My Novel
Chapter 21 : CAPTAIN ROLAND (solemnly).--"There is a great deal in a good t.i.tle. As a novel r

CAPTAIN ROLAND (solemnly).--"There is a great deal in a good t.i.tle. As a novel reader, I know that by experience."

MR. SQUILLS.--"Certainly; there is not a catchpenny in the world but what goes down, if the t.i.tle be apt and seductive. Witness 'Old Parr's Life Pills.' Sell by the thousand, Sir, when my 'Pills for Weak Stomachs,' which I believe to be just the same compound, never paid for the advertising."

MR. CAXTON.--"Parr's Life Pills! a fine stroke of genius. It is not every one who has a weak stomach, or time to attend to it if he have.

But who would not swallow a pill to live to a hundred and fifty-two?"

PISISTRATUS (stirring the fire in great excitement).--"My t.i.tle! my t.i.tle!--what shall be my t.i.tle?"

MR. CAXTON (thrusting his hand into his waistcoat, and in his most didactic of tones).--"From a remote period, the choice of a t.i.tle has perplexed the scribbling portion of mankind. We may guess how their invention has been racked by the strange contortions it has produced.

To begin with the Hebrews. 'The Lips of the Sleeping' (l.a.b.i.a Dormientium)--what book did you suppose that t.i.tle to designate?--A Catalogue of Rabbinical Writers! Again, imagine some young lady of old captivated by the sentimental t.i.tle of 'The Pomegranate with its Flower,' and opening on a Treatise on the Jewish Ceremonials! Let us turn to the Romans. Aulus Gellius commences his pleasant gossipping 'Noctes' with a list of the t.i.tles in fas.h.i.+on in his day. For instance, 'The Muses' and 'The Veil,' 'The Cornucopia,' 'The Beehive,' and 'The Meadow.' Some t.i.tles, indeed, were more truculent, and promised food to those who love to sup upon horrors,--such as 'The Torch,' 'The Poniard,'

'The Stiletto'--"

PISISTRATUS (impatiently).--"Yes, sir, but to come to My Novel."

MR. CAXTON (unheeding the interruption).--"You see you have a fine choice here, and of a nature pleasing, and not unfamiliar, to a cla.s.sical reader; or you may borrow a hint from the early dramatic writers."

PISISTRATUS (more hopefully).--"Ay, there is something in the Drama akin to the Novel. Now, perhaps, I may catch an idea."

MR. CAXTON.--"For instance, the author of the 'Curiosities of Literature' (from whom, by the way, I am plagiarizing much of the information I bestow upon you) tells us of a Spanish gentleman who wrote a Comedy, by which he intended to serve what he took for Moral Philosophy."

PISISTRATUS (eagerly).--"Well, sir?"

MR. CAXTON.--"And called it 'The Pain of the Sleep of the World.'"

PISISTRATUS.--"Very comic, indeed, sir."

MR. CAXTON.--"Grave things were then called Comedies, as old things are now called Novels. Then there are all the t.i.tles of early Romance itself at your disposal,--'Theagenes and Chariclea' or 'The a.s.s' of Longus, or 'The Golden a.s.s' of Apuleius, or the t.i.tles of Gothic Romance, such as 'The most elegant, delicious, mellifluous, and delightful History of Perceforest, King of Great Britain.'" And therewith my father ran over a list of names as long as the Directory, and about as amusing.

"Well, to my taste," said my mother, "the novels I used to read when a girl (for I have not read many since, I am ashamed to say)--"

MR. CAXTON.--"No, you need not be at all ashamed of it, Kitty."

MY MOTHER (proceeding).--"Were much more inviting than any you mention, Austin."

THE CAPTAIN.--"True."

MR. SQUILLS.--"Certainly. Nothing like them nowadays!"

MY MOTHER.--"'Says she to her Neighbour, What?'"

THE CAPTAIN.--"'The Unknown, or the Northern Gallery'--"

MR. SQUILLS.--"'There is a Secret; Find it out!'"

PISISTRATUS (pushed to the verge of human endurance, and upsetting tongs, poker, and fire-shovel).--"What nonsense you are talking, all of you! For Heaven's sake consider what an important matter we are called upon to decide. It is not now the t.i.tles of those very respectable works which issued from the Minerva Press that I ask you to remember,--it is to invent a t.i.tle for mine,--My Novel!"

MR. CAXTON (clapping his hands gently).--"Excellent! capital! Nothing can be better; simple, natural, pertinent, concise--"

PISISTRATUS.--"What is it, sir, what is it? Have you really thought of a t.i.tle to My Novel?"

MR. CAXTON.--"You have hit it yourself,--'My Novel.' It is your Novel; people will know it is your Novel. Turn and twist the English language as you will, be as allegorical as Hebrew, Greek, Roman, Fabulist, or Puritan, still, after all, it is your Novel, and nothing more nor less than your Novel."

PISISTRATUS (thoughtfully, and sounding the words various ways).--"'My Novel!'--um-um! 'My Novel!' rather bold--and curt, eh?"

MR. CAXTON.--"Add what you say you intend it to depict,--Varieties in English Life."

MY MOTHER.--"'My Novel; or, Varieties in English Life'--I don't think it sounds amiss. What say you, Roland? Would it attract you in a catalogue?"

My uncle hesitates, when Mr. Caxton exclaims imperiously.--"The thing is settled! Don't disturb Camarina."

SQUILLS.--"If it be not too great a liberty, pray who or what is Camarina?"

MR. CAXTON.--"Camarina, Mr. Squills, was a lake, apt to be low, and then liable to be muddy; and 'Don't disturb Camarina' was a Greek proverb derived from an oracle of Apollo; and from that Greek proverb, no doubt, comes the origin of the injunction, 'Quieta non movere,' which became the favourite maxim of Sir Robert Walpole and Parson Dale. The Greek line, Mr. Squills" (here my father's memory began to warm), is preserved by Stepha.n.u.s Byzantinus, 'De Urbibus,'

[Greek proverb]

Zen.o.bius explains it in his proverbs; Suidas repeats Zen.o.bius; Lucian alludes to it; so does Virgil in the Third Book of the AEneid; and Silius Italicus imitates Virgil,--

"'Et cui non licitum fatis Camarina moveri.'

"Parson Dale, as a clergyman and a scholar, had, no doubt, these authorities at his fingers' end. And I wonder he did not quote them,"

quoth my father; "but to be sure he is represented as a mild man, and so might not wish to humble the squire over-much in the presence of his family. Meanwhile, My Novel is My Novel; and now that, that matter is settled, perhaps the tongs, poker, and shovel may be picked up, the children may go to bed, Blanche and Kitty may speculate apart upon the future dignities of the Neogilos,--taking care, nevertheless, to finish the new pinbefores he requires for the present; Roland may cast up his account book, Mr. Squills have his brandy and water, and all the world be comfortable, each in his own way. Blanche, come away from the screen, get me my slippers, and leave Pisistratus to himself. [Greek line]--don't disturb Camarina. You see, my dear," added my father kindly, as, after settling himself into his slippers, he detained Blanche's hand in his own,--"you see, my dear, every house has its Camarina. Alan, who is a lazy animal, is quite content to let it alone; but woman, being the more active, bustling, curious creature, is always for giving it a sly stir."

BLANCHE (with female dignity).--"I a.s.sure you, that if Pisistratus had not called me, I should not have--"

MR. CAXTON (interrupting her, without lifting his eyes from the book he had already taken).--"Certainly you would not. I am now in the midst of the great Oxford Controversy. [The same Greek proverb]--don't disturb Camarina."

A dead silence for half-an-hour, at the end of which--

PISISTRATUS (from behind the screen).--"Blanche, my dear, I want to consult you."

Blanche does not stir.

PISISTRATUS.--"Blanche, I say." Blanche glances in triumph towards Mr.

Caxton.

MR. CAXTON (laying down his theological tract, and rubbing his spectacles mournfully).--"I hear him, child; I hear him. I retract my vindication of man. Oracles warn in vain: so long as there is a woman on the other side of the screen, it is all up with Camarina."

CHAPTER II.

It is greatly to be regretted that Mr. Stirn was not present at the parson's Discourse; but that valuable functionary was far otherwise engaged,--indeed, during the summer months he was rarely seen at the afternoon service. Not that he cared for being preached at,--not he; Mr.

Stirn would have snapped his fingers at the thunders of the Vatican.

But the fact was, that Mr. Stirn chose to do a great deal of gratuitous business upon the day of rest. The squire allowed all persons who chose to walk about the park on a Sunday; and many came from a distance to stroll by the lake, or recline under the elms. These visitors were objects of great suspicion, nay, of positive annoyance, to Mr.

Stirn--and, indeed, not altogether without reason, for we English have a natural love of liberty, which we are even more apt to display in the grounds of other people than in those which we cultivate ourselves.

Sometimes, to his inexpressible and fierce satisfaction, Mr. Stirn fell upon a knot of boys pelting the swans; sometimes he missed a young sapling, and found it in felonious hands, converted into a walking-stick; sometimes he caught a hulking fellow scrambling up the ha-ha to gather a nosegay for his sweetheart from one of poor Mrs.

Hazeldean's pet parterres; not infrequently, indeed, when all the family were fairly at church, some curious impertinents forced or sneaked their way into the gardens, in order to peep in at the windows. For these, and various other offences of like magnitude, Mr. Stirn had long, but vainly, sought to induce the squire to withdraw a permission so villanously abused. But though there were times when Mr. Hazeldean grunted and growled, and swore "that he would shut up the park, and fill it [illegally] with mantraps and spring-guns," his anger always evaporated in words. The park was still open to all the world on a Sunday; and that blessed day was therefore converted into a day of travail and wrath to Mr. Stirn. But it was from the last chime of the afternoon-service bell until dusk that the spirit of this vigilant functionary was most perturbed; for, amidst the flocks that gathered from the little hamlets round to the voice of the pastor, there were always some stray sheep, or rather climbing, desultory, vagabond goats, who struck off in all perverse directions, as if for the special purpose of distracting the energetic watchfulness of Mr. Stirn. As soon as church was over, if the day were fine, the whole park became a scene animated with red cloaks or lively shawls, Sunday waistcoats and hats stuck full of wildflowers--which last Mr. Stirn often stoutly maintained to be Mrs. Hazeldean's newest geraniums. Now, on this Sunday, especially, there was an imperative call upon an extra exertion of vigilance on the part of the superintendent,--he had not only to detect ordinary depredators and trespa.s.sers; but, first, to discover the authors of the conspiracy against the stocks; and, secondly, to "make an example."