The Antiquary — Complete by Walter Scott (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

“That other ane,” whispered Edie, “maun be, according to a’ likelihood, Sir Arthur Wardour—I ken naebody but himsell wad come here at this time at e’en wi’ that German blackguard;—ane wad think he’s bewitched him—he gars him e’en trow that chalk is cheese. Let’s see what they can be doing.”

This interruption, and the low tone in which Sir Arthur spoke, made Lovel lose all Sir Arthur’s answer to the adept, excepting the last three emphatic words, “Very great expense;” to which Dousterswivel at once replied—“Expenses!—to be sure—dere must be de great expenses. You do not expect to reap before you do sow de seed: de expense is de seed—de riches and de mine of goot metal, and now de great big chests of plate, they are de crop—vary goot crop too, on mine wort. Now, Sir Arthur, you have sowed this night one little seed of ten guineas like one pinch of snuff, or so big; and if you do not reap de great harvest—dat is, de great harvest for de little pinch of seed, for it must be proportions, you must know—then never call one honest man, Herman Dousterswivel. Now you see, mine patron—for I will not conceal mine secret from you at all—you see this little plate of silver; you know de moon measureth de whole zodiack in de space of twenty-eight day—every shild knows dat. Well, I take a silver plate when she is in her fifteenth mansion, which mansion is in de head of Libra, and I engrave upon one side de worts, [Shedbarschemoth Schartachan]—dat is, de Emblems of de Intelligence of de moon—and I make this picture like a flying serpent with a turkey-cock’s head—vary well. Then upon this side I make de table of de moon, which is a square of nine, multiplied into itself, with eighty-one numbers on every side, and diameter nine—dere it is done very proper. Now I will make dis avail me at de change of every quarter-moon dat I shall find by de same proportions of expenses I lay out in de suffumigations, as nine, to de product of nine multiplied into itself—But I shall find no more to-night as maybe two or dree times nine, because dere is a thwarting power in de house of ascendency.”

“But, Dousterswivel,” said the simple Baronet, “does not this look like magic?—I am a true though unworthy son of the Episcopal church, and I will have nothing to do with the foul fiend.”

“Bah! bah!—not a bit magic in it at all—not a bit—It is all founded on de planetary influence, and de sympathy and force of numbers. I will show you much finer dan dis. I do not say dere is not de spirit in it, because of de suffumigation; but, if you are not afraid, he shall not be invisible.”

“I have no curiosity to see him at all,” said the Baronet, whose courage seemed, from a certain quaver in his accent, to have taken a fit of the ague.

“Dat is great pity,” said Dousterswivel; “I should have liked to show you de spirit dat guard dis treasure like one fierce watchdog—but I know how to manage him;—you would not care to see him?”

“Not at all,” answered the Baronet, in a tone of feigned indifference; “I think we have but little time.”

“You shall pardon me, my patron; it is not yet twelve, and twelve precise is just our planetary hours; and I could show you de spirit vary well, in de meanwhile, just for pleasure. You see I would draw a pentagon within a circle, which is no trouble at all, and make my suffumigation within it, and dere we would be like in one strong castle, and you would hold de sword while I did say de needful worts. Den you should see de solid wall open like de gate of ane city, and den—let me see—ay, you should see first one stag pursued by three black greyhounds, and they should pull him down as they do at de elector’s great hunting-match; and den one ugly, little, nasty black negro should appear and take de stag from them—and paf—all should be gone; den you should hear horns winded dat all de ruins should ring—mine wort, they should play fine hunting piece, as goot as him you call’d Fischer with his oboi; vary well—den comes one herald, as we call Ernhold, winding his horn—and den come de great Peolphan, called de mighty Hunter of de North, mounted on hims black steed. But you would not care to see all this?” *

* Note F. Witchcraft.

“Bah! mischiefs? no!—sometimes if de circle be no quite just, or de beholder be de frightened coward, and not hold de sword firm and straight towards him, de Great Hunter will take his advantage, and drag him exorcist out of de circle and throttle him. Dat does happens.”

“Well then, Dousterswivel, with every confidence in my courage and your skill, we will dispense with this apparition, and go on to the business of the night.”

“With all mine heart—it is just one thing to me—and now it is de time—hold you de sword till I kindle de little what you call chip.”

Dousterswivel accordingly set fire to a little pile of chips, touched and prepared with some bituminous substance to make them burn fiercely; and when the flame was at the highest, and lightened, with its shortlived glare, all the ruins around, the German flung in a handful of perfumes which produced a strong and pungent odour. The exorcist and his pupil both were so much affected as to cough and sneeze heartily; and, as the vapour floated around the pillars of the building, and penetrated every crevice, it produced the same effect on the beggar and Lovel.

“Was that an echo?” said the Baronet, astonished at the sternutation which resounded from above; “or”—drawing close to the adept, “can it be the spirit you talked of, ridiculing our attempt upon his hidden treasures?”

“N—n—no,” muttered the German, who began to partake of his pupil’s terrors, “I hope not.”

Here a violent of sneezing, which the mendicant was unable to suppress, and which could not be considered by any means as the dying fall of an echo, accompanied by a grunting half-smothered cough, confounded the two treasure-seekers. “Lord have mercy on us!” said the Baronet.

“Alle guten Geistern loben den Herrn!” ejaculated the terrified adept. “I was begun to think,” he continued, after a moment’s silence, “that this