the sweat from his brow. “I never thought to live and see the day when Lord Carnivor's son would actually defend this horrible atheistical immoral Radical vice!”
Lyon smiled a little grimly. “Alas, my dear sir, but filial duty dictates my conduct. My father himself rides a tricycle — in the park, of course, where people whom he helps to govern cannot see him at his infamous debauch!”
8.
“Is it possible?” groaned Mr. Froggs. “One of Her Majesty's Ministers! Where will this stop? — In whom shall we trust?”
“If you will allow me to suggest it, sir, why not trust in the Providence of God and the Common Sense of Man?”
The practical side of Mr. Froggs' character asserted itself. He tore the letter up.
“I see!” he said slowly and thickly. “I cannot blame Robert for following the example of Lord Carnivor. But he should keep it to himself, at least. He should have remembered my position in Streatham!”
“It is certainly a little awkward — and Robert has been thoughtless,” agreed Justus. “But he had no hope of your approval, and he kept it from your knowledge as well as he could — no, I don't call it deceitful on his part. He was in a very difficult position: his conscience tells him, no doubt, that he is doing right to help popularize what he considers a boon to humanity, and, knowing your attitude, to spare you needless pain. Have patience, sir; within a very few months bicycles will be all the rage in the very best society.”
9.
Mr. Froggs raised his drooping head, and let it fall again upon his breast.
“Ah well!” he sighed, “I suppose I am just an old fogey — I am falling behind the times. But I never thought —”
“It's always the same story, sir. Think of the introduction of chloroform! It was supposed by the same set of arguments as you have used today. Omne ignotrum proterrabili!” Mr. Froggs nodded emphatically. He wished Lyon to think that he had not forgotten his Latin. He never lost a chance of reminding the world that he had been at Rugby. “Then what,” Justus went on ruthlessly “about those very railways which you were so concerned to defend just now?”
“I suppose so,” murmured the reluctant Froggs. “My old father certainly thought they meant the end of England.” He began to glow with the idea that he was an advanced thinker after all.
“Let me put it to you as a physiologist. You know how easy it is to do what is habitual, and how hard to teach an old dog new tricks. Every new idea demands a special expenditure of nervous energy. The brain has to adopt itself to unfamiliar conditions. As we grow older, we become less able and therefore less inclines to make the necessary adjustments. That is the physiological interpretation of Conservatism.”
“You don't tell me that you're a Radical,” shuddered Froggs.
“Not a bit! I recognise as well as you do that our old ideas, proved by experience, are our most valuable guides — but only as long as the conditions of our environment remain unaltered. With changing times we must make new biological compensations. Thought must be progressive. I have no use for violent upheavals; the new thoughts should be the logical extensions of the old. But we ought to discriminate between the preposterous proposals of the unbalanced minds, and the sane growth of the elastic system of the brain. How else has evolution always worked? Some species have died out because they lacked the intelligence to accommodate themselves to new situations: the tiger, for instance, has not invented a way of defending himself against the introduction of firearms.”
“Yes, that is all true enough,” agreed Mr. Froggs. “But — this bicycle business!” — His mind insisted on a last explosion. Justus thought the moment had come to change the subject.
10.
“Let me indulge in a small prophecy,” he smiled. “For some months past I have been experimenting with a little known drug. It is a violent poison if you take too much; but in small quantities it is invaluable as a local anaesthetic. Besides this, it exhilarates and stimulates far more intensely than alcohol, with out producing any of the unpleasant symptoms of drunkenness or causing the reaction of ‘the next morning!’ ”
“It also enables one to resist fatigue to an almost incredible extent: the natives of Equatorial America use it in a crude form to make long marches. But if employed habitually it tends to ruin the nerves, among other really appalling results; it may even lead to insanity. It may destroy the moral sense, and it is hard to break off the habit of taking it when it is once thoroughly acquired.”
“Yes, yes” agreed Mr. Froggs, somewhat testily.
“But where does the prophecy come in?”
“Oh, that's easy!” laughed back the doctor. “One day, especially if these T-total fanatics make any serious headway, the public will discover its advantages, and go crazy over it. There will be all sorts of accidents and crimes, and waves of indignation, and Acts of Parliament, and a subterranean traffic, and a recrudescence of smuggling and so on — very much the same state of affairs as we see now when the public is beginning to appreciate the joys of cycling. And then the excitement will die out; and those who can use it advantageously, and have learnt to use it wisely, will continue to apply it; those who have no real object in taking it is who make themselves ill with it, will drop it. There will be occasional accidents and crimes, of course; but — why, Great Scott, sir! so there are today with axes. You can surely imagine what a fuss there was when the axe first came into vogue! All our weapons are dangerous weapons; but it is the glory of humanity to have faced every new danger as it arose, and to have developed the kind of self-control demanded by each particular case.”
“I see,” said Mr. Froggs, thoughtfully — the effort was visibly painful! — “I suppose it's all right. That's very interesting about your new drug — what do you call it?”
Doctor Lyon told him: “Cocaine.”
Epilogue.
Lord Carnivor buried his tricycling father some five years later. In spite of paternal cares Mabel herself had become an ardent cyclist. Uncle Robert himself taught their children the new strange vice, and Mr. and Mrs. Froggs were happy enough after all, that their grand children were able to ride over so easily to see them in their declining years.
By the time that little Justus and Robert and Mabel and Millicent were grown up, humanity had been attacked by quite a number of the most hideous menaces to its existence. The Rontgen rays, the Hertz rays, the motor-car, William Jennings Bryan, the Telephone, the aeroplane, the dirigible, Radium, golf, various comets, the Elders of Zion, Joseph Chamberlain, narcotic drugs, spinal meningitis, appendicitis, influenza, Nietzsche, the submarine, Ibsen, Whistler, the Maxim Silencer, Mr. Lloyd George, the Kaiser and several other diabolical inventions had done their best and their worst. Nobody could say that any of them had produced any disproportionate effect one way or the other; and everybody was still excited, indignant, apprehensive, enthusiastic — and so on, as his nature moved — every time the New Wonder turned up. There were all sorts of new laws to compel everybody to do everything, and to forbid them to do anything; which laws were obeyed by those who new no better, and evaded by those whose interest it was to do so. The biologically competent investigated every much new opportunity of gaining advantage of avoiding disadvantage. The servile or inelastic retained their fears and prejudices; the extension of knowledge left them more ignorant, relatively to the possible total, than were their ancestors who could not read or write. The foolish talked more volubly and loudly than they had ever done; the wise found it easier than it had ever been to keep silence, and to rule by so doing. The influx of terrible novelties had produced only one definite result; it had set up a readily appreciable standard of moral and intellectual superiority. One was able to pick out the people who were worth their salt by their attitude to any epoch-making revolutionary terrific idea. They would look at it calmly and enquiringly, test
[last page missing]
|