Dwaraka/Training_Dataset_of_Project_Gutebberg_Gothic_Fiction

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CHAPTER I


Nightmare Abbey, a venerable family-mansion, in a highly picturesque
state of semi-dilapidation, pleasantly situated on a strip of dry land
between the sea and the fens, at the verge of the county of Lincoln,
had the honour to be the seat of Christopher Glowry, Esquire. This
gentleman was naturally of an atrabilarious temperament, and much
troubled with those phantoms of indigestion which are commonly called
_blue devils_. He had been deceived in an early friendship: he had
been crossed in love; and had offered his hand, from pique, to a lady,
who accepted it from interest, and who, in so doing, violently tore
asunder the bonds of a tried and youthful attachment. Her vanity was
gratified by being the mistress of a very extensive, if not very
lively, establishment; but all the springs of her sympathies were
frozen. Riches she possessed, but that which enriches them, the
participation of affection, was wanting. All that they could purchase
for her became indifferent to her, because that which they could not
purchase, and which was more valuable than themselves, she had, for
their sake, thrown away. She discovered, when it was too late, that
she had mistaken the means for the end--that riches, rightly used, are
instruments of happiness, but are not in themselves happiness. In this
wilful blight of her affections, she found them valueless as means:
they had been the end to which she had immolated all her affections,
and were now the only end that remained to her. She did not confess
this to herself as a principle of action, but it operated through the
medium of unconscious self-deception, and terminated in inveterate
avarice. She laid on external things the blame of her mind's internal
disorder, and thus became by degrees an accomplished scold. She often
went her daily rounds through a series of deserted apartments, every
creature in the house vanishing at the creak of her shoe, much more
at the sound of her voice, to which the nature of things affords no
simile; for, as far as the voice of woman, when attuned by gentleness
and love, transcends all other sounds in harmony, so far does
it surpass all others in discord, when stretched into unnatural
shrillness by anger and impatience.

Mr Glowry used to say that his house was no better than a spacious
kennel, for every one in it led the life of a dog. Disappointed both
in love and in friendship, and looking upon human learning as vanity,
he had come to a conclusion that there was but one good thing in the
world, _videlicet_, a good dinner; and this his parsimonious lady
seldom suffered him to enjoy: but, one morning, like Sir Leoline in
Christabel, 'he woke and found his lady dead,' and remained a very
consolate widower, with one small child.

This only son and heir Mr Glowry had christened Scythrop, from the
name of a maternal ancestor, who had hanged himself one rainy day in a
fit of _toedium vitae_, and had been eulogised by a coroner's jury in
the comprehensive phrase of _felo de se_; on which account, Mr Glowry
held his memory in high honour, and made a punchbowl of his skull.

When Scythrop grew up, he was sent, as usual, to a public school,
where a little learning was painfully beaten into him, and from thence
to the university, where it was carefully taken out of him; and he was
sent home like a well-threshed ear of corn, with nothing in his head:
having finished his education to the high satisfaction of the
master and fellows of his college, who had, in testimony of their
approbation, presented him with a silver fish-slice, on which his name
figured at the head of a laudatory inscription in some semi-barbarous
dialect of Anglo-Saxonised Latin.

His fellow-students, however, who drove tandem and random in great
perfection, and were connoisseurs in good inns, had taught him to
drink deep ere he departed. He had passed much of his time with these
choice spirits, and had seen the rays of the midnight lamp tremble
on many a lengthening file of empty bottles. He passed his vacations
sometimes at Nightmare Abbey, sometimes in London, at the house of
his uncle, Mr Hilary, a very cheerful and elastic gentleman, who had
married the sister of the melancholy Mr Glowry. The company that
frequented his house was the gayest of the gay. Scythrop danced with
the ladies and drank with the gentlemen, and was pronounced by both a
very accomplished charming fellow, and an honour to the university.

At the house of Mr Hilary, Scythrop first saw the beautiful Miss Emily
Girouette. He fell in love; which is nothing new. He was favourably
received; which is nothing strange. Mr Glowry and Mr Girouette had
a meeting on the occasion, and quarrelled about the terms of the
bargain; which is neither new nor strange. The lovers were torn
asunder, weeping and vowing everlasting constancy; and, in three weeks
after this tragical event, the lady was led a smiling bride to the
altar, by the Honourable Mr Lackwit; which is neither strange nor new.

Scythrop received this intelligence at Nightmare Abbey, and was half
distracted on the occasion. It was his first disappointment, and
preyed deeply on his sensitive spirit. His father, to comfort him,
read him a Commentary on Ecclesiastes, which he had himself composed,
and which demonstrated incontrovertibly that all is vanity. He
insisted particularly on the text, 'One man among a thousand have I
found, but a woman amongst all those have I not found.'

'How could he expect it,' said Scythrop, 'when the whole thousand were
locked up in his seraglio? His experience is no precedent for a free
state of society like that in which we live.'

'Locked up or at large,' said Mr Glowry, 'the result is the same:

CHAPTER I

Nightmare Abbey, a venerable family-mansion, in a highly picturesque

state of semi-dilapidation, pleasantly situated on a strip of dry land

between the sea and the fens, at the verge of the county of Lincoln,

had the honour to be the seat of Christopher Glowry, Esquire. This

gentleman was naturally of an atrabilarious temperament, and much

troubled with those phantoms of indigestion which are commonly called

_blue devils_. He had been deceived in an early friendship: he had

been crossed in love; and had offered his hand, from pique, to a lady,

who accepted it from interest, and who, in so doing, violently tore

asunder the bonds of a tried and youthful attachment. Her vanity was

gratified by being the mistress of a very extensive, if not very

lively, establishment; but all the springs of her sympathies were

frozen. Riches she possessed, but that which enriches them, the

participation of affection, was wanting. All that they could purchase

for her became indifferent to her, because that which they could not

purchase, and which was more valuable than themselves, she had, for

their sake, thrown away. She discovered, when it was too late, that

she had mistaken the means for the end--that riches, rightly used, are

instruments of happiness, but are not in themselves happiness. In this

wilful blight of her affections, she found them valueless as means:

they had been the end to which she had immolated all her affections,

and were now the only end that remained to her. She did not confess

this to herself as a principle of action, but it operated through the

medium of unconscious self-deception, and terminated in inveterate

avarice. She laid on external things the blame of her mind's internal

disorder, and thus became by degrees an accomplished scold. She often

went her daily rounds through a series of deserted apartments, every

creature in the house vanishing at the creak of her shoe, much more

at the sound of her voice, to which the nature of things affords no

simile; for, as far as the voice of woman, when attuned by gentleness

and love, transcends all other sounds in harmony, so far does

it surpass all others in discord, when stretched into unnatural

shrillness by anger and impatience.

Mr Glowry used to say that his house was no better than a spacious

kennel, for every one in it led the life of a dog. Disappointed both

in love and in friendship, and looking upon human learning as vanity,

he had come to a conclusion that there was but one good thing in the

world, _videlicet_, a good dinner; and this his parsimonious lady

seldom suffered him to enjoy: but, one morning, like Sir Leoline in

Christabel, 'he woke and found his lady dead,' and remained a very

consolate widower, with one small child.

This only son and heir Mr Glowry had christened Scythrop, from the

name of a maternal ancestor, who had hanged himself one rainy day in a

fit of _toedium vitae_, and had been eulogised by a coroner's jury in

the comprehensive phrase of _felo de se_; on which account, Mr Glowry

held his memory in high honour, and made a punchbowl of his skull.

When Scythrop grew up, he was sent, as usual, to a public school,

where a little learning was painfully beaten into him, and from thence

to the university, where it was carefully taken out of him; and he was

sent home like a well-threshed ear of corn, with nothing in his head:

having finished his education to the high satisfaction of the

master and fellows of his college, who had, in testimony of their

approbation, presented him with a silver fish-slice, on which his name

figured at the head of a laudatory inscription in some semi-barbarous

dialect of Anglo-Saxonised Latin.

His fellow-students, however, who drove tandem and random in great

perfection, and were connoisseurs in good inns, had taught him to

drink deep ere he departed. He had passed much of his time with these

choice spirits, and had seen the rays of the midnight lamp tremble

on many a lengthening file of empty bottles. He passed his vacations

sometimes at Nightmare Abbey, sometimes in London, at the house of

his uncle, Mr Hilary, a very cheerful and elastic gentleman, who had

married the sister of the melancholy Mr Glowry. The company that

frequented his house was the gayest of the gay. Scythrop danced with

the ladies and drank with the gentlemen, and was pronounced by both a

very accomplished charming fellow, and an honour to the university.

At the house of Mr Hilary, Scythrop first saw the beautiful Miss Emily

Girouette. He fell in love; which is nothing new. He was favourably

received; which is nothing strange. Mr Glowry and Mr Girouette had

a meeting on the occasion, and quarrelled about the terms of the

bargain; which is neither new nor strange. The lovers were torn

asunder, weeping and vowing everlasting constancy; and, in three weeks

after this tragical event, the lady was led a smiling bride to the

altar, by the Honourable Mr Lackwit; which is neither strange nor new.

Scythrop received this intelligence at Nightmare Abbey, and was half

distracted on the occasion. It was his first disappointment, and

preyed deeply on his sensitive spirit. His father, to comfort him,

read him a Commentary on Ecclesiastes, which he had himself composed,

and which demonstrated incontrovertibly that all is vanity. He

insisted particularly on the text, 'One man among a thousand have I

found, but a woman amongst all those have I not found.'

'How could he expect it,' said Scythrop, 'when the whole thousand were

locked up in his seraglio? His experience is no precedent for a free

state of society like that in which we live.'

'Locked up or at large,' said Mr Glowry, 'the result is the same: