Plagiarism in Of One Blood
In “The Wind of Words: Plagiarism and Intertextuality in Of One Blood,” I listed some of the plagiarisms in Hopkins’s novel and their sources. On this site, I will be uploading the full texts of the plagiarized passages that I have found (including some new ones) in a format that will enable readers to see exactly what Hopkins took from her sources and what she altered in the process. In the list below of plagiarized passages in Of One Blood, I have put the words that Hopkins copied from the source-text in bold-face type, left the words that she did not copy from the source-text in roman type, and placed the words that she herself added in brackets.
William James, “The Hidden Self,” Scribner’s Magazine 7 (1890): 361-73. Google Books.
No part of the unclassed residuum has usually been treated with a more contemptuous scientific disregard than the mass of phenomena generally called mystical. . . . Medicine sweeps them out; or, at most, when in an anecdotal vein, records a few of them [Briggs was a close student of what might be termed “absurdities” of supernatural phenomena or mysticism, best known to the every-day world] as "effects of the imagination," a phrase of mere dismissal whose meaning, in this connection, [and which] it is impossible to make precise [; the book suited his mood]. (361) 16 words (A few quoted but unattributed passages from “The Hidden Self” follow.)
Francis Marion Crawford, “Casa Braccio,” Century Illustrated Magazine 49 (1895): 702-16. Google Books.
No one could fail to notice the vast breadth of shoulder, the firm, columnar [strong] throat, [that upheld a plain face, the long limbs, the sinewy hands.] and the small athlete's head, [His head was that of an athlete,] with close-set ears. . . . The man's complexion was of that perfectly even but [his skin was white, but of a tint suggesting olive, an] almost sallow color which often belongs to very [is a mark of] strong melancholic temperaments. (710-11) 26 words
Charles H. Campbell, “The Little Waif,” Ballou’s Magazine 50 (1879): 44-52. Google Books.
She was at best but a dusty, travel-stained creature; but with her blue [Silhouetted against the background of lowering sky and waving branches, he saw distinctly outlined a fair face framed in golden hair, with soft brown] eyes, deep and earnest,—terribly earnest [they seemed] just then,—her rose-tinged baby lips, and the [an expression of] wistful entreaty of her expression, she was at that moment a lovely living picture. (44) 14 words
S. Weir Mitchell, “Characteristics,” Century Illustrated Magazine 43 (April 1892): 859-68. Google Books.
Dolinkovitch, the chief councilor, announced his belief that as the qualities of [True, Reuel, and I often wonder what becomes of the] mind and morals involved distinctive entities, grouped for use in the republic known as man, these must be scattered by death. (861) 12 words
Emile Gaboriau, The Clique of Gold (New York: Scribner’s, 1900). Hathitrust Digital Library.
"I sometimes think so myself," answered Griggs, with one of his steady looks. "In a way, every one must have a sort of duality—a good and an evil principle."
"God and the devil," suggested [Reuel] Francesca, simply.
"[Yes, sinner or saint, Body and [or] soul would do, I suppose [which wins in the life struggle?]. The one is always in slavery to the other. The result is a sinner or a saint, as the case may be. One never can tell," he added more carelessly. "I am not sure that it matters. But one can see it. The battle is fought in the face." (713) 17 words
Emma Hardinge Britten, The Wildfire Club (Boston: Berry, Colby, 1861). Google Books.
Psychometry—it is a favorite theme with me. It brings such hidden wonders to the light, and unveils such a [I would go farther than M. Binet in unveiling the] vast scheme of compensation and retribution carried about in the very deepest [vast] recesses of the human soul. (247) 15 words
William Wells Brown, My Southern Home (Boston: A. G. Brown, 1880). Google Books.
Under the spur of the excitement occasioned by the Proclamation of Freedom, and the great need of schools for the blacks, thousands of dollars were contributed at the North, and agents [were] sent to Great Britain, where generosity had no bounds [towards the Negroes was boundless]. Money came in from all quarters [directions] (214) 41 words
Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, Dead Man’s Rock: A Romance (London: Cassell, 1887). Google Books.
Stealing, rising, swelling, gathering as it thrilled the ear all graces and [the] delights of perfect sound [harmony in a grand minor cadence that told of deliverance from bondage and homage to God for his wonderful aid]; sweeping the awed heart with touch that set the strings quivering to an ecstasy that was almost pain; breathing through them in passionate whispering; hovering, swaying, soaring upward to the very roof [they held the vast multitude in speechless wonder], then shivering down again in celestial shower of silver—there came [fell] a voice [upon the listening ear] that trod [passed] all conceptions, all comparisons, all dreams to scorn; a voice beyond hope, beyond belief; a voice that in its [great soprano of] unimaginable beauty seemed to compel the very heaven to listen [soaring heavenward in mighty intervals].
And yet—surely I knew—surely it could not be—
I must be dreaming—mad! The bare notion was incredible—and even as my heart spoke the words, the theatre grew [Surely it could not be—he must be dreaming! It was incredible! Even as he whispered the words to himself the hall seemed to grow] dim and shadowy; the vast sea of faces heaved, melted [away], swam in confusion; all sound came dull and hoarse upon my ear; while there—There, [before him] in the blaze of light, radiant, lovely, a glorified and triumphant queen, stepped forward before the eyes of that vast multitude—my love, my Claire! [like a lovely phantom—stood a woman wearing the face of his vision of the afternoon!] (255-56) 62 words
James, “The Hidden Self”
Something escapes the best of us, not accidentally, but systematically, and because we have a twist. . . . [If these are] Facts [they] are there only for those who have a mental affinity with them. (362) 12 words
William Thornton, Origin, Purpose, and Destiny of Man, or Philosophy of the Three Ethers (Boston: Thornton, 1891). Google Books.
The most marvellous thing to watch is the death of a person. At that moment the opposite takes place to that which took place when the life entered the first unit, after nature had prepared it for the inception of life. How the vigorous life watches the passage of the liberated life out of its material [earthly] environment! What a process [change] this is! How momentous [important] the knowledge [of] whither life tendeth [tends]! Here is manifested the liberation [shown the setting free] of a disciplined spirit delivering up its mortal coil to take on [giving up its mortality for] immortality, the condition necessary to know God.
Death really means the liberation of the spirit from its material environment. The chemical changes going on in its material environment are the same as belong to the matter of the universe, and are subject to the same laws which are manifested in the eternal passivity of nature and which sooner or later must come to an end. Life is everlasting, and from its reality can have no end. The unreal and unstable things preserve their identity for a limited time; but the real are those which never change, [Life is real and never changes,] but preserve[s] their [its] identity eternally as the Angels, and the Immortal Spirit of Man, which are the only realities and continuities in the universe, God being Supreme Ruler of all. (970) 113 words
“Discovers the Secret of Life,” Boston Daily Globe, 29 September 1902: 9. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.
“I can bring back the dead to life. . . . I have numberless times [in the past six months] restored consciousness to dogs and cats after they had been dead two hours and after rigor mortis had set in.” . . .
Dr. Littlefield makes these declarations:
“1—[I have found by research that] Life is not dependent upon organic function as a principle
“2—It may be infused into organized bodies even after the organs have ceased to perform their legitimate offices
“3—Where death has been due to causes which have not impaired or injured or destroyed tissue formation or torn down the structure of vital organs, life may be recalled when it has become entirely extinct [which is not so in the present case]. . . .
He asserts that the secret of life is [lies in what we call] volatile magnetism. . . . it exists, he claims, in the free atmosphere.
It [This subtile magnetic agent] is [constantly] drawn into the body through the lungs, at once absorbed and held in bounds until chemical combination has occurred through the medium of mineral agents always present in normal animal tissue.
When a person is dead, of course, respiration ceases and the volatile [this] magnetism cannot be drawn into the lungs. . . . He has discovered a [This] compound, which, he declares, [gentlemen,] is an exact reproduction of conditions existent in the human body. This compound [It] has common salt as its basic chemical [for its basis]. The salt is saturated with oleo resin and is allowed to stand [then] exposed for several hours in an atmosphere of free ammonia. The product is reduced to [becomes] a powder. It is this powder [and] that, the doctor claims, brings back the [seeming] dead to life. (9) 175 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
He brought with him [There radiated from the speaker] the potent presence of his [a] truthful mind, his [a] pure, unselfish nature, and that inborn dignity which repels the shafts of lower minds, as ocean’s might absorbs [waves absorb] the drops of rain. . . . In his presence, something like respect mingled with awe prompted every tongue to hush[ed] the sneer[s] or chang[ing] it [them] into admiration. (234-35) 40 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
The world scarcely estimates the service rendered by those who have unlocked the gates of sensation by the revelations of science and the resources of art; and yet it is to the clear perception of things which we obtain by the study of Nature’s laws, that we are enabled to appreciate her many varied gifts. (134) 48 words
How often do we look back in dreamy wonder at the course of other men’s lives, whose paths have diverged so widely from the beaten track of our own, that, unable to comprehend the one spring upon which, perhaps, the whole secret of the diversity hinged, we have been fain to content ourselves with summing up our judgment in the often-uttered remark [common phrase], “Well, it’s very strange; what odd people there are in the world, to be sure!” How many times these [this] trite sentence[s] were [was] uttered . . . [during the next few months] we cannot correctly state; but we have reason to believe that they [generally] terminat[ing] every debate [among medical students in various colleges. (50) 80 words
“Alixe,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 16 (1883): 722-30. Google Books.
The young man bowed over her hand, murmuring some indistinct words of rapture and thanks [Livingston listened and looked in a trance of delight, his keen artistic sense fully aroused and appreciative,] feeling the glamour of her presence and [ethereal] beauty like a man who has been poring over a poem [that he has unexpectedly stumbled upon], losing himself in it, until it has become[s], as it were, a part of himself. . . .
He knew all the time that it was [He felt as he watched her that he was doing] a foolish thing to do [in thus exposing himself to temptation while his honor and faith were pledged to another]; but then, foolishness is so much better than wisdom, particularly to a man in certain stages of life. (726) 50 words
James, “The Hidden Self”
To-day, when in her normal state, this poor peasant-woman is [My father made the necessary passes and from] a serious and rather sad person [Negress], calm and slow, very mild with everyone, . . . [Mira changed to a] She is gay, noisy, restless [woman], sometimes insupportably so. She remains good-natured, but has acquired a singular tendency to [full of] irony and sharp jesting. Nothing is more curious than to [see her and] hear her, after a sitting when she has received a visit from strangers who wished to see her asleep. (366) 22 words
Isabella V. Crawford, “A Five-O’Clock Tea,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 17 (1884): 287-91. Google Books.
A dozen men buzz[ed] about Mrs. Dupressy [“Miss Adams”] in the great bay window, eager to carry the queer little Chinese cup to its destination, and as the rooms fill, the old-gold divan becomes the point round which the social tide ebbs and flows. People come and go continually [came and went constantly]. . . .
Musical girls, generally with gold eye-glasses on chill, esthetic noses, play[ed] grim classical preparations, which have as cheerful an effect on the [a] gay crowd as the perfect, irreproachable skeleton of a bygone beauty might have, or articulate, with cultivation and no voices to speak of, arias which would almost sap the life of a true child of song to render as the maestro intended. . . .
Her face has become [was] a study in its gorgeous, delicate, quickly changing tints, its sparkle of smiles running from the sweet, pure tremor of the lovely mouth to the swift laughter of eyes and voice. . . .
She lift[ed] her eyes to his with a most curious and angelic light in them. (290) 120 words
Gaboriau, The Clique of Gold
“You are a man like all other men. Passion does not reason, does not calculate; and that is the secret of [therein lies] its strength. As long as we have a spark of common-sense left [lasts], we are not really in love. That is so, I tell you; and no will, no amount of energy, can do any thing with it. There are people who tell you soberly that they have been [fools enough to tell a man] in love without losing their senses, and reproach you for not keeping [to keep] cool. Bosh! [Bah!]” . . .
He [felt then that he] could not accept Maxime’s [this] offer. (73) 34 words
“Now, my dear Maxime, listen to me [Aubrey]. It may be my [the] last will which I am going to give in your charge [request I may ever ask of you].”
And, when his friend [Livingston] tried to remonstrate, he insisted,
“I know what I’m saying. I am sure I hope I shall not be buried out there, but the climate is murderous, and I may encounter a cannonball [and there are many other dangers]. It is always better to be prepared. . . .
M. de Brevan, who had remained in his chair, rose, and, putting his hand on his heart, said,
“Between us, Daniel [Reuel], oaths are useless: don’t you think so? I say, therefore, simply, you may count upon me [my loyalty to all your interests].”
“And I do count upon you,” exclaimed Daniel,—“yes, blindly and absolutely; and I am going to give you striking proof of it.” . . .
“Well, Maxime, I shall ask you to watch over Henriette [Dianthe]. I intrust her to you as I would intrust her to my brother, if I had [I] one.” . . .
“This, my dear Maxime, is all I expect [ask of] you to do for me [when I am in that far country].”
With open brow, a clear eye, and grave face, M. de Brevan [Aubrey Livingston] replied in a solemn tone of voice, speaking like a man who feels that he deserves such confidence,
“Friend Daniel [Reuel], you may sail without [a] fear.” (207-10) 78 words
Madeline S. Bridges, “Walter Langdon’s Wife,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 16 (1883): 738-42. Google Books.
“You must not be unhappy, dear. The time will run by before you know it, and [I shall be with you again.] meanwhile there is plenty to occupy you. You have Estella, and Raimond will [Molly and Aubrey to] take you about. I must lay on you one injunction, though—about dancing, dear. As Mr. Toots says, ‘Do [But] pray remember the medical man’s [my] advice.’ You’re not strong, by any means.”
“Oh, [No,] I am not strong!” she interrupted, weeping wildly [with a wild burst of tears]. “Walter, [Reuel,] if you knew how weak I am you would not leave me.”
Her husband ceased at once from the strapping of his portmanteau, and coming over to his wife’s low chair, sat quietly down beside her, and drew her [the] fair head to his bosom, pressing back the thick hair [locks] with a lingering caress, like a lover’s. [touch.]
“I wish to God I could take you with me, but the Canada Winter would chill and kill you,” he said, tenderly, after a silence. “That would be worse than a three months’ parting. Alicia, darling, [Dear girl,] you know this grief of yours would break my heart, only that it shows me how well you love me. I am proud of every tear.”
She raised her face an instant and looked at him with unutterable emotion—an expression he could not translate [read], it was so full of [unutterable emotion—] love and anguish and compassion.
“Do not be proud,” [“Oh,”] she said, passionately. [“Nothing remains long with us but sorrow and regret. “Every good thing God lets us have is only sent; the dearest treasure may be gone to-morrow—lost—cast away! Nothing really stays but sorrow and regret.”
But with a laugh he kissed away this heresy [her anxieties]— [Then he] closed her lips with warm, lingering kisses.
“Be a good girl and pray for your husband[‘s safety,] and see if [that] God will not [may] let us meet again and be happy! Don’t dance too much—don’t let yourself get excited; your heart is beating out of your body now. That, dear, you must guard against. You promised Doctor Bentley. What did I do with my silver watch-key? I think I have packed everything now, and I’ve precious little time to lose. Cheer up, you blessed little baby, and say a cheerful good-by to your poor boy.”
But her cheerful “good-by” [His last memory of her] was a mute kiss and a low “God bless you,” broken with a sob.
And Walter Langdon [Reuel Briggs], though his eyes were clouded with tears, was a happy man at heart that day. He had taken leave of his beautiful wife in the room that was their own. In the hall below Estella Morris [Molly Vance] met him with a rose for his buttonhole and a sisterly kiss for goodby, and his cousin Raimond sat without in the phaeton [outside in the carriage sat Mr. Vance, Sr., Charlie and Aubrey], waiting to drive him to the depot. (738) 221 words
“The Haunted Voice,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 18 (1884): 670-74. Google Books.
Two men were sitting in the billiard-room, lounging over some absinthe—Lord Arthur’s own [iced punch]. . . . Light, perfumed and golden, [poured from the rooms below upon the summer night,] and the music of the Dunsiedt Gallop, “Zur Attaque," pour through them and [a waltz] ma[d]e [its] way into the outer darkness.
“What an odd fish that Emelraet is! [Livingston has grown to be,]” said one of them, relighting a thin, delicate-looking cigar. “I watched him out of curiosity, some moments [a while] ago, and was more struck with the man than ever [at the change in him]. He is so cold and silent, I should be rather afraid to make approach, I think.”
“Ah,” drawled the other, sipping a spoonful of the green liquor before him [the cooling beverage], “like Napoleon; grand, gloomy and peculiar—quite a Priuli on the whole, eh?”
“Ya-as! [Y-e-s] Precisely, Skelton. And I have fancied the Lady Beatrice [beautiful Mrs. Briggs] is this Priuli’s [his] Clarisse. What do you think? She shudders every time he draws near, and sinks to the very ground under his strange gray [the steady gaze of his] eye. And, by-the-way, it is so odd to find black hair and an olive complexion in company with a gray eye; isn’t it’?”
“Deucedly queer [odd]! Let us drink the rest of this stuff and go down again. I know we’re missed already.”
When they had swallowed the absinthe [punch] and descended, the first person they encountered at the door of the salon. [saw] was Emelraet [Livingston]. He was leaning in a Titanesque attitude directly under one of my lord’s brown Italian paintings—I think an Esau [against the door of the salon]. His face was perfectly abstracted, and in dead repose; but there rested upon it an expression of quaint melancholy—almost regret—yet there, too, lurked about the corners of the [his] full lips implacable resolution. No soul stood by. Several people had incommoded themselves greatly, it was evident, to get apart from this man of secrecy, and, perchance, evil.
Some interminable argument was going on, generally, throughout [about] the room. Conversation progressed in sharp, brisk sentences, which fell from the lips like the dropping shots of sharpshooters. Suddenly Lord Arthur turned around from the mirror, looking rather bored, and cried out, above the din:
“My Beatrice, we must now have that song, love! You know it was promised me three days ago.”
“His wife rose from the ottoman very gayly and said:
“True, Arthur; I had forgotten.”
She sped quickly to the piano, and sat down unattended [she was amazed to see Dianthe rise hurriedly from her seat on an ottoman, go to the piano unattended and sit down]. Scarcely had her [she watched in fascination the] slender [white] fingers flashed across [over] the keys when Emelraet, rousing himself from his dream, walked slowly toward her, and took up a position by her side. She bent her head, and endeavored to repeat the first few notes of the careless symphony; but her hands involuntarily paused.
“I must at least make myself useful now and then, Lady Beatrice,” Emelraet whispered.
She offered no reply, but once more essayed to begin the accompaniment. Never once did she raise her eyes. At the first sharp treble note the buzz in the room was hushed to stillness. Emelraet [Livingston] moved a step aside [forward], and resting his arm upon the piano, fastened his icy gaze upon the singer’s quivering lips.
Slowly, tremulously [at first] pealed forth those beautiful lines by H. King, the Bishop of Chichester, upon the death of his wife, then just set to music, but now sung wherever music is known: [the notes: “Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt’s land, Tell ol’ Pharaoh, let my people go.”]
“Stay for me there. I shall not fail
To meet thee in that narrow vale,
For, hark! my heart, like a soft drum,
Boats my approach—tells thee I come;
But howe’er long my marches be,
I shall at last lie down by thee.”
Scarcely was the second stanza commenced ere [verse begun when] every person in the room started suddenly and listened with more eager interest than ever. As the air proceeded, some grew visibly pale, and, not daring to breathe a syllable, looked horrified into each other’s faces. The ladies trembled and grasped one another’s hands.
“Great Heaven!” whispered Lord Arthur, white as marble [Mr. Vance to his daughter], “do you not hear another voice beside my wife’s [Mrs. Briggs’]?”
It was true, indeed. A weird baritone [contralto], vailed, as it were, rising and falling upon every wave of the [great] soprano of Lady Beatrice, and reaching the ear apparently [as] from some strange distance, as the chanting in the Sistine Chapel reaches the ears of the worshiping crowd without, could be distinctly heard.
Of all in the room, Emelraet alone was calm. His unearthly eyes were still fixed upon the lips of the haunted singer. She seemed fascinated by his mercilessly steady glance, and yet continued her strange music.
“I shall at last lie down by thee,” she sang [The singer sang on], her voice dropping sweet and low, the haunting echo following it, and, at the closing word, she fell back in a dead faint. Emelraet [Mr. Vance] caught her in his arms. “Lord Arthur,” he said, quietly, “your wife [Mrs. Briggs] has the soul of an artiste. She would make a perfect prima donna for the Grand Opera.” . . .
She hid her face in her hands.
“Who ever suffered such torture as mine!” she cried, bitterly.
“You know too well, Beatrice, who suffered all of it, and more.”
“And there is no rest out of the grave!” she continued.
Emelraet suddenly drew closer to her.
“Yes, Beatrice, there is rest [and security in my love]! I can save you.”
“And will! Listen to me; I came here to hunt you down. I hated you as only souls like mine can hate. It was my purpose to drive you to madness—to destruction. But, Beatrice, I have learned to love you!”
She sprang back [from his touch] as if stung.
“I love you better than all in the world. To possess you, I am prepared to prove false to my dead brother—I am prepared to save you from the fate which [that] must be yours [if ever Reuel learns of your origin].”
“You would have me fly with [give up all for] you?”
“Ay, from your husband—from the world! We will go to Italy, where none will [can] ever find us. If you refuse me—and this is the last time I make the offer—beware [I cannot aid you].”
“Pity me, Emelraet.”
She sank upon her knees at his feet.
“I can love, but cannot pity.” (670-71) 643 words
Bridges, “Walter Langdon’s Wife”
“Walter [The Doctor] is so good to you about letters; but [so different from poor Charlie.] I can’t imagine what he finds to write about every day.”
A whole month had gone by since Walter Langdon’s departure, and each morning had brought to Alicia the large, square envelope with the Canada post-mark; the regularity of the occurrence had at last called forth a remark from the quiet Estella, whose schoolgirl correspondence was apt to be fluctuating.
“He tells me about the lawsuit principally [the incidents of the journey],” Alicia answered, smiling at her pretty sister. “I know all the lawyers’ names and most of the witnesses’. It is quite an education for me, in a legal sense.”
“Of course, there is no love-making,” said Raimond [Aubrey], lazily letting fall his newspaper and pushing his hands through his bright, curling hair. He is [was] a sight to delight the eyes of [for] gods and men, but how much more of women?—his handsome figure outlined against the clear, Winter sky, as he stands [stood] by the study-window in an attitude of listless grace, his finely cut face, so rich in color and the charm of varying expression, turned indolently toward the two women to whom the morning mail has [had] brought its offering. Raimond receives his letters at his office, and is, therefore, sublimely indifferent to the uptown postal arrangements.
“Have you never read one of Walter’s [Reuel’s] letters?” Alicia [Dianthe] says, quietly. “You may see this if you like.”
As he receives the letter from Mrs. Langdon’s hand, a tap sound[ed] on the door.
“Miss Estella [Molly], if you please, the dressmaker has sent the things.”
“Oh, thanks, Nellie [Jennie], I’ll come at once!” and, gathering up her letters, Miss Morris runs off with a nod and smile, sent back as [of] apology sufficient.
Raimond stands by the window and looks at his cousin’s letter. His face turns deadly white, and his breath comes quick and short. He has read, perhaps, half the page, when he crushes it in his hand and crosses the room to Alicia. She, too, is very pale, and there is something imploring [akin to fear] in the gaze she lifts to his face.
“How dare you?” he asks, low and breathlessly; “but you are a woman! Not one of you have any delicacy in your hearts!—not one!”
He tears the letter across and flings it from him—the fragments lie where they have fallen.
“I do not suffer enough,” he says, after a moment, in the same suffocated voice. “You must taunt me a little with his [this view of conjugal] happiness—with his right to love and call you his own [care for you]. Alicia, you might have spared me that. Oh, God! if you had any pity you could not have shown me that letter—his heart, your husband’s heart, beating in every line!”
“But I did not mean to hurt you,” she answers, trembling, still with her piteous eyes on the angry, beautiful face. “I thought you could realize—if you could know how Walter loves and trusts me.”
“I, perhaps, might cease to love and trust you. Is that what you mean to say?”—for her voice had faltered into silence. “Do you think I have room to pity Walter while my own pain is more than I can bear? Alicia, it is you who have no pity; or is it, indeed, that you cannot understand what I feel and suffer? It would have been far better for us both if you had sent me from you long ago, and broken my heart with a single blow, for this daily torture is killing my soul. My ambition is destroyed, my hope for the future—my life is ruined, Alicia.”
He turn[ed] from her quickly, and going to a distant part of the room, thr[ew] himself into a chair, covering [and covered] his face with both [his] hands. No sound or moan crosses his lips, but the silence of his despair cries to her with a thousand voices.
After a moment the yearning of her heart brings her [Against her will, better promptings and desires, the unfortunate girl is drawn by invisible influences across the room] to his [the man’s] side. As she gently, timidly touches his fingers, his hands clasps hers, his arms clasp her— [Presently] he holds her in his eager, strong embrace, his face and his tears hidden against her shoulder, his lips kissing the folds of her dress, with the hunger only known to hopeless passion.
She scarcely struggles [does not struggle] in his clasp, but her heart is beating in great bounds against his arm [only looks into the future with the hopeless agony of dumb despair]. As he feels the wild pulsation he calms himself suddenly and gently releases her, and looks at her with the tears still on his face. . . .
“I will go with you, Raimond—I will go with you to the ends of the earth. You shall not leave me here.”
[At length he broke the silence.] “Hush! There is nothing you can [feel, or] say to me that I do not realize—the sin, the shame, the lasting disgrace. I know it all; but if you leave me I will die. We will go together, and never be parted again until death parts us. Do you hear me, Raimond? If you leave me, I will follow you; if you cast me off, I will creep to your feet and die there. I told you once I loved you; I tell you now I cannot live without you!” (738-39) 353 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
“Edward! on my salvation as a Christian, last evening, at this very hour, in this very room and spot, as I lay here, not sleeping, nor disposed to sleep, there where you stand, [As she sat there in full possession of all her waking faculties, suddenly] there rose, it seemed from out the very ground [floor, as it were], a pale and lovely woman. She neither looked at me [Dianthe] nor did she speak; but walking [walked] to that table, [and] opened, just where you see it, yonder Bible; stooped over the book a while, and seemed to write [a book lying upon it and wrote]; then coming back, stood for a moment fixed; then seemed to sink [sank], just as she rose, and disappeared. Her dress might have been a nun’s, or travelling pilgrim’s, yet seemed to fall off from one of her fair shoulders; and, as she stooped, I saw what seemed to be a deep red stripe across it [was that of a servant]. Her head was bare; her hair fell loosely round her in long, black curls. [Her complexion was the olive of mulattoes or foreigners.] Now, Edward, look. That book stands open; its huge gold clasps, yourself have told me, have not been undone since, in your early childhood, your father died. Look, too, at the writing. Mark it well, and tell me, is that fancy? If not, who did it?”
Crossing the room, the earl, by the waning light, gazed steadfastly at the book. It was an immense family Bible, with heavy clasps grown far too stiff and rusty by disuse for the delicate fingers of his fair wife to open. He remembered noticing this very book closed when he had visited his lady’s apartment a very few minutes before her shrieks summoned him back to her side on the previous evening, when she declared she had been terrified by an apparition, and in consequence she was attacked by a succession of fits. There, on the open page, he [she] perceived heavy marks in ink, underscoring the following lines [quotation] from the 12th chapter of St. Luke: “For there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known.” On the margin, at the end of this passage, was written, in a fine, female hand, the single word “Beatrice.” [“Mira.”] (199-200) 105 words
A. F. Jacassy, “Tripoli of Barbary.” Scribner’s Magazine 7 (1890): 37-52. Google Books.
The ripples that fret the burnished surface of the long undulating billows tinkle[d] continually on the sides of the black vessel. All day we have gazed upon the light that never wearies, and now in the late afternoon we begin to be [He was] aware of a low-lying, spectral-pale band of shore. That portion of Africa whose nudity is only covered by the fallow mantle of the desert gives, notwithstanding its tenderness of color, [gave] a most sad impression [to the gazer], the Moors have found its true name— they call it “Bled el Ateusch,” the Country of Thirst: and, as there is an intimate relation between the character of a country and that of its people, one realizes [Reuel realized vividly] that the race who dwel[t] here must be different from those of the rest of the world. . . . At a few cable lengths Tripoli, shimmering in a luminous atmosphere, [away the city] smiles at us in her matinal parure; she is [them with all the fascination of a modern Cleopatra,] circled with an oasis of palms studded with hundreds of domes and minarets that the rising sun kindles into dots of scintillating light: behind old Spanish walls the houses stand forth white and delicate against a sky of amethyst: the slightest details are visible, and all touches one [the city stands forth] with a penetrating charm. It is the eternal enchantment of the cities of the Orient seen at a distance; but, alas! set foot within them, the illusion vanishes and disgust seizes you. They are like beautiful bodies having [they have] the appearance of life but within which the worm of death and decay eats ceaselessly. At twilight [in this atmosphere] Tripoli, the last Turkish town of northern Africa, [the city] outlines itself faintly, then disappears in dusky haze. One by one the stars come into luminous life [came into the sky] until the heavens are all [were] a twinkling blaze: the sea, murmur[ed] ever her soft and vague refrain, sleeps [and slept] with the transparency of a mirror, flecked here and there with fugitive traces of phosphorescence. (37-38) 225 words
Gaboriau, The Gilded Clique
Travelling across the vast distance which [space that] separated him from France [America], his thoughts were under the trees in the garden of the count's palace [Vance Hall]. He felt as if a powerful effort of his will would enable him to transport himself thither. By the pale light of the moon [In the fresh morning light] he thought he could discern the dress of his beloved as she stole [came] towards him between the old trees. (402) 33 words
Jacassy, “African Studies”
Willing or not, you are [the company of travelers were] made to take part in the noisy scene on deck when a horde of dirty rascals try to waylay you. How much talent is then wasted! How [waylaid them, and after] many ruses and combinations of all sorts over the [a] few cents they make by carrying you and your [they and their] luggage [were transported] to the Custom House. There also what [a] jostling, what a noise; all this [the] little world is [about them was] in [an] uproar, everyone signalling, gesticulating, speaking at once. Such a fray bewilders a civilized man, but those familiar with Southern exuberance regard it tranquilly, well knowing the disorder is more apparent than real and that these people who bawl so loudly always end by understanding one another. . . . The traveller who has acquired that most [Most of them had acquired the] necessary art not to be in a hurry procures rapidly enough [of not hurrying, and under their direction] the examination of his luggage [the baggage proceeded rapidly]. An instant after, [Presently,] following some [a] robust porter, he traverses [they had traversed] an open place encumbered [filled] with the tables and benches [and chairs] of a “cafe,” and is not a little [and soon the travelers were] surprised [and amused] to find himself the [themselves] object of general curiosity to the international representatives of the Christian colony. Coffee and nargiles are [were] there merely as a pretext, in reality the gathering is [was] in his [their] honor—the arrival of a respectable traveller being an event rare enough to interest an entire population. (39) 113 words
It [Then, too, Tripoli] is the natural road by which central Africa has been attacked by many illustrious explorers: Clapperton, Dr. Barth, Gerhard Bohlfs, Nachtigall, to cite only a few, have taken Tripoli as their starting-point because of the relative facility of communication with the "Baad el Aabid," the Country of the Blacks. . . . It is that long reach of shore which extends from Tunis to Egypt, and nowhere in the entire length of northern Africa does the Great Desert advance so near the sea. The dike of the Atlas range, ris[es] from the Atlantic Coast and extending far eastward, protects a large strip of fertile lands, once the granary of Koine, against the invading Sahara. This range loses itself and is finally effaced at [in] the gulf of the Little Syrta, and the vast, long-pent-up element, knowing no more barrier, spreads its yellow, sandy waves as far as the Nile, enveloping the last half-submerged summits which form a rosary of oases. (42) 93 words
Under the Sultan's rule it [Tripoli] has remained the capital of a truly barbaric state, still virgin of improvements and with just enough dilapidated abandon, dirt, and picturesqueness to make the delight of the artist. (41) 32 words
Mohammedanism, already twelve centuries old, has, after a period of inactivity, awakened anew in Africa, and is rapidly spreading. . . . Very unlike the Christians, the Faithful of today are en masse the same fervid Faithful as in the time of Omar and Mohammed. Incredulity, indifference, so widely spread among other sects, are unknown among them. (46) 55 words
Frederick Jones Bliss, “Tadmor in the Wilderness,” Scribner’s Magazine 7 (1890): 400-17. Google Books.
Supper-time found us [the entire party] seated on the floor around a well-spread tray, set on one of our small boxes. We [They] had taken possession of the one living-room of a mud house belonging to a man whose name we had picked up in Damascus. It was primitive, but it was clean. A post or two supported the thatched ceiling. The windowless room had no furniture on the mud floor except a couple of [consisted of a few] rugs and cushions. (402) 46 words
Promptly at two in the [one hot] afternoon our host, [the] Sheik Mohammed Abdallah, knocked at the darkened room [door of their hut]. . . .He was a handsome man of forty years—tall, straight, with clear brown eyes, good features, a well-shaped mustache and well-trimmed black beard. . . . Authority surrounded him like an atmosphere. He greeted us [the party] in Arabic and French. (413-14) 43 words
The great plain between the hills was not unlike the sea. It [The great desert] had the sea’s monotony, which is not monotonous. No track, no road, except here and there the semblance of a beaten way, like the path in the wake of a steamer. We [They] rode on and on, hour after hour, and never tired of the beautiful sameness. The elements of the view were simple, but it was beautiful. The nearer hills to the right had shoulders and hollows at almost regular intervals, and a sky-line of an almost regular curve. . . . Under our feet [foot] the short grass always seemed sparse, and the low sage-shrubs rather dingy; but as we [they] looked over the plain, stretching away in every direction, it had a distinctly green tint, blending with the brown and contrasting with the blue-gray of the sageshrubs which were scattered over it regularly like dots on a muslin. We [They] saw occasionally a red poppy and a purple iris; but owing, perhaps, to a lack of rain we failed to find the carpet of flowers over which our missionary friend had once ridden here. Not a tree was to be seen, nor a rock. Sometimes the land lay absolutely level and smooth, with hardly a stone larger than a bean. Again it would be more rolling, and furrowed by the bed of a winter water-course. The soft blue sky was cloudless; the air, cool, bracing, and perfectly pure. What was there to exhaust it? We and our horses seemed to be the only living creatures [creature] larger than a gazelle in the great solitude. The phlegmatic Joe [Even Reuel] was roused to a show of enthusiasm by the sight of a herd of these graceful creatures skimming the plain. High in the air the larks soared and sang. (407-08) 153 words
George A. Hoskins, Travels in Ethiopia, Above the Second Cataract of the Nile (London: Longman, 1835). Google Books.
I often asked the camel drivers to sing, not only to hasten our progress, but also for the pleasure of hearing their simple melodies. Some of their best songs [The singing reminded travelers of Venetian gondoliers,] possess[ing] [as it did the] a plaintive sweetness that is almost as touching as [of] the most exquisite European airs. The words are often beautiful, generally simple and natural, being improvisatory effusions. The following is a very imperfect specimen. One takes up the song [Ababdis would assume the leading part]:—“Ah, when shall I see my family again; the rain has fallen, and made a canal between me and my home. Oh, shall I never see it more?” The reply to this and similar verses was always made by the chorus, in words such as these [Then would follow the chorus of drivers]:—“Oh, what pleasure, what delight, to see my family again; when I see my father, mother, brothers, sisters, I will hoist a flag on the head of my camel for joy!” (26) 67 words
“Lost in Sahara,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 17 (1884): 365-66. Google Books.
Early in July [About the middle of the week] they were making their way through the northern part of the Great Desert, here an elevated plateau crossed by rocky ridges, with intervening sandy plains mostly barren, but with here and there a solitary tree, and sometimes a few clumps of grass. They were [The caravan was] skirting the base of one of these ridges, which culminated in a cliff looking, in the distance, like a half-ruined castle, which the natives Arabs believe[d] to be enchanted. Barth [Reuel] determined to visit this cliff, and, as none of the natives of his caravan dared to accompany him, he was forced to go alone. (365) 74 words
Noel Ruthven, “In the Claws; Or, a Struggle for Dear Life,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 17 (1884): 110-14. Google Books.
The moon rose in unclouded splendor, and as I whistled Jim to my side, and started for the ruin, Moore’s lines came to my [his] heart—not my memory:
“O, such a blessed night as this,
I often think if friends were near,
How we should feel, and gaze with bliss
Upon the moonlight scenery here.” . . .
I [He] strolled into the royal ruin, stumbling over broken carvings, and into hollows concealed by luminous plants, beneath whose shade dwelt noisome things that wriggled away in the marvelous white light, followed by Jim, all ears and tail, and in a state of the keenest excitement. . . .
Climbing through what was once a door, I [he] stepped out on a ledge of masonry that hung sheer seven hundred feet over the Chumbul [plain]. Jim lay down at my feet the moment he saw me take [Reuel got] out my [his] pipe, for a long experience told him that I meant a big smoke, and that there was little risk of his being disturbed for at least a “long hour by Shrewsbury clock.”
Having got my meerschaum into [and it was soon in] full blast, I [while the smoker] set to building castles in the curls of blue smoke, that lightly floated into space. . . .
I imagined myself a governor, resplendent in blue-and-gold, and my manly breast decorated with the medallion of the Civil Order of the Bath.
Here my [Presently his] castle-building was interrupted by a low wail —not exactly the mew of a cat, nor yet the sound of a lute.
Jim lazily cocked his ears, but the effort even to bark proved too much for him, and, uttering a grunt, he relapsed into a profound slumber.
Again the same sound.
What could it be?
“Ah, I have it!” I muttered [Reuel]; “it’s that confounded Hindoo music [the Arabs singing in the camp].”. . .
Little did I [he] imagine that within ten paces of me [him] crouched an enormous leopard.
Little did I [he] imagine that he was creeping, creeping toward me [him], as a cat squirms toward a bird.
I [He] sat on a ruined ledge of parapet, within two feet of the edge, 700 feet sheer below me the Chumbul [desert sand] glittered like molten silver in the gorgeous sunlight [moonlight].
I [He] was unarmed, having left my revolver in the dak cart [given Jim his revolver to hold].
Jim gave an uneasy groan, but it was in his sleep; he was possibly dreaming of some recalcitrant sheep, whom he was in imagination driving over the blue hills of bonnie Scotland.
Can you account for a sensation, [Reuel sat there entirely unconscious of danger; presently a vague feeling struck him,] not of fear, not of dread, but a vague feeling that strikes you, and you turn round as if to face the [if he turned his head he would see an] enemy, let it be what it may?
This sort of sensation came to me, and, without knowing why, I [he] slowly turned my [his] head.
Great heaven! I shall never forget the [A] thrill of horror that flashed [passed] through me [him] as my [his] eyes rested upon those of the [an] enormous brute, glaring like hot coals set in blood-red circles.
Its mouth was wide open, its whiskers moving like the antennae of a lobster. It lay on its belly, its hind-quarters raised, its fore-paws planted in the tawny sand ready to spring.
The moon played on the spots of its body. I saw the dark spots becoming [became] silvered, and relaps[ed] into darkness as the animal breathed, while its tail lashed about, occasionally whipping the sand with a peculiar whish.
How was I [he] to withstand its spring?
The weight of its body would send me [him] over the precipice like a shot.
Strange to say, a grim satisfaction came to me [him as I [he] thought that the brute must go down with me [him]!
Where could I [he] hold? Could I [he] clutch at anything? [he asked himself]
I [He] dared not remove my [his] eyes from those of the leopard. I [He] could not, in fact. But in a sort of introverted glance I [he] saw that nothing stood between me [him] and space but a bare, bleached, polished wall, that shone a ghastly white beneath the beams of the moon [moonbeams].
Was there a loose stone—a stone that would crush in the skull of the bloodthirsty animal? Not so much as a pebble to cast into the depths, for I [he] had already searched for one to fling over, as people always do when perched on eminences. [He cried for help.] Jim! [Jim! Oooh, Jim! There came no reply; not the slightest sound broke the stillness as the sound of his cries died away.] Could Jim help me? Save me by going over the ledge with the leopard?
In that brief second I felt shame—ay, shame, at meanly contemplating the sacrifice of my faithful and honest companion.
Should I cry for help? The driver of the dak cart could not be very far off. The revolver was lying on the seat. The man had a rusty old gun of his own, and, in addition, a bloodthirsty-looking tulwar, one of those native sabres which are curved and grow wide at the point.
“Jim!” I involuntarily cried.
The dog shivered, stretched out his legs, then laid down his half-raised head. “Jim!”
Again he half-raised his head.
I [Reuel] was now cool—cool as a cucumber—so cool that I [he] deliberately placed myself [himself] in position to receive the rush of the terrific brute.
Yes, I feel myself [He felt himself] even now gently moving back my [his] right foot, shuffling it back till the heel came against an unevenness in the rock, which gave me [him] a sort of purchase—something to back it.
I [He] gathered myself [himself] together for the [a] supreme effort, every nerve being at the highest condition of tension.
It is extraordinary all the thoughts one can compress into a few seconds [that pass like lightning in a second of time, through the mind], while face to face with death.
I could fill a volume[s] with the [of] ideas that dashed [flashed] through my [his] brain as I [he] stood on that ledge of stone, with eternity awaiting me [him], knowing that [this would be the end of all his hopes and fears and pleasant plans for future happiness, that] I [he] would go down to my [his] death in the embrace of the infuriated beast, its steel-like claws fastened in my [his] flesh, its awful eyes close to mine [its fetid breath filling his nostrils] . . . .
“Jim!” He leaped to his feet. He uttered one short, sharp cry, recoiling to secure a better spring, and then, with a wild howl, disappeared over the ledge.
I shall never forget the pang that shot through my heart as poor Jim went to his doom.
The leopard, for a brief space, seemed astonished—I can use no other word. It ceased the wagging movement, and its eyes directed themselves to the spot from whence the collie had disappeared.
Availing myself of the respite, I [Reuel] yelled for help [then]—yelled till the walls of the ruined palace echoed again—yelled as if I [he] had 10,000 voices in my throat—yelled, as a man only yells when on his being heard depends his chance for dear life.
The beast turned its head sharply, and prepared to spring. For a second I [Briggs] thought that a pantomime trick might give me a chance.
What if I [he] were to wait until the animal actually leaped, and then turned aside?
Carried forward by its own weight and its own momentum, it would go over as poor Jim did.
It was worth trying. A drowning man will catch[es] at a straw.
This was my straw.
Instinctively I [Reuel] measured my [his] distance. I [He] could step aside and let the brute pass, but this was all. The ledge was narrow. I [He] was, unhappily, in a very good condition. The sea-voyage had fattened me [him] like an October quail, and it was just a chance that I [he] could escape being carried over with the brute.
I [He] accepted the chance.
Now [Then] came the fearful moment
The leopard swayed a little backward at this!
Then, by Jove I to my [his] intense delight, I [he] heard Jim’s well-known bark, and in less time than it takes me to write it the gallant dog had flung himself on the leopard’s neck [a shout of encouragement in Vance’s well-known voice, “Coming, Briggs, coming!”].
At this [The next] moment a hand was laid on my [his] shoulder from the [a] window above, and I started as if I had been shot.
It was the dak driver [Charlie] who, trembling in every limb [with anxiety], had crept through the ruin, and, oh, blessed sight! handed me [Reuel] my [his] revolver.
I [Briggs] made short work of that [the] leopard. I [he] let him have three barrels—all in the head.
Jim had evidently fallen into a calyptus-bush, and had scrambled round the rock at the nick of time. I traced the brave fellow’s efforts. His Highland training had stood him in good stead.
He sleeps on that leopard-skin now, and every visitor to my bungalow is regaled with the story of how I escaped from the claws of the whilom owner of the handsome rug. (110-14) 804 words
Britten, Wildfire Club
This was the state of things when one evening Lieutenant Rossi was employed by his colonel writing in his tent. Kalozy [Jim] sat at some distance, reading letters and dictating certain memoranda upon which the young man (who had received a fair education from his uncle the priest) was employed in transcribing [a letter that he held in his hand]. The night was warm [sultry], the curtains of the tent undrawn; [from out the silent solitude came the booming call of a lion to his mate.] suddenly a rush of balmy air seemed to pass over the brow of the scribe, and a dim shadow fell across the tent door.
“Eulalie!” muttered the young soldier; and for a moment an impulse to spring away, into the wide, wide realms of air, away forever, seemed to possess him; the next, the still, dreamy ecstasy of France [a past time]; and then he saw Kalozy [Jim]—who sat directly behind him—placed like a picture on his very table. He saw him knit his brow, contract his lip, and then, with a face all seamed with discontent, draw from his vest a letter, reading thus:— . . .
Twice did the visionary scene, passing behind the seer, recross his entranced eyes; and twice did the shadowy finger of the shining apparition in the tent door point, letter by letter, to the pictured page of the billet, which Kalozy [Jim] was at that very moment perusing with his natural, and Ernest Rossi [Reuel Briggs] with his spiritual, eyes. When both had concluded the reading, the colonel [Jim] put up his letter. The curtains of the tent slightly waved; a low, long sigh, like the night wind’s wail, passed over the cold, damp brow of the seer. A shudder, a blank. He looked out into the campground [desert] beyond. All was still. The stars were out for him, for she [but the vision] was gone. ‘Twas mortal night once more. (174-75) 217 words
Quiller-Couch, Dead Man’s Rock
How long I [he] slept I know [he could] not [tell]; but I [he] woke with the glare of a candle in my eyes, to see my mother, all in white, standing by the bed, and in her eyes an awful and soul-sickening horror [a wild, shrill cry in his ears: “Reuel, Reuel, save me!”].
“Jasper, Jasper! [Charlie, Charlie!] wake up and listen!”
I suppose I must have been [Charlie,] still half asleep, for I lay look[ed] at her [with blinking eyes at the candle] with dazzled sight, not rightly knowing whether this vision were real or part of my strange dreams.
“Jasper, [Charlie,] for the love of God wake up!”
At this, so full were her [his] words of mortal fear, I [Adonis] shook off my [his] drowsiness and sat up in bed, wide awake now and staring at the strange apparition [him in wonder]. My mother was white as death, and trembling so that the caudle in her hand shook to and fro, casting wild dancing shadows on the wall behind.
“Oh, Jasper, listen, listen!”
I listened, but could hear nothing save the splashing of spray and rain upon my window, and above it the voice of the storm; now moaning as a creature in pain, now rising and growing into an angry roar whereat the whole house from chimney to base shook and shuddered, and anon sinking slowly with loud sobbings and sighings as though the anguish of a million tortured souls were borne down the blast.
“Mother, I hear nothing but the storm [Reuel].”
“Nothing but the storm! Oh, Jasper [Charlie], are you sure you hear nothing but the storm?”
“Nothing else, mother, though that is bad enough [but the lion].”. . .
“Dear Jasper, you are a good boy, and I suppose you are right, for you can hear nothing, and I can hear nothing now. But, oh, Jasper [Charlie]! it was so terrible, and I seemed to hear[d] it so plainly; though I daresay it was only my—Oh, God! there it is again! listen! listen!”
This time I [Charlie] heard—heard clearly and unmistakably, and, hearing, felt the blood in my [his] veins turn to very ice.
Shrill and distinct above the roar of the storm, which at the moment had somewhat lulled, there [lion’s call] rose a prolonged wail, or rather shriek, as of many [a] human voices [voice] rising slowly [to heaven] in one passionate appeal to the [for] mercy of Heaven, and dying away in sobbing, [and] shuddering despair as the wild blast broke out again with the mocking laughter of all the fiends in the pit— a cry without similitude on earth, yet surely and awfully human; a cry that rings in my ears even now, and will continue to ring until I die.
I [Adonis] sprang from bed, forced the window open [to his feet, threw back the curtain of the tent] and looked out. . . .
“Oh, Jasper, what could it be?—what could it be?”
Alas! I knew not, and yet seemed to know too well. The cry still rang in my [his] ears and clamoured at my [his] heart; while all the time a dull sense told me that it must have been a dream, and a dull desire bade me believe it so [his mind said it was the effect of imagination]. (17-21) 160 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
For several minutes his [Reuel’s] agitation prevented his resorting [had swallowed up his usual foresight. He had forgotten his ability to resort] to that far-seeing faculty which he was daily accustomed to [had often] employ[ed] for the [Charlie’s and Aubrey’s] amusement or to satisfy the curious speculations of his friends [when at home]. His companion, however, whose mind was well balanced and commanding, at length succeeded in soothing him, and after several ineffectual attempts to concentrate his powers for the exercise of his [the] clairvoyant vision [sight of the hypnotic trance], he produced a letter which he had lately received from his mother, which he at last found was the one link wanting to bring him in rapport with her [was finally able to exercise the power]. (178) 23 words
In low, murmuring cadence the clairvoyant, [sitting] statuesque and rigid beneath the magnetic spell, had [Reuel] rehearsed the terrible scene in the ears of his deeply-moved friend.
“Wake me, Augustine [Charlie],” was his concluding sentence. A few upward passes of his friend’s hands, and the released spirit became lord of its earthly casket once more. Consciousness returned, and with it memory. (183) 46 words
Rudyard Kipling and Wolcott Balestier, “The Naulahka,” Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine 43 (1892): 666-78. Google Books.
Tarvin stood on the platform of the station at Rawut Junction watching the dust cloud that followed the retreating Bombay mail. [Clouds of dust wept over the sandy plains;] When it had [they] disappeared the heated air above the stone ballast began its dance again, and he turned blinking to India [was glad to re-enter the tent and stretch himself at full length in his hammock].
It was amazingly [not a] simple [thing] to come fourteen [all these] thousand[s] [of] miles. He had lain still in a ship for a certain time, and then had transferred himself to stretch at full length, in his shirt-sleeves, on the leather-padded bunk of the train which had brought him from Calcutta to Rawut Junction. The journey was long only as it kept him from sight of Kate, and kept him stilled with thought of her. But was this [was] what he had come for—the yellow desolation of a[n] Rajputana [African] desert, and the pinched-off perspective of the track [companionship of human fossils and savage beasts of prey]? Topaz was cosier when they had got the church, the saloon, the school, and three houses up; the loneliness made him shiver. He saw that they did not mean to do any more of it. It was a desolation which doubled desolateness, because it was left for done [his healthy American organization missed the march of progress attested by the sound of hammers on unfinished buildings that told of a busy future and cosy modern homeliness]. It was final, intended, absolute. The grim solidity of the cut-stone station-house, the solid masonry of the empty platform, the mathematical exactitude of the station name-board looked for [Here there was] no future. No now railroad could help Rawut Junction. It had no ambition. It belonged to the Government. There was no green thing, no curved line [No railroads, no churches, no saloons, no schoolhouses to echo the voices of merry children], no promise of [the] life that produces, within eyeshot of Rawut Junction [the range of his vision]. (63-64) 52 words
Hoskins, Travels in Ethiopia
Agatharchides says [Ancient writers, among them Strabo, say that] the Astaboras unites its stream with the Nile, and forms the Island of Meroe; and Strabo (lib. 17.) says Meroe is formed by the conflux of the Astapus and Astaboras. Diodorus states the island to be 375 miles long, and 125 [miles] wide. (66) 26 words
H. Rider Haggard, She: A History of Adventure (London: Longman, 1887). Google Books.
Bright fell the moonlight on pillar and court and shattered wall [the sandy plain, the Nile, the indistinct ruins of Meroe], hiding all their rents and imperfections in its silver garment, and clothing their hoar majesty with the peculiar glory of the night [by its magic fingers]. It was a wonderful sight to see the full moon looking down on the ruined fane of Kor [ruins of centuries]. 23 words
Mary Elsie Thalheimer, A Manual of Ancient History (New York: Van Antwerp, Bragg, 1872). Google Books.
When the snows melt upon the mountains of Armenia, both rivers, but especially the Euphrates, become suddenly swollen, and tend to overflow their banks. In fighting against this aggression of Nature, the Babylonians early developed that [the] energy of mind which made their country the first abode of Eastern civilization. The net-work of canals which covered the country [land] serv[ing] the three purposes of internal traffic, defense, and irrigation. Immense lakes were dug or enlarged for the preservation of surplus waters [and stored with water]; and the earth thrown out of these excavations formed dykes [built] along the banks of the rivers [to fertilize the land]. The fertile plain, so thoroughly watered, produced enormous quantities of grain, the farmer being rewarded with never less than two hundred fold the seed sown, and in favorable seasons, with three hundred fold. We shall not be surprised, therefore, [and it is not surprising] to learn that Babylonia was, from the earliest times, the seat of populous cities, crowded with the products of human industry, and that its people long constituted the leading state of Western Asia. (16) 54 words
George Rawlinson, The Five Great Monarchies of the Ancient Eastern World. 3 vols. London: Murray, 1862. Google Books.
The traditions with respect to Memnon serve very closely to connect Egypt and Ethiopia with the country at the head of the Persian Gulf [Nile]. (48) 17 words
[All] The traditions of the Armenians [Armenia] are in accordance with those of the Greeks. The Armenian Geography applies the name of Cush or Ethiopia to the four great regions, Media, Persia, Susiana or Elymais, and Asia, or to the whole territory between the Indus and the Tigris. Moses of Chorene, the great Armenian historian, identifies Belus, King of Babylon, with Nimrod. . . .
To the traditions and traces here enumerated must be added, as of primary importance, [But] the Biblical tradition, [is paramount to all. In it lies the greatest authority that we have for the affiliation of nations, and it] which is delivered to us very simply and plainly in that precious document, the ‘Toldotli Beni Noah,’ or ‘Book of the Generations of the Sons of Noah,’ which well deserves to be called “the most authentic record that we possess for the affiliation of nations.”
“The sons of Ham,” we are told, “were Cush, and Mizraim, and Phut, and Canaan. . . . . And Cush begat Nimrod. . . . . And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech, and Accad, and Calneh, in the land of Shinar.” . . .
It is the simplest and the best interpretation of this passage to understand it as asserting that the four races—the Egyptians, Ethiopians, Libyans, and Canaanites—were ethnically connected, being all descended from Ham; and further, that the primitive people of Babylon were a subdivision of one of these races, namely of the Cushites or Ethiopians, connected in some degree with the Canaanites, Egyptians, and Libyans, but still more closely with the people which dwelt anciently upon the Upper Nile.
The [These] conclusions thus recommended to us by the consentient primitive traditions of so many races, have lately received most important and unexpected confirmation from the results of linguistic research. After the most remarkable of the Mesopotamian mounds had yielded their treasures, and supplied the historical student with numerous and copious documents hearing upon the history of the great Assyrian and Babylonian empires, it was determined to explore Chaldaea Proper, where mounds of less pretension, but still of considerable height, marked the sites of a number of [several] ancient cities. The excavations conducted at these places, especially at Niifer, Senkereh, Warka, and Mugheir, were eminently successful. Among their other unexpected results was the discovery, in the most ancient remains, of a new form of speech, differing greatly from the later Babylonian language, and presenting analogies with the early language of Susiana, as well as with that of the second column of the Achaemenian inscriptions. In grammatical structure this ancient tongue resembles dialects of the Turanian family, but its vocabulary has been pronounced to be decidedly Cushite or Ethiopian; and the modern languages to which it approaches the nearest are thought to be the Mahra of Southern Arabia and the Galla of Abyssinia. Thus comparative philology appears to confirm the old traditions. An Eastern Ethiopia, instead of being the invention of bewildered ignorance, is rather a reality which henceforth it will require a good deal of scepticism to doubt; and the primitive race which [that] bore sway in Chaldea Proper is with much probability assigned [belongs] to this ethnic type. (50-52) 284 words
Hoskins, Travels in Ethiopia
That they are [the pyramids were] places of sepulture cannot be doubted [they could not doubt], from their position, number, and, most particularly, from the subjects of the sculpture on the walls, which I will presently describe. One of the porches [approaches] or porticoes is [was] most interestingly curious [interesting], the roof being arched, in a regular masonic style, with what may be called a keystone. . . . The porticoes even of the pyramids that are standing, although adapted to their proportions, are almost all injured, and most of them destroyed. There are no symptoms of fanatical violence having been exercised on what remains. Their ruined and defaced condition must be entirely [was] attributed [by the scientists] to their great antiquity. . . . The hieroglyphics are very much [which covered the monuments were greatly] defaced; indeed, those I have copied are almost all that remain. The Ethiopians did not group their hieroglyphics so well as the Egyptians: their striking deficiency, in this respect, proves either a great corruption from the Egyptian style, or, most probably, a great improvement made by the latter on the Ethiopian invention. This is the more extraordinary, as Diodorus informs us that the [A] knowledge of hieroglyphics [these characters] was, in Egypt, confined to the priests: but that, in Ethiopia, they were understood by all [showing that even in that remote time and place learning and the arts had reached so high a state as to be diffused among the common people.] (73-74) 52 words
[Reuel noticed particularly] The principal figure in this plate is [of] a queen, plainly attired in a long robe, tight at the neck and ankles, and, what is not usual in Egyptian sculpture, [with] closely fitted to the legs. [The Professor called their attention to the fact that] The whole [entire] figure is singularly [was] dissimilar to those represented in the [Egyptian] sculptures of Egypt. It is [The figure was] strongly marked by corpulency, a quality still so desired by Eastern beauties [a mark of beauty in Eastern women]; a curious circumstance, since this rotundity of form, which is the distinguishing feature of Ethiopian sculpture, and which, making its figures more bulky, and, perhaps, clumsy, than the Egyptian [Egypt], is nevertheless rather [but] pleasing to the eye, and, I think, more natural. I made this drawing with the camera lucida, in order to give the figure exactly, without any exaggeration. It will be observed that there are defects in the proportions, similar and as numerous as in Egyptian sculpture; for instance, the faulty manner of drawing the eye, the shortness of the arms, and the form not being fully made out. This [The] queen has [held] in one hand the lash of Osiris, and in the other a lotus flower. She is [was seated] on the seat having the form of a lion, which differs very little from the one we often see on the walls of the temples of Egypt. Her [wearing] sandals greatly resembl[ing] some [those] specimens I have seen at Thebes [in Theban figures]. . . .
At the extremity of each portico, as before observed, is [was] the representation of a monolithic temple, above which are [were] the traces of a funeral boat filled with figures, but all too defaced to be distinctly made out. In the centre of each boat is the sphere in the usual concave socket; and I was able, with much difficulty, to distinguish the divinities Kneph and Anubis. On each side of the boat is a pedestal on which is the bird with a human face representing the soul: one has a sphere on its head. [Professor Stone told them that] Diodorus mentions that some of the Ethiopians preserved the bodies of their relations in glass (probably alabaster) cases, in order to have them always before their eyes. These porticoes may [he thought, might] have been used to contain such cases [for that purpose]. (80-82) 125 words
These Ethiopians have their hair [The hair of the women was] dressed in curls above their [the] foreheads and [in] ringlets hanging down on their shoulders. (329) 11 words
I have carefully described this interesting and magnificent cemetery; but how shall I attempt to express the feelings of the traveller on treading such hallowed ground? One who, in passionate admiration for the arts, had visited the chief galleries of Europe, gazed upon the breathing image of divinity in the Apollo of the Vatican, or the deep expression of the most poetical of statues, the Dying Gladiator of the Capitol; who had beheld and felt the pictorial creations of a Raphael and a Correggio, and, with delight, contemplated Grecian, Roman, and modern sculpture [holding the treasures accumulated from every land], could not be unmoved at finding himself on the site of the very metropolis where those arts [science and art] had their origin. The traveller who has seen the architectural antiquities of Rome, and has [If he had] admired the [architecture of Rome and the] magnificent use that nation has [they had] made of the arch, making it the chief ornament of [in] their baths, palaces, and temples, [he] would be further deeply [naturally, doubly] interested at finding here [in desolate Meroe] the origin of that discovery. These emotions would be felt with peculiar force by one who, like myself, had been fortunate enough to trace art through her earliest creations,— from the splendid Gothic edifices of the north to the ruins of the Eternal City — from Rome to Magna Graecia — from the magnificent Temple of Neptune at Paestum to the still purer antiquities of Sicily, particularly at Girgenti, where nature and art seem to have vied with each other—from that interesting island to the Morea and the city of Minerva, where the knowledge of the arts, sown in the most genial-soil, produced the perfection of elegance, chasteness, and magnificence. But the seeds of the knowledge of the Greeks were derived from Egypt; and the Egyptians received their civilisation from the Ethiopians, and from Meroe, where I now am writing. The beautiful sepulchres of that city afford satisfactory [Meroe would give to him] evidence of the correctness of the historical records. [And then it was borne in upon him that] Where a [the] taste for the arts had reached to such perfection, we may [one might] rest assured that other intellectual pursuits were not neglected, nor the sciences entirely unknown. Now, however, her schools are closed for ever, without [not] a vestige of them remaining. Of the houses of her philosophers, not a stone rests upon another; and where civilisation and learning once reigned, ignorance and barbarism have reassumed the sway. (83) 121 words
Edward Dorr Griffin, A Plea for Africa (New York: Gould, 1817). Slavery and Anti-Slavery.
This is the people whose posterity have been denied a rank among the human race, and have been degraded into a species of talking baboons! (19-20) 25 words
N. Robinson, “The Colossal Statues of Egypt and Asia,” Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly 17 (1884): 90-95. Google Books.
One little fellow, all mustache, succeeded in gaining a coigne of vantage in the parting of the Sphinx’s hair, and from that stony valley [Under the inspiration of the moment, Charlie, the irrepressible, mounted to the top of the first pyramid, and from its peak] proceeded to harangue his companions, lugging in the famous Napoleon’s: “From the heights of yonder Pyramids forty centuries are contemplating you,” etc. This was admirably done, and the grimaces of the eloquent Gaul [young American must have] outvied in ugliness the once gracious-countenanced Sphinx. (91) 39 words
We know nothing of ancient Babylon. That of which Herodotus and Diodorus of Sicily have written is a city relatively modern, and which was restored and embellished in the sixth or seventh century before Christ. With the temple which inclosed a gigantic statue of Belus, we have to do, passing the wonders so unctuously described by the Greek historian. “Before this [one] enormous image,” he says, “is [was] a golden table, also of enormous proportions. The seats and steps are [were] also of gold, confirming what the [ancient] Chaldeans have said, that they used [records which tell of] 800 talents of this metal [used] in constructing all [this statue].”
Diodorus relates that on the summit of the Temple of Belus he found statues of Jupiter, Juno and Rhea. Jupiter was represented upright, and as if about to step forward. The Colossus was forty feet high, and weighed a thousand Babylonian talents. That of Rhea [There was also a statue of Candace], seated in a golden chariot, weighed as much. On her knees c[r]ouched two lions, beside her two enormous silver serpents, each of which weigh[ing] thirty talents. The statue of Juno weighed 800 talents. She carried in her right hand a serpent by the head, in her left hand a sceptre garnished with precious stones. (94) 147 words
I shall [They] never forg[o]t that sunset [over the ancient capital of Ethiopia the close of the first day spent on the city’s site], in the Desert[.] the awe-inspiring Pyramids throwing shadows that reminded me [one] of my [the geometrical] problems in Euclid [of his student days]; the grim Sphinx, a riddle to all ages; the backsheesh-loving Arabs, in the most picturesque habiliments and attitudes; the patient camels and donkeys, the tawny sands, and the burnished coppery sunlight! (91) 37 words
Quiller-Couch, Dead Man’s Rock
Then, with one long, contented sigh, my love was dead. It was scarcely a minute before all was over. I pressed one last kiss upon the yet warm lips, tenderly drew her white mantle. across the pallid face, and staggered from the theatre.
I had [He did] not raved or protested as I had done that same afternoon. Fate had no power to make me feel now [move him more]; the point of anguish was passed, and in its place succeeded a numb [dumb] stupidity more terrible by far, though far more blessed.
My [His] love was dead. Then I [He himself] was dead for any sensibility to [of] suffering that I [he] possessed. (299) 41 words
Then arose another text and hammered at the door of my remembrance. “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.” “Many waters —“many waters”:—the words whispered [and sung] appealingly, invitingly, in my [his] ears [all day and all night]. “Many waters, [many waters.]” My feet beat a tune to the words. (301) 24 words
The white orb of the moon was high in [the] heaven[s]; the frozen pavement sounded hollow under-foot; the long street stood out, for all its yellow gas-light, white and distinct against the clear air; but I marked nothing of this. I went westward because my home lay westward, and some instinct took my hurrying feet thither. I [He] had no purpose, no sensation. For aught I know, that night London might have been a city of the dead.
Suddenly I [Once he] halted beneath a lamp-post and began dimly [and tried] to think. My [His] love was dead :—that was the one fact that filled my [his] thoughts at first, and so I strove to image it upon my brain, but could not. But as I stood there feebly struggling with the thought [Then] another took its place. Why should I [he] live? Of course not; better end it all at once—and possessed with this idea I started off once more [rejoin her where parting was no more]. (300) 42 words
Kipling and Balestier, “The Naulahka”
The dawn wind blew through the gap in the wall, and Tarvin wiped his forehead with a deep sigh of relief [all about him]. He would do no more till the light came [until the dawn]. This was the hour to eat and drink; also to stand very still, because of that voice from the ground.
He pulled food and a flask from his pocket, and, staring before him in every direction, ate hungrily. [Presently] The loom of the night lifted a little, and he could see the outline[s] of some great [the] building a few yards away. Beyond this were other shadows, faint as the visions in a dream — the shadows of yet more temples and lines of houses; the wind, blowing among them, brought back a rustle of tossing hedges. [From his position he commanded the plain at his feet as level as a sea.]
The shadows grew more distinct: he could see that he was standing with his face to some decayed tomb. Then his jaw fell, for, without warning or presage, the red dawn shot up behind him, and there leaped out of the night the city of the dead. Tall-built, sharp-domed palaces, [The sepulchre before him] flush[ed] to the colour of blood, [and the light] revealed the horror of their [its] emptiness, and glared at the day that pierced them through and through. . . .
Already the dawn flush had passed. The hot light was everywhere, and a kite had poised himself in the parched blue sky. The day, new-born, might have been as old as the city. [Fragments of marble lay about him] It seemed to Tarvin [the lonely watcher] that he and it were standing still to [could] hear the [sound of the] centuries race by on the wings of the [marching by in the moaning wind and] purposeless dust. (669) 57 words
Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton, The Last Days of Pompeii (Paris: Baudry, 1834). Google Books.
Hail! oh, hail [Ergamenes]!
The dimmest sea-cave below thee,
The farthest sky-arch above,
In their innermost stillness know thee,
And heave with the Birth of Love! . . .
We are thine, all thine [for]evermore,—
Not a leaf on the laughing shore,
Not a wave on the heaving sea,
Nor a single sigh
In the boundless sky,
But is vowed evermore to thee! (162-63) 51 words
The character of Arbaces was one of those intricate and varied webs, in which even the mind that sat within it was sometimes confused and perplexed. In him, the son of a fallen dynasty, the outcast of a sunken people, was that spirit of discontented pride [upon your breast is a lotus lily, God’s mark to prove your race and descent]. (132) 10 words
Charlotte Maria Tucker, Exiles in Babylon; or, Children of the Light (London: Nelson and Sons, 1864). Google Books.
Great had been [were] the sins of Jerusalem [our fathers], and Nebuchadnezzar [the white stranger] was to her [Ethiopia] but a scourge in the hand[s] of an offended God. Jehoiakim was led in fetters, Jerusalem was given up to the enemy. The beautiful temple[s] raised by Solomon [of Babylon,] was plundered of its [filled with] vessels of silver and gold; they were carried to Babylon to swell[ed] the treasures of the false god Bel. (62) 33 words
Babylon, where the [our] monarch[s] dwelt [in splendor], was [once] the grandest city to be found in the world in that or perhaps any following age. We can scarcely credit the wonderful accounts which history gives of its splendour. Its wall was said to be sixty miles round, of prodigious height, and so broad that several [seven] chariots could be driven abreast on the summit! One hundred gates of solid brass gave entrance into the city, guarded by lofty towers. Beautiful buildings rose within, richly adorned, and surrounded by gardens. One magnificent royal palace was girdled by three walls, the outermost of which was seven miles and a half in compass. In its grounds rose the far-famed hanging gardens, terraces built one above another to the height of three hundred and fifty feet, each terrace covered with thick mould, and planted with flowers and shrubs, so that the skill of man created a verdant hill on a plain. Nearly in the centre of Babylon rose the lofty temple of Belus, said to be the same as the tower of Babel, whose presumptuous builders had hoped to make its summit touch the very skies. The riches of this temple were immense; treasures amounting to many millions sterling [of dollars in gold] were gathered within its [in the] chambers [of the temple]. It seemed as if the wealth, the power and the glory of this [the] world were centred in the mighty city Babylon. (64-65) 169 words
John Hartley Coombs, ed., Dr. Livingstone's 17 Years' Exploration and Adventure in the Wilds of Africa (Philadelphia: Lloyd, 1857). Google Books.
These [The] woods were inhabited by many other birds of various kinds, some of which have never been heard of in Europe, and many of which were of exquisite note and plumage. In addition to these there were [also] a goodly number of black-faced baboons, who descended from the trees and ranged themselves on the ground to obtain a nearer view of the passengers [travelers]. Dr. Livingstone, remembering his former experience with these animals, did not choose to cultivate their acquaintance. They grinned and chattered at him [the caravan] in the most insulting manner as he passed, seeming to regard him [them] as a trespasser[s] on [in] their sylvan domains.
Contrary to all his expectations, Dr. Livingstone found that the character of the country improved as he advanced toward [they neared] the interior. This circumstance is very much [Reuel noticed that this was] at variance with the prevailing notions of Europeans [idea] respecting the central regions of Africa [which brands these regions as]. It has been believed by many that the greater part of that ground which is marked on the maps as “unexplored,” is a howling wilderness[es], or an arid, sterile and uninhabitable country. The observations of Dr. Livingstone prove that these unexplored regions are really the most fertile and [He found the landscape most] beautiful of the continent. With joyful surprise, the Doctor discovered that the imaginary desert literally “blossomed like the rose,” and the “waste sandy valleys” and “thirsty wilds,” which chimney-corner geographers had [been] assigned to this locality [location], became, on actual inspection, a gorgeous scene, decorated with Nature's most cheering garniture, teeming with the choicest [choice] specimens of vegetable and animal life, and refreshed by innumerable streams, not a few of which are [were] of sufficient magnitude for the purposes of navigation and commerce. [But Reuel remembered the loathsome desert that stood in grim determination guarding the entrance to this paradise against all intrusion, and with an American’s practical common sense, bewailed this waste of material.]
Proceeding along the [a] mountain gorge, our travelers found their [the] path straitened between the impending mountain on one side and the [a] rapid and sparkling stream on the other. On the opposite side of the ravine the precipices arose [rose] abruptly from the very edge of the water. The whole appearance of this mountain-pass is [was] singularly grand, romantically wild and picturesquely beautiful. The travelers [They] were often obliged to clamber over huge masses of granite, which had fallen from the cliffs above; and, on this account, their [the] progress was slow and extremely toilsome. On turning an angle of the rock, about the centre of the gorge, the party were suddenly confronted by a huge tawny lion, which stood directly in the path, “with not a wall and scarce a space between.” The path was so narrow in this place that it would have been impossible to pass by the brute without touching him. The two guides, though they were born (as we may say) and brought up among lions, were completely paralyzed on finding themselves in company with the grizzly monster [Used to the king of the African jungle, the company did not shrink, but faced the animal boldly, although not without some natural physical fear]. The Doctor himself felt a good deal of perturbation, but he fortunately retained enough presence of mind to consider that it was his wisest plan to stand his ground. The Bakatlas were too much frightened to run away; in fact, they were “distilled almost to a jelly with the effect of fear,” and were equally incapable of flight or resistance. The Doctor glanced at them, and immediately perceived that no help or counsel could be obtained from them in this trying emergency. The lion himself [too] seemed to be taken by surprise, and to be in doubt how he ought to act in such extraordinary circumstances. Thus the human and quadruped opponents stood at the [a] distance of about five yards from each other, each party staring at the other for several minutes. Had the travelers shown the least inclination [signs of fear, or had they attempted] to escape, or had they even turned their backs and attempted to retrace their steps, the fate of one or more of them [at least] would have been sealed. At length the Doctor assumed courage enough to pronounce the word “Begone!” in an authoritative tone, making at the same time an expressive gesture of dismissal with his right hand [Now appeared an exhibition of the power of magnetism. Reuel stepped in advance of the foremost bearer, fixed his wonderful and powerful eyes upon the beast, literally transfixing him with a glance, poured the full force of his personal magnetism upon the animal, which almost instantly responded by low growls and an uneasy twisting of the head; finally, the terrible glance remaining inflexible and unwavering, the beast turned himself about and]. The lion seemed to understand the sign, if not the word, and turning around slowly he withdrew with a stately and majestic pace [tread], occasionally looking back and uttering a low growl, as if admonishing the travelers to keep their distance. (130-33) 336 words
William Wallace Cook, “The Mystic Picture,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 31 (1891): 449-52. Google Books.
“I followed him through the hall to the door of that secret chamber. I [Reuel] was nearly overpowered with the anticipation of being initiated into its [the] mysteries [of this apartment]. However, my feelings had little time to manifest themselves before I had been ushered into the room. There was [He found] nothing terrifying [however] in the surroundings; on the contrary, everything was severely plain [underground room into which he was ushered]. There were no curtains at the windows, and only a rough table and a couple of wooden chairs [stools] constituted the furniture. The only object[s] of mysterious import was an elaborately [mystery were a] carved post [table], about three feet in height, standing at one end of the apartment, with a silken cloth thrown over the [its] top [and a vessel like a baptismal font, cut in stone, full of water]. After closing the door securely my patron advanced and removed the cloth. . . .
“I [Reuel] was awed to [into] silence. I [He] could say nothing, and I listened to the [Ai’s] learned remarks of my patron with a reverence that approached almost to worship before this proof of his supernatural power.
“For some time the images came and went upon the mirror in obedience to our inclinations [his desires]. I [He] saw the scenes of my [his] boyhood, the friends of my [his] youth, and experienced anew the delights of life’s morning.” (451) 95 words
Charles Waldstein, “The Finding of the Tomb of Aristotle,” Century Illustrated Magazine 44 (1892): 414-26. Google Books.
On Tuesday, February 24, accompanied by Professor Richardson, I began excavating at the site with the marble molding. We followed up and [One morning he and Jim Titus] laid bare a beautifully worked marble wall built of the best Greek [fine] masonry, with evenly worked [even] blocks, each about a meter and a half long, and below the exquisitely worked molding two further layers of marble blocks, all of the same dimensions, resting upon two layers of well-worked calcareous stone called poros. The whole formed a foundation for a structure which is no longer extant, the foundation being [had fallen into ruins about] two and a half meters high. But this wall continued for thirteen meters only, and then returned at right angles at each end, the sides being only a meter and a half in length. On the inner side this marble structure was backed by large blocks of poros [calcareous stone], and in the inner angles we came upon, and [they] had with much labor to break up and remove, two layers of such blocks super-imposed at right angles one upon the other. We were [The entire party was] much puzzled as to [learn] what this building [structure] could have been. (421-22) 113 words
Hoskins, Travels in Ethiopia
At the extremity of each portico, as before observed, is was the representation of a monolithic temple, above which are [were] the traces of a funeral boat filled with figures, but all too defaced to be distinctly made out. (82) 23 words
Kipling and Balestier, “The Naulahka”
[Charlie could feel] The path dropped [drop] beneath his feet on a shelf of solid rock that curved [which seemed to curve] over like the edge of a waterfall. Tarvin took only one step, and fell, for [He could feel] the rock was worn into deep gutters, smoother than ice, by the naked feet of millions who had trodden that way for no man knew how many years. (669) 24 words
Quiller-Couch, Dead Man’s Rock
There he sat [Jim], and in front of him lay, imbedded in the sand [of the cavern’s floor], a huge iron chest bound round with a broad band of iron [box]. . . .
Then, with a long, shuddering sigh, he lifted and threw back the groaning lid [was thrust back, falling to one side with a great groan of almost mortal anguish as it gave up the trust committed to its care ages before]. We [They] both gazed, and as we [they] gazed were well-nigh blinded.
For this is what we [they] saw:—
At first, only a blaze of darting rays that beneath the moon gleamed, sparkled and shot out a myriad scintillations of colour—red, violet, orange, green and deepest crimson. Then by degrees I [they] saw that all these flashing hues came from one [a] jumbled heap of gems—some large, some small, but together in value beyond a king's ransom [all dreams of wealth].
I caught my breath and looked again. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, amethysts, opals, emeralds, turquoises, and innumerable other stones lay thus roughly heaped together and glittering as though for joy to see the light of heaven once more. Some polished, some uncut, some strung on [as] necklaces and chains, others gleaming in rings and bracelets and barbaric ornaments; there they lay—wealth beyond the hope of man, the dreams of princes. (355) 108 words
Kipling and Balestier, “The Naulahka”
Then he [Fascinated into perfect stillness, Vance] became aware of pale emerald eyes watching him fixedly, and perceived that there was [the sound of] deep breathing in the place other than his [their] own. He flung the match down, the eyes retreated, there was a wild rattle and crash [rush] in the darkness, a howl that might have been bestial or human, and Tarvin, panting between the tree roots, swung himself to the left, and fled [as Jim, moving forward, flung down his taper and turned to flee]. (670) 23 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
By day or night some phantom in her [his] ears holloes in ocean’s roar or booms in thunder, howls in the winds or murmurs in the breeze, chants in the voice of birds or sighs in flowers [the sea-fowl]—“Murder, murder.” “Nothing else but [“Too late, too late. ‘Tis done, and worse than] murder.” (207) 31 words
Quiller-Couch, Dead Man’s Rock
So westward we [the vessel] sped in the grey light beneath which the snowy fields gleamed unnaturally—westward while the sun above showed only as a crimson ball, an orb of blood, travelling westward too [in its Arabian setting]. At Bristol it glared [or gleamed] through a murky veil of smoke [off the English coast]. (344) 17 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
Sick at heart, bending beneath the blight that thus unexpectedly fell upon her, the sounds of music became distasteful to her ear, her profession unendurable [the girl gave herself up to grief]. (195) 13 words
It would be desecration to call the passion which Lord Ravensworth [Aubrey] entertained for Gabrielle [Dianthe] love. Yet passion it was — the one great passion of his life [the greatest he had ever known] — with its dark shadow, jealousy. No change in her could touch him; she was all life to him; and therefore hate [Indifference on the part of his idol could not touch him; she was his other self, and he] — hate[d] of the [all] thing[s] that stood between his love and her [him] — this was the only thought that now possessed him. (196-97) 28 words
It was dusky, lovely twilight. Within the castle walls the most [house] profound stillness reigned. A gay party had lately been assembled to honor the noble hospitality of the distinguished happy couple; but the very sudden and alarming sickness of the countess had scattered the butterflies like a storm. They shook their plumes and fled from suffering not their own, as from a pestilence. She lay alone. The earl was going to town; but ere he left, he knocked at the door of his wife’s boudoir, and, obtaining permission to enter, dismissed her attendant, [Aubrey entered] and stood gazing for some moments in perfect silence at the [beautiful] picture of mournful loveliness she presented [to his view]. She was robed [gowned] in spotless white, [her bright hair flowed about her unconstrained by comb or pin.] and lay extended on a silken couch. Her fair, golden curls shadowed her like a shining veil. The faint, last tinge of setting sunlight streamed through the Gothic windows, tinged with their gorgeous-painted, many-colored hues. The splendid tapestry was drawn aside, and through the deep-set arches waving trees cast their deep shadows over the evening scene. Her perfect Grecian features looked like marble. Her violet [the deep grey] eyes, with deep black circles round them, gazed wistfully into the far, far distance, a land where spirit only could compass the wide space. The earl would have given his life to hold her to his hearth and call her “Love;” but the cold gaze of scorn she turned on him half froze him, and changed his feelings into a corresponding channel with her own.
“And so your ladyship has seen a spirit, I am told [that you see spirits],” he said, with cutting irony. “May I be bold to ask, madam, if it wore a Hungarian uniform [they wear the dress of African explorers]?”
“Edward,” [“Aubrey,”] replied the lady [girl], in a calm, low [dispassionate] tone, from which all passion or scorn was excluded, addressing him, too, by that name for the first time in many months—“Edward! on my salvation as a Christian, last evening [Aubrey], at this very hour, in this very room and spot, as I lay here, not sleeping, nor disposed to sleep, there where you stand, there rose, it seemed from out the very ground,[stood] a pale and lovely woman. She neither looked at me nor did she speak [spoke]; but walk[ed] to that [the] table, opened, just where you see it, yonder [the] Bible; stooped over the book [it] a while, and seemed to write; then coming back, stood for a moment fixed; then seemed to sink, just as she rose, and disappeared. Her dress might have been a nun’s, or travelling pilgrim’s, yet seemed to fall off from one of her fair shoulders; and, as she stooped, I saw what seemed to be a deep red stripe across it. Her head was bare; her hair fell loosely round her in long, black curls. Now, Edward, look. That book stands open; its huge gold clasps, yourself have told me, have not been undone since, in your early childhood, your father died. Look, too, at the writing. Mark it well, [Examine the book,] and tell me, is that fancy? If not, who did it?”
Crossing the room, the earl, by the waning light, [Aubrey] gazed steadfastly at the [open] book. It was an immense [the old] family Bible, with [and the] heavy clasps [had] grown far too stiff and rusty by disuse for the delicate fingers of his fair wife to open. He remembered noticing this very book closed when he had visited his lady’s apartment a very few minutes before her shrieks summoned him back to her side on the previous evening, when she declared she had been terrified by an apparition, and in consequence she was attacked by a succession of fits. There, on the open page, he perceived heavy marks in [were] ink [lines], underscoring the following lines from the 12th chapter of St. Luke: “For there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known.” On the margin, at the end of this passage, was written, in a fine, female hand, the single [one] word “Beatrice.” [“Nina”]
Without making a single comment on her story [but with anxious brows], the earl [Aubrey] returned to the [his wife’s] couch, spoke a few affectionate words of warning concerning her health, and, promising to be back very soon,—encouraged, it would seem, by her subdued and softened manner,—he stooped and imprinted [impressed] several kisses on her cold, impassive face. What moved him then, none can ever say; but as he rose again, he drew out his handkerchief, buried his face in its folds, and [Then he] left the room.
The lady [Dianthe] lay in long and silent contemplation [meditation]. The full moon rose at length, and, shining through the window, threw the shadow of its deep arches and diamond panes upon the floor; and Gabrielle was soothed, as, idly tracing its fantastic reflections, she began counting the shimmering squares — one, two, three. What breaks the image [her reverie]?
The moonbeam gleams on something white and square; it is a letter; my lord has surely dropped it. Quitting [She left] the couch, she takes [and picked] it up and hastens to the bell. It is sealed; it may be of consequence. He’ll doubtless not be gone; or if he is, some groom must overtake him. Her [Just then a] maid enters with a light, and, ere she speaks, the lady [she] glance[d] at the cover [envelope]. A [She] pause[d]. Had this been on the stage, the lady should have shivered, quivered, stroked her hair, or pushed it back; gone mad, and let it down; or hugged her maid, and told her all her sorrows. Gabrielle did none of these, but, simply bidding the girl set down the lamp and quit her, locked the door, broke the seal, and read what follows. (198-201) 217 words
Ernest [Reuel] was living and a prisoner; if husband, title, land, and wealth could buy his life, what were they to her? Ay, indeed, Ernest was living! Had she known this, the empire of the world would not have tempted her to wed another. Ernest living, and she [a bigamist—] another's wife!—made so by fraud, [and] deceit, and stratagem.
At first she only thought of him alive, on earth, breathing the air with her, a tenant of the same world. To free him, save him, bring him to her home,—to see him, hear his voice,—this was [would be] enough. Then came the hideous thought—lost to her, or rather she to him—and how? By the contrivance of her lord, her husband, and his [plans of this] would-be murderer. Yes; whilst he, her love — the idol of her soul, the darling ideal of her wildest fancy — had been languishing in unimaginable misery in prison, she who had sent him forth, and sacrificed him to her wild ambition, she had lain within his murderer's arms, and clasped, day by day, the very hand that was writing plots to slay her darling. O, horrible, inhuman wretch! Her husband! He who had dared to steal [stolen] her by false tales from Ernest, and then [had] pollute[d] her existence by the daily breath of murder. Murder! Ay, what was murder? Not good enough for him — the hated foe of Ernest. And yet, [She paused and grasped for breath; then came the trembling thought,] “would he were dead!” What should she do? How brave his dreadful wrath? The whole discovery of what she had done — his cabinet destroyed, its contents rifled, his dark plots all discovered — one of her own estates, a marriage dower, recklessly traded away to procure money to buy her lover’s freedom — this for herself was nothing; what would he say? The world, the sneering world — what if she told the tale? Who would believe her? Or those that did would laugh, scorn, or, worst of all, but pity her.
“O that he were dead!” . . .
And as she sat upon the dreary rocks that stretched away beneath her castle walls, and stared in almost mad despair upon the boiling waves that beat against their iron sides, she wished that they [the trees] were living creatures, would hear her pleading cry, and drown him — beat him into pieces — rid her of him [and would fall and crush him]. O, would not something aid her? The rushing winds — they, in their fury, had slain full many a hapless wretch; why would they not [but] kill him? . . .
And when at last she sat her down, oppressed and out of breath [with her wanderings], beneath the shadow of the ivied tower, no sooner was she composed, than once again she wished that he was there, and that the tower might fall and crush him; she would look on, gaze on his mangled form, and mourn for him. The world would sympathize and honor the noble widow, and all her woes would end. And Ernest — he would come; and she — but hark! The deep bells chime eleven. She counts the beats. The last one sounds out “murder.” She sleeps; and every gallery is dark in midnight’s sombre robe. Beneath each marble form and ghostly bust a [She slept and dreamed of nameless,] shapeless something seems to [things that] lurk[ed], [and skulked in hidden chambers,] waiting a [the] signal to creep [come] forth, and do a deed she cannot name, and yet she knows ‘tis “murder.” And all these galleries are full of things waiting for her husband. She starts, and wakes. The cold moonbeam, with pallid fingers, writes upon the window, “ Murder.” She turns and turns the long and weary [remainder of the] night — the night — the ages in one night. Sure it must be many long years, that dreary, livelong night; for how many old and bygone histories she recalls of wretched ladies forced by fate on crime — the hapless [her poor warped faculties recalled the stories she had read of] Cenci’s dark and fearful mystery — the dreadful Borgias, and even the Hebrew Judith; ay, it was a noble deed — a brave, fair woman ridding the earth of monsters, not fit to live. . . .
We know we’re tempted; hear the whisperers, and recognize the strong, red, spirit hands that lead us on to crime; the pointing finger, the guiding footprints. The world is full of precedents, the air with impulses, society with men and spirit tempters; but what invites them [sin]? Is it not [a something within] ourselves? What attracts them? Some like sin in us. If they point the way, who follows? If they suggest the deed, who acts it out? Is prompting action? If so, why does the penalty fall upon the actor? If we complain we sin because another tempts, then who has [If we offer the excuse that we were tempted, where is] the merit of victory when [if] we [do not] resist the tempter? Think you our God [does not] abandons us to the dark and evil prompter[s] on the left? Is there no [without a] white-robed angel on the right, stretching out a [warning] hand as strong? [and] pointing, with footprints quite as deep, a [out the] better way, and whispering “conquer” in a tone as loud [as strongly as the other]? We say we’re virtuous, strong, triumphant, when we conquer sin; nor do we ever think of robing our better angel in our plumes of victory; but [and] when we fall, we’re victims to our fate, “controlled by evil spirits,” subjects merely of their all-ruling power [we excuse our sins by saying, “It is fate”]. (204-09) 179 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
Fifty times he had asked for Lady Ravensworth [a day Aubrey asked for her]. They [The maid] told him she was ill,— [but] not alarmingly so; no leech [physician] was sent for [called]. She was simply “indisposed”—could not be seen. . . .
Peering [Gazing] in Gabrielle’s [Dianthe’s] face, the attendants whisper [the maid whispered], “Still she sleeps. She bade us [I will] not disturb her. Come away.”
Again alone, she waits but the closing of the door, to spring[s] from her couch with strong and sudden movement, with all the seeming energy of life and health. . . .
“If he should come in time he will not know me,” she murmured; then, sighing deeply, turned and paced the room. What she thought of, none could say. She spoke not; never raised her eyes from off the ground, nor ceased her dreary walk for two long hours. She sometimes sobbed, but never shed a tear. Sometimes the memories that crowded round her seemed to wreath[ing] themselves in shapes which floated like a misty crown upon [mistily through] her brain. First came the village school room, with its open door, and sunny green beyond, and rosy, happy faces peeping through; the kind old schoolma’am’s gentle “well done, child” [Her humble school days at Fisk]; the [her] little heart leaping at the well-won prize; the merry play, and boisterous, gleesome laugh [with her joyous mates]; the romp, the swing, the dear companion’s secrets; in elder days [later years], the first triumphant throb when wondering masters [critics] praised the melting voice, and pictured scenes of world-admiring crowds [applauded]. And O, the glorious days of [travel in] Rome and Florence! the sunny skies, the classic scenes of study; [intimate] companionship with Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn; the flood of inspiration pour[ed] in strains of self-made melody upon her soul, wafting her, saint-like, to the choiring skies; the proud, triumphant empire of La Scala, crowning her, queen-like, with the earth’s ovation. (215-17) 121 words
At night, before they separated, [After dinner] they walked together on the terrace that surrounded the castle [a while upon the broad piazzas, beneath]. The nightingale sang her liquid notes of unimaginable ternderness in the thick groves of myrtles. The silent stars and gracious moon looked down in softened light upon a far extended landscape of wondrous, varied beauty. . . .
Could [To] mortal eyes have looked on this young pair, and their surroundings, they would have seen the external show of [marked them as darlings of the gods enjoying] the wide world’s heaped up felicity. Could those same eyes have, like the angels, looked deeper down into their hearts, not the loathsome cell of this [the] wretch, condemned to die to-morrow [death], could have shown a sight so [more] hideous. Rage, malice, hate, despair, and murder, — these were the real inhabitants of those most lovely temples, framed by God to receive and hold a portion of his spirit. And yet they looked so noble, calm, and dignified, the moving world might check a while its busy flight, to gaze, admire, and envy. The angels saw their spirits; shuddering, veiled their eyes, and wept. Along the noble corridor they pass. Now pausing at her chamber door, the earl still holds [Aubrey raised] her hand. With courtly grace he raises it to his lips.
“Cruel lady, if we needs must part, [and bade her] good night.”
“Good night, my lord; to-night we needs must part,” the lady slightly murmurs ; then, passing within her chamber, adds, “Must part to meet no more.”
From the deepest and most dreamless slumber that had ever sealed up his eyes, Lord Ravensworth suddenly [Aubrey] awoke just as the castle clock was sounding [striking] two. ‘Twas yet quite dark, and at first he felt impressed that the deep-mouthed time-teller [striking clock] had awaked him; yet sleep on the instant seemed [was] as effectually banished from his eyes, as if it were broad daylight. He could not distinguish the actual contact of any substance, and yet neither [he] could he [not] divest [rid] himself of the feeling that a strong arm was holding him forcibly down, and a heavy hand was on his lips. He saw nothing, though the moon’s rays shone full into the room. He felt nothing sensuously, yet [but] every thing sensationally; and thus it was that, with eyes half closed, and seemingly fixed as by a [an iron] vice of iron, he beheld the door of his dressing room (which was the only private means of communication with Lady Ravensworth’s apartments [Dianthe’s rooms]) very cautiously and noiselessly opened, whilst Gabrielle [and Dianthe] herself, in a loose robe, crept into the room, and stealthily as a spirit glided to the side of the [his] bed.
Arrested by the same trance-like yet conscious power that bound his form but left perception free, the earl [Aubrey] neither spoke nor moved. And yet he felt, and partially beheld her stoop over him, listen to his breathing, pass her hand before his eyes to try if they would open; then he, with sidelong glance, beheld her, as rapidly as thought, take up the night glass standing on his table, and for the glass containing clear cold water, which it was his custom to swallow every morning on first awakening, substitute one which, he had seen from the first, she carried in her hand. This done, the stealthy figure moved away, gently drew back the door, and would have passed; but no—the spell was broken. A hand was on her shoulder—a hand of iron. Back it dragged her into the room she had left, shut the dividing door and locked it, held her in its sinewy strength till other doors were locked, then bore her to the bed, placed her upon it, and then released her. And there she sat, white and silent as the grave, whilst before her stood Lord Ravensworth [Aubrey], pale as herself, but silent now no longer.
Taking the glass which she had substituted, he held it to her lips, and simply pronounced the single word—“Drink!” But one word; but O, what a world of destiny, despair, and agony hung on that word, again and again repeated! Her pleading look, her wild and haggard eyes, her white and speechless lips, all, alas! bore their fatal testimony to her guilt, [to a mind unbalanced], but only added point [determination] to the [Aubrey’s] deep and unflinching purpose with which he echoed again, and yet again,—
“Drink! deeper yet, my lady! Pledge thy lord even [me] to the very dregs [last drops]; drink deep! drink all!”
“Edward, Edward! [Aubrey, Aubrey!] mercy!”
The shrinking victim’s now upon [woman was on] her knees, the half-unfinished draught within [half-drained glass in] her hand.
“Drink!” shouted the earl [Aubrey]. “Drain the glass to Ernest [Reuel]!”
“To Ernest [Reuel]!” gasped the countess [Dianthe], and set the glass down empty.
Once more the Lord of Ravensworth [Aubrey] led his lady through the noble corridor where three hours earlier they’d parted [bride of three months back to the door of her room]. Once more before her chamber door he paused; and once again, but now in solemn mockery, he stooped and kissed her hand.
“Farewell, my gentle lady love,” he said. “When we meet, ‘twill be—”
“In judgment, Edward [Aubrey]; and may God have mercy on our guilty souls!” (211-15) 550 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
’Twas [It was a] cold, gray morning; the dawn of such a day as seems to wrap itself within the shroud of night, hiding the warm sun in its stony bosom, and to creep through time arrayed in the gray panoply of mourning [garments] for the departed stars. Lord Ravensworth [Aubrey] was up by earliest streak [glimpse] of dawn. Till near midday he paced the long galleries of his splendid dwelling, uncertain what to do or where to go [he made a pretence of eating, sitting in solemn state in the lonely breakfast room, where the servants glided about in ghostly silence, which was too suggestive for the overwrought nerves of the master of all that magnificence]. Fifty times he had asked [the maid] for Lady Ravensworth [Mrs. Livingston]. They [The woman] told him she was ill,—not alarmingly so; no leech was sent for [physician’s services were needed, neither his own’s nor another’s]. She was simply “indisposed”—could not be seen. He did not ask to see her; yet, with a strange and morbid curiosity, he kept on questioning how she was, and why she did not come abroad [kept her chamber]. At length [tired of his aimless wandering,] he said “he’d go.”
His valet asked him where.
He could not tell. “Pack up some things.”
“For how long a time, my lord [sir]?”
He did not know [“I cannot tell, James.”].
“[Shall I order] The carriage? post horses? stage coach? What would his lordship choose?”
“Any thing—something! A horse [, yes]; [I’ll have] the fleetest [swiftest] one in all the stud [stable]! A valise—no more; no [, you need not come] groom, no valet. I must be alone.” . . .
He’s gone. Peering in Gabrielle’s face, the attendants whisper, “Still she sleeps. She bade us not disturb her. Come away.”
Again alone, she waits but the closing of the door, to spring from her couch with strong and sudden movement, with all the seeming energy of life and health. First she went to the window, and drawing [flung] wide apart the damask hangings, let[ting] in a flood of light upon the chamber and herself [pale, worn face reflected in the mirror]. Planting herself full before the splendid pier glass, she stood in rigid contemplation of the scene. Behind her hung a full-length portrait of what she was — a bride — the charming, fair, and radiant Gabrielle. Life, youth, and beauty beamed from the canvas. A chastened sadness sat upon the brow; ‘twas but the fleecy summer cloud upon the sunlight. The image, full in beauty reflected, shone within the ample mirror; and by its side stood Gabrielle — Gabrielle of Ravensworth.
Scarcely sixteen months had intervened since the two pictures thus presented were each taken from life; but what a wondrous change between them [was there]! The long, white drapery of the countess’s [her] morning robe fell [about her] like a shroud around her, yet, white as it was, contrasted painfully with the livid ash-hue of her skin. The bride’s round, ivory [Her] arms, now [were] thin and blue; the soft, pink hand, now waxen and [her hands] transparent; the [her] sunny curls [hair], each twined with orange blossoms, smooth, silky, and distinct in their golden order, now hung in long, dishevelled, waving threads of auburn [masses], the picture of neglect; the sunken cheek, wan brow, and livid lips; the heavy eyes, with deep, black halos round them;—all these made up a [ruined] temple guesting the very genius of decay and ruin. But even this was more tolerable than the deep thrill of anguish and despair that sent its chords vibrating through those features as she herself gazed on the wreck.
“If he should come in time [When he comes] he will not know me,” she murmured [to herself]; then, sighing deeply, turned and paced the room. What she thought of, none could say. She spoke not; never raised her eyes from off the ground, nor ceased her dreary walk for two long hours. She sometimes sobbed, but never shed a tear. . . .
Here we drop the veil. Let no human eye behold the writhings of that suffering face, the torture of that soul torn from its moorings [unmoored], and cast upon the sea of wildest passion, without the pilot, principle, or captain of all salvation, God, to trust in,—passion, adoration for her [of a] human idol, [hereditary traits entirely unbalanced], generous but fervid impulses, her only guides. . . .
She knew she had seen a spirit; so she knew that she, a spirit, [her spiritual person] must survive the grave. But what or where that world was, where her spirit fast was tending, only the dreadful tales of fear and superstition shadowed forth [truth]; and now, when her despairing feet [footsteps] were pressing to it, horror and chill dread dogged every footprint.
Hour after hour elapsed alone. O, ‘twas agony to be alone! She could not bear it. Why did no one come? She would call her maid; but no,—her cold and unimpassioned face would bring no comfort to her aching heart—aching for love, for pity, for some cheering bosom, where she might sob her ebbing life away.
At last a footstep hastens to her [The] door. It opens, and—O joy! her mother's [old Aunt Hannah’s] arms enclose [enfold] her. (215-19) 420 words
Evening at last. The sinking sun is setting far away over the tranquil sea.
“Mother,” murmured the dying lady [girl], raising her head from off her now damp pillow, “every [A very] golden cloud is printed with the fleecy words of glory, ‘I will return.’ [She pointed to the golden clouds banking the western sky.] O, will our spirits come, like setting suns, on each tomorrow of eternity?”
“Gabrielle, my only darling, pity me. I know there’s something dreadful in this sickness. You say ‘tis nothing; yet your limbs have been these many hours quivering with racking pain, and your face—O, what signs of agony it tells!—and hark, that sound again! Virgin Mother, shield us!”
[For answer, the old woman raised her hand in warning gesture.] Yes, there it was [sounded], distinct and clear—three loud yet muffled knocks beat on the panel directly above the couch whereon the countess [where Dianthe] lay.
“’Tis nothing, mother; I’m used to it now,” replied Gabrielle [said the girl], with perfect indifference. . . .
Whatever was the cause of Lady Ravensworth’s indisposition [Mrs. Livingston’s illness], it was evident to Mrs. Martin that its character was unusual and alarming. In vain she [The maid, who was really attached to the beautiful bride,] pleaded to be allowed to send for medical aid [in vain]. The causes for her suffering, as stated by Gabrielle [Dianthe], were plausible; but her resolve to have no aid, inflexible. As evening advanced, her restlessness, and the hideous action of spasmodic pains across her livid face, became more and more distressing. To all her mother’s [the] urgent appeals [of her servants], however, she simply replied she was waiting for some one. He was coming soon—very soon; and then she should [would] be quite well.
And yet he came not. From couch to door, from door to window, with eager, listening ear and wistful eyes, the poor watcher traversed her chamber in unavailing expectancy. At length a sudden calm seemed to steal over her; the incessant restlessness of her wearied frame yielded to a tranquil, passive air. She lay extended upon a pile of cushions which [piled high upon the couch] command[ing] a view of the long gallery which led [broad hallways leading] to her apartment. Suddenly the beams of the [newly risen] moon [bathed], streaming in many-colored hues through the painted Gothic windows, seemed to augment into the softly misty light of an autumn evening. Every object in the chamber [dim halls], and even the dim colors on the grim old portraits, that in gloomy rows adorned the long gallery, all seemed to stand out as in daylight’s bold relief; while clear as the vesper bell, sounding across a far, far distant lake, strains of delicious music, rising and falling in alternate cadence of strong and martial measure, came floating in waves of sound down the long corridor.
Gabrielle and Mrs. Martin felt no less than [Dianthe and Aunt Hannah and the maid] heard its [the] glorious echoes; whilst [in the town], long years after, the villagers and distant herdsmen told how, on that night, for many miles around, domestics, all within the castle’s range, heard “the phantom music,” calling the soul of Gabrielle away [as of a mighty host]. At [Louder it grew,] first, in low and wailing notes it stole, like the lament of some unquiet spirit, throughout the castle halls. But louder still it grew, now [then] swelling, pealing through arch and corridor in mighty diapason, until the very tones [notes] of different instruments seemed to ring [rang] out, as from a vast orchestra. There was the rolling thunder of the organ, the wild harp’s ringing peal, the aeolian’s plaintive sigh, the fiery trumpet[‘s] [peal], and the mournful horn; a thousand soft, melodious flutes, like trickling streams upheld the [a] bird-like treble; whilst ever and anon, the muffled drum with awful beat precise, the rolling kettle, and the crashing cymbals, kept time to sounds like tramping of a vast but viewless army. Nearer now they come [came]. The dull, deep beat of falling feet—‘tis in the hall—it marches up the stairs. It comes—it comes! [Louder it came and louder.] Louder, and yet more loud, the music swell[ed] to thunder! The unseen mass must be [have been] the disembodied souls of every age since Time began his course, so vast the rush and strong the footfalls sound. And now [then] the chant of thousand, thousand[s] [of] voices swelling, in rich, majestic choral tones, join[ed] in the thundering crash. [It was the welcome of ancient Ethiopia to her dying daughter of the royal line.]
Upspringing from her couch, as through the air the mighty hallelujah sound[ed], Gabrielle [Dianthe], with frantic gestures and wild, distended eyes, cried, “I see them now! the glorious, shining band! Led by the giant Handel, on they come. Welcome, great masters of the world of song [world’s first birth]! All hail, most noble Haydn, sweet Mozart, Gluck, Cherubini, Purcell, Arne, Porpora! [my royal ancestors—Candace, Semiramis, Dido, Solomon, David, and the great kings of early days, and the great masters of the world of song.] O, what long array of souls divine, lit with immortal fire from heaven itself! Beethoven, too! O, let me kneel to thee, thou first and last of all the [And to thee too Beethoven, Mozart, thou] sons of song! Angels have spun thy soul from strings of music, and wove thy brain from out the threads of melody. Divine one[s], art thou come to take me home?—me, thy poor worshipper on earth? O, let me be thy child in paradise!”
The pageant passed, or seemed to pass, from her whose, eyes alone of all the awe-struck listeners, whose ears that night drank in those sounds unearthly, with mortal gaze beheld them. To Mrs. Martin, indeed, it seemed as if the air of the music-haunted corridor was specked with glancing lights; and sometimes even the streams of thread-like phosphorescent haze extended to the shape of a hazy human form, uplifting high some wild fantastic instrument. But even this, like Gabrielle’s strange ravings, she attributed to the bewildering influence of fear, yet rapture, which the mysterious music wrapped all in who heard its solemn cadence. When at length, even to her ear, the last vibrating echoes of the music seemed to die away in utter vacant silence [to the terrified attendants], she attempted to rouse her apparently entranced charge [Dianthe]. Still she listened [seemed to listen]. Either her fine ear still drank in the music, or another sound had magnetized her powers [caught her attention].
“Hark, mother, hark! ‘Tis carriage wheels. Do you not hear them? Now they cross the ford [pass the railroad at the crossing]. Haste, haste, O, haste[n]! A long mile intervenes. O, haste! They call me home.”
For full ten [many] minutes, [she sat] rigid, as [and] cold as marble, the listening lady sat. To Mrs. Martin the stillness was intense. Yet she, the seeress and clairaudiant, heard; for with bent ear she sat, until her heart-throbs marked the fleeting seconds.
To Mrs. Martin’s joy she recognized [the great relief of all there came] at last, indeed, [there came to their ears] the very distant rumbling of some wheels. Nearer it came—it sounded in the court [avenue—it passed at the great entrance,]—some one alight[ed]—a stir—the sound of voices—now [then] footsteps—yes, it is the ascent of footsteps, human feet, upon the marble stair[s]. Nearer, nearer yet; hastily they come, like messengers of speed. They’re in the gallery, upon the threshold—enter. Then, and not till then, the rigid lady move[d]. With one wild scream of joy she rushe[d] forward, and Ernest Rossi [Reuel Briggs] clasp[ed] her in his arms.
For a few, a very few brief minutes in her mortal life [moments], the wretched lady [girl] lived an age in heaven. She forgot her husband, name, and title—all. The presence of that one beloved, redeemed by her, free and alive, and in her hour of anguish,—this was the one pearl in her cup of life that [drop of joy] sweetened all the dark and bitter draught, and made it [for her] an eternity of compensation. With fond, wild tenderness, she gazed upon him, parted the damp curls on his livid brow, passed her cold fingers sadly over his wan and faded cheek, gazed in his anxious eyes, until her own looked in his very soul, and stamped there all the story of her love, her frailty, pride, ambition, guilt, and remorse. Then, winding her cold arms around his neck, she laid her weary head upon his shoulder tenderly, and silently as [the] night passed through the portals of the land of souls. (220-26) 681 words
Britten, The Wildfire Club
’Tis [’Twas] midnight. Still as death the landscape seems [was]. Hills, rocks, and rivers, even the babbling brooks, seem[ed] locked in sleep. The moonbeams dream[t] upon the lone hill-side; the stars are sleeping [slept] in the glittering sky; the silent dell is [vales were] full of dreaming flowers, whose colored [parti-colored] cups are closed in balmy sleep. In all that wide and solemn scene of stillness [hush of silence], one only watcher breaks [broke] the charmed spell. Now he moves swiftly across the mountain top [over the plain]; now he climbs down rugged, wild ravines, seemingly for no other purpose than to pace the gorge’s depth, and climb the hill again; anon his restless step is turned across the moor, as if some sudden purpose drove him on with almost lightning speed; but now [then] he turns, and back his way he wends, in the very self-same track, and with the same impulsive speed. What is he doing in the lonely night? The night! Why, he’s been walking this same way, and in the self-same spots, from early morning. [All day,] Hour after hour, and mile on mile, the scorching midday sun [had] blazed on his head, and still he sped from nothing to no place [wandered on]. The sultry noon still saw him driving past the glen and thicket, with hot, desperate speed. The tranquil sunset purpled round his way, and still his turning round he [the wanderer] hastened on. The gentle stars looked wondering on his track, and then he hied away. Their silver light shone like the eyes of angels, reading through his very soul, and this he could not bear.
Near yon thicket stands his horse—he tied it there at morning; still it browses quietly, awaiting hour by hour its restless master’s will. How many leagues he’s walked, and yet the whole within one narrow circuit! Never once has he lost sight of yonder frowning castle, wherever these gray towers uprear their gloomy height. He walked and walked, like a spell-bound magician. His clothes are dusty. In his haggard eyes one question seems to go searching forth [linger]—“I wonder if she lives!”
How many, many dreary times he’s [he] said this sentence [question] over! He might resolve his doubt, would he but knock at yonder castle gate; but this he dare not; he has a secret, and it is so [a] mighty a one, that he fears every [if] human eye that looks [but look] on him must see it [must be revealed]. Besides, although he wanders around that castle, as an enchanted circuit from which he cannot break, he knows there is something dreadful there, something which he’s sure must be there, and which he would not look on for a thousand worlds.
For the twentieth time that weary, endless night, he turns to wander through the silent forest; when, just as he was near its first oak-opening, a deep yet distant bell struck on his ear. . . .
“How loud it sounds!” he thought—“she must be dead at last. I wonder how she looks! Hark! [suddenly there falls upon his ear the sound of voices,] surely some one call[ed]! That voice again! [His straining ear caught a familiar sound.] It sounds like hers—my wife’s—no—she that was my wife—dead, poisoned—that is, some may say that she was poisoned. How should they know? She would never tell them.”
“Edward! Edward Ravensworth! [Aubrey! Aubrey Livingston!]”
“By heaven, it is her voice!” [he told himself.] and as if to assure him still more of who addressed him, close before his very eyes moved the figure of his wife [two figures]. She [Hand in hand they] passed from out a clump of sheltering trees, and slowly crossed his path. [One face was turned toward him, the other from him.] The moon shone full upon her, reveal[ed] her every feature, limb, and gesture—the same white robe in which he’d last beheld her, the long, streaming, sunny auburn curls [hair]—her slippered feet and silken sash [—all] were there. She turned her head, and on [Upon] his wondering eyes her own appealing glance was [were] fixed a moment [in mute appeal and deepest anguish]; then she [both figures] passed away, he knew not where, or how.
“’Twas she,” and in full life, too. “God of heaven, she lives!” Down on his knees the wretched husband fell, and in a flood of wild and broken tones thanked God he was no murderer.
He never paus[ing] [not] to think that he might be [was] deceived. Spirit, illusion, nothing of this he’d seen; ‘twas Gabrielle, his wife, and living still. Perchance she’d run away, or come to seek him. Perchance the draught was harmless, after all. Enough for him, she lived; and hastening home, more like a hawk than mortal man, he flew, until he reached the castle [He turned his steps toward his home, with flying feet he neared the hall]. Just as he reached it same one was passing in [the great entrance gates]. Again he thought he saw the fluttering dress of Gabrielle [the two figures lightly in advance of him]. ‘Twas something white and human. The gate was open, too. A carriage preceded him, and servants gathered round it.
Taking advantage of the seeming confusion occasioned by the arrival of strangers, (although at any other time this very fact would have elicited inquiry from him,) he passed through the throng unnoticed, entered the castle, traversed gallery and hall, until once more he paused before the door of his wife’s apartments. At first he thought of knocking, as was and is the custom of “the great;” but something told him form was ended now. [With a sudden chill foreboding, he entered the hall and passed up the stairs to his wife’s apartments.] He opened wide the door, and stood within the chamber of the dead.
There lay the peaceful form—peaceful and rigid, as the clay-cold marble. They’d spread [with] a drapery of soft, white gauze around her, and only the sad and livid, poisoned face was visible above it. Long rows of burning tapers shed their light upon the silent clay; and kneeling by its side—the side of her, his first love and his last—the pale improvvisatore was seen, the only life within that silent place [was Reuel Briggs].
Rising upon the entrance of the earl, the soldier, true of heart and firm of speech, accosted him with [from the shadows as Aubrey entered, Charlie Vance, flanked on either side by Ai and Abdadis, moved to meet him, the stern brow and sterner words of an outraged brother and friend greeted him:], “Welcome, murderer!” (226-29) 304 words
George de Tully, “The Turkish Telegraph,” Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly 36 (November 1893): 529-34. Google Books.
Meanwhile the condemned, having finished his ablutions [Round and round the chair where Aubrey was seated walked the kingly Ai chanting in a low monotone in his native tongue, finally], advanc[ing] with measured steps to a position directly opposite and facing Ali Pasha [Livingston], and stood [there] erect, motionless [and immovable], with arms raised as if in invocation. His eyes, glitter[ed] with strange fascination in the falling twilight [fascinating lights in the shaded room], deepened by the moncharabis that draped the windows, were fixed upon Ali, who felt vaguely troubled at their gaze, and wondered at the grand vizier’s singular attitude. [To the man seated there it seemed that an eternity was passing.] Why did he not pray, as a good Mussulman should, with his face turned toward the Nimbar indicating the direction of Mecca, according to the command of the Koran [there two men he had injured take human vengeance in meting out punishment to him]? And why, oh! why did those eyes, piercing his own like a pair of poniards, hold him so subtly in their spell?
Gradually the poor pasha [he] yielded to the mysterious beatitude that insensibly enwrapt his being. Detached from terrestrial bonds, his spirit soared in regions of pure ethereal blue, wafted hither and yon by every perfumed breeze. A delicious torpor pervaded all his senses [held him in its embrace]. He sank softly upon the matted floor. His eyes closed, [in a] trancelike [slumber], and his head fell upon [sank upon] his breast. . . .
“He sleeps!” [he] exclaimed the grand vizier, triumphantly.
Then, seating himself beside the pasha [standing by the side of the unconscious man], he poured into his ear—speaking in a loud, distinct tone [loudly and distinctly], articulating each word sharply, so as to engrave it indelibly upon the mental tablet of the passive auditor—the following recital [a few terse sentences]. (532-33) 94 words