Eldritch Tales (5 page)

First of all, new light revealed the distorted and blackened form of the mysterious stranger. The hideous eyes were now closed. Disliking the sight, I turned away and entered the chamber beyond the Gothic door. Here I found what seemed much like an alchemist’s laboratory. In one corner was an immense pile of shining yellow metal that sparkled gorgeously in the light of the torch. It may have been gold, but I did not pause to examine it, for I was strangely affected by that which I had undergone. At the farther end of the apartment was an opening leading out into one of the many wild ravines of the dark hillside forest. Filled with wonder, yet now realising how the man had obtained access to the chateau, I proceeded to return. I had intended to pass by the remains of the stranger with averted face but, as I approached the body, I seemed to hear emanating from it a faint sound, as though life were not yet wholly extinct. Aghast, I turned to examine the charred and shrivelled figure on the floor.

Then all at once the horrible eyes, blacker even than the seared face in which they were set, opened wide with an expression which I was unable to interpret. The cracked lips tried to frame words which I could not well understand. Once I caught the name of Charles Le Sorcier, and again I fancied that the words ‘years’ and ‘curse’ issued from the twisted mouth. Still I was at a loss to gather the purport of his disconnected speech. At my evident ignorance of his meaning, the pitchy eyes once more flashed malevolently at me, until, helpless as I saw my opponent to be, I trembled as I watched him.

Suddenly the wretch, animated with his last burst of strength, raised his piteous head from the damp and sunken pavement. Then, as I remained, paralysed with fear, he found his voice and in his dying breath screamed forth those words which have ever afterward haunted my days and nights. ‘Fool!’ he shrieked, ‘Can you not guess my secret? Have you no brain whereby you may recognise the will which has through six long centuries fulfilled the dreadful curse upon the house? Have I not told you of the great elixir of eternal life? Know you not how the secret of Alchemy was solved? I tell you, it is I! I! I! that have lived for six hundred years to maintain my revenge, for I am Charles Le Sorcier!’

A REMINISCENCE OF DR SAMUEL JOHNSON

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 1890, in
America
. 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 Charmier
, 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 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!’