The Dolliver Romance
N >>
Nathaniel Hawthorne >> The Dolliver Romance
"It rejoices me that you feel so," quoth the apothecary, who had just been
thinking that this neighbor of his had lost a great deal, both in mind and
body, within a short period, and rather scorned him for it. "Indeed, I
find old age less uncomfortable than I supposed. Little Pansie and I make
excellent companions for one another."
And then, dragged along by Pansie's little hand, and also impelled by a
certain alacrity that rose with him in the morning, and lasted till his
healthy rest at night, he bade farewell to his contemporary, and hastened
on; while the latter, left behind, was somewhat irritated as he looked at
the vigorous movement of the apothecary's legs.
"He need not make such a show of briskness neither," muttered he to
himself. "This touch of rheumatism troubles me a bit just now, but try it
on a good day, and I'd walk with him for a shilling. Pshaw! I'll walk to
his funeral yet."
One day, while the Doctor, with the activity that bestirred itself in him
nowadays, was mixing and manufacturing certain medicaments that came in
frequent demand, a carriage stopped at his door, and he recognized the
voice of Colonel Dabney, talking in his customary stern tone to the woman
who served him. And, a moment afterwards, the coach drove away, and he
actually heard the old dignitary lumbering up stairs, and bestowing a
curse upon each particular step, as if that were the method to make them
soften and become easier when he should come down again. "Pray, your
worship," said the Doctor from above, "let me attend you below stairs."
"No," growled the Colonel, "I'll meet you on your own ground. I can climb
a stair yet, and be hanged to you."
So saying, he painfully finished the ascent, and came into the laboratory,
where he let himself fall into the Doctor's easy-chair, with an anathema
on the chair, the Doctor, and himself; and, staring round through the
dusk, he met the wide-open, startled eyes of little Pansie, who had been
reading a gilt picture-book in the corner.
"Send away that child, Dolliver," cried the Colonel, angrily. "Confound
her, she makes my bones ache. I hate everything young."
"Lord, Colonel," the poor apothecary ventured to say, "there must be young
people in the world as well as old ones. 'T is my mind, a man's
grandchildren keep him warm round about him."
"I have none, and want none," sharply responded the Colonel; "and as for
young people, let me be one of them, and they may exist, otherwise not. It
is a cursed bad arrangement of the world, that there are young and old
here together."
When Pansie had gone away, which she did with anything but reluctance,
having a natural antipathy to this monster of a Colonel, the latter
personage tapped with his crutch-handled cane on a chair that stood near,
and nodded in an authoritative way to the apothecary to sit down in it.
Dr. Dolliver complied submissively, and the Colonel, with dull, unkindly
eyes, looked at him sternly, and with a kind of intelligence amid the aged
stolidity of his aspect, that somewhat puzzled the Doctor. In this way he
surveyed him all over, like a judge, when he means to hang a man, and for
some reason or none, the apothecary felt his nerves shake, beneath this
steadfast look.
"Aha! Doctor!" said the Colonel at last, with a doltish sneer, "you bear
your years well."
"Decently well, Colonel; I thank Providence for it," answered the meek
apothecary.
"I should say," quoth the Colonel, "you are younger at this moment than
when we spoke together two or three years ago. I noted then that your
eyebrows were a handsome snow-white, such as befits a man who has passed
beyond his threescore years and ten, and five years more. Why, they are
getting dark again, Mr. Apothecary."
"Nay, your worship must needs be mistaken there," said the Doctor, with a
timorous chuckle. "It is many a year since I have taken a deliberate note
of my wretched old visage in a glass, but I remember they were white when
I looked last."
"Come, Doctor, I know a thing or two," said the Colonel, with a bitter
scoff; "and what's this, you old rogue? Why, you've rubbed away a wrinkle
since we met. Take off those infernal spectacles, and look me in the face.
Ha! I see the devil in your eye. How dare you let it shine upon me so?"
"On my conscience, Colonel," said the apothecary, strangely struck with
the coincidence of this accusation with little Pansie's complaint, "I know
not what you mean. My sight is pretty well for a man of my age. We near-
sighted people begin to know our best eyesight, when other people have
lost theirs."
"Ah! ah! old rogue," repeated the insufferable Colonel, gnashing his
ruined teeth at him, as if, for some incomprehensible reason, he wished to
tear him to pieces and devour him. "I know you. You are taking the life
away from me, villain! and I told you it was my inheritance. And I told
you there was a Bloody Footstep, bearing its track down through my race.
"I remember nothing of it," said the Doctor, in a quake, sure that the
Colonel was in one of his mad fits. "And on the word of an honest man, I
never wronged you in my life, Colonel."
"We shall see," said the Colonel, whose wrinkled visage grew absolutely
terrible with its hardness; and his dull eyes, without losing their
dulness, seemed to look through him.
"Listen to me, sir. Some ten years ago, there came to you a man on a
secret business. He had an old musty bit of parchment, on which were
written some words, hardly legible, in an antique hand,--an old deed, it
might have been,--some family document, and here and there the letters
were faded away. But this man had spent his life over it, and he had made
out the meaning, and he interpreted it to you, and left it with you, only
there was one gap,--one torn or obliterated place. Well, sir,--and he bade
you, with your poor little skill at the mortar, and for a certain sum,--
ample repayment for such a service,--to manufacture this medicine,--this
cordial. It was an affair of months. And just when you thought it
finished, the man came again, and stood over your cursed beverage, and
shook a powder, or dropped a lump into it, or put in some ingredient, in
which was all the hidden virtue,--or, at least, it drew out all the hidden
virtue of the mean and common herbs, and married them into a wondrous
efficacy. This done, the man bade you do certain other things with the
potation, and went away"--the Colonel hesitated a moment--"and never came
back again."
"Surely, Colonel, you are correct," said the apothecary; much startled,
however, at the Colonel's showing himself so well acquainted with an
incident which he had supposed a secret with himself alone. Yet he had a
little reluctance in owning it, although he did not exactly understand
why, since the Colonel had, apparently, no rightful claim to it, at all
events.
"That medicine, that receipt," continued his visitor, "is my hereditary
property, and I challenge you, on your peril, to give it up."
"But what if the original owner should call upon me for it," objected Dr.
Dolliver.
"I'll warrant you against that," said the Colonel; and the apothecary
thought there was something ghastly in his look and tone. "Why, 't is ten
year, you old fool; and do you think a man with a treasure like that in
his possession would have waited so long?"
"Seven years it was ago," said the apothecary. "Septem annis passatis: so
says the Latin."
"Curse your Latin," answers the Colonel. "Produce the stuff. You have been
violating the first rule of your trade,--taking your own drugs,--your own,
in one sense; mine by the right of three hundred years. Bring it forth, I
say!"
"Pray excuse me, worthy Colonel," pleaded the apothecary; for though
convinced that the old gentleman was only in one of his insane fits, when
he talked of the value of this concoction, yet he really did not like to
give up the cordial, which perhaps had wrought him some benefit. Besides,
he had at least a claim upon it for much trouble and skill expended in its
composition. This he suggested to the Colonel, who scornfully took out of
his pocket a net-work purse, with more golden guineas in it than the
apothecary had seen in the whole seven years, and was rude enough to fling
it in his face. "Take that," thundered he, "and give up the thing, or I
will have you in prison before you are an hour older. Nay," he continued,
growing pale, which was his mode of showing terrible wrath; since all
through life, till extreme age quenched it, his ordinary face had been a
blazing-red, "I'll put you to death, you villain, as I've a right!" And
thrusting his hand into his waistcoat pocket, lo! the madman took a small
pistol from it, which he cocked, and presented at the poor apothecary. The
old fellow, quaked and cowered in his chair, and would indeed have given
his whole shopful of better concocted medicines than this, to be out of
this danger. Besides, there were the guineas; the Colonel had paid him a
princely sum for what was probably worth nothing.
"Hold! hold!" cried he as the Colonel, with stern eye pointed the pistol
at his head. "You shall have it."
So he rose all trembling, and crept to that secret cupboard, where the
precious bottle--since precious it seemed to be--was reposited. In all his
life, long as it had been, the apothecary had never before been threatened
by a deadly weapon; though many as deadly a thing had he seen poured into
a glass, without winking. And so it seemed to take his heart and life
away, and he brought the cordial forth feebly, and stood tremulously
before the Colonel, ashy pale, and looking ten years older than his real
age, instead of five years younger, as he had seemed just before this
disastrous interview with the Colonel.
"You look as if you needed a drop of it yourself," said Colonel Dabney,
with great scorn. "But not a drop shall you have. Already have you stolen
too much," said he, lifting up the bottle, and marking the space to which
the liquor had subsided in it in consequence of the minute doses with
which the apothecary had made free. "Fool, had you taken your glass like a
man, you might have been young again. Now, creep on, the few months you
have left, poor, torpid knave, and die! Come--a goblet! quick!"
He clutched the bottle meanwhile voraciously, miserly, eagerly, furiously,
as if it were his life that he held in his grasp; angry, impatient, as if
something long sought were within his reach, and not yet secure,--with
longing thirst and desire; suspicious of the world and of fate; feeling as
if an iron hand were over him, and a crowd of violent robbers round about
him, struggling for it. At last, unable to wait longer, just as the
apothecary was tottering away in quest of a drinking-glass, the Colonel
took out the stopple, and lifted the flask itself to his lips.
"For Heaven's sake, no!" cried the Doctor. "The dose is one single drop!--
one drop, Colonel, one drop!"
"Not a drop to save your wretched old soul," responded the Colonel;
probably thinking that the apothecary was pleading for a small share of
the precious liquor. He put it to his lips, and, as if quenching a
lifelong thirst, swallowed deep draughts, sucking it in with desperation,
till, void of breath, he set it down upon the table. The rich, poignant
perfume spread itself through the air.
The apothecary, with an instinctive carefulness that was rather ludicrous
under the circumstances, caught up the stopper, which the Colonel had let
fall, and forced it into the bottle to prevent any farther escape of
virtue. He then fearfully watched the result of the madman's potation.
The Colonel sat a moment in his chair, panting for breath; then started to
his feet with a prompt vigor that contrasted widely with the infirm and
rheumatic movements that had heretofore characterized him. He struck his
forehead violently with one hand, and smote his chest with the other: he
stamped his foot thunderously on the ground; then he leaped up to the
ceiling, and came down with an elastic bound. Then he laughed, a wild,
exulting ha! ha! with a strange triumphant roar that filled the house and
reechoed through it; a sound full of fierce, animal rapture,--enjoyment of
sensual life mixed up with a sort of horror. After all, real as it was, it
was like the sounds a man makes in a dream. And this, while the potent
draught seemed still to be making its way through his system; and the
frightened apothecary thought that he intended a revengeful onslaught upon
himself. Finally, he uttered a loud unearthly screech, in the midst of
which his voice broke, as if some unseen hand were throttling him, and,
starting forward, he fought frantically, as if he would clutch the life
that was being rent away,--and fell forward with a dead thump upon the
floor.
"Colonel! Colonel!" cried the terrified Doctor.
The feeble old man, with difficulty, turned over the heavy frame, and saw
at once, with practised eye, that he was dead. He set him up, and the
corpse looked at him with angry reproach. He was so startled, that his
subsequent recollections of the moment were neither distinct nor
steadfast; but he fancied, though he told the strange impression to no
one, that on his first glimpse of the face, with a dark flush of what
looked like rage still upon it, it was a young man's face that he saw,--a
face with all the passionate energy of early manhood,--the capacity for
furious anger which the man had lost half a century ago, crammed to the
brim with vigor till it became agony. But the next moment, if it were so
(which it could not have been), the face grew ashen, withered, shrunken,
more aged than in life, though still the murderous fierceness remained,
and seemed to be petrified forever upon it.
After a moment's bewilderment, Dolliver ran to the window looking to the
street, threw it open, and called loudly for assistance. He opened also
another window, for the air to blow through, for he was almost stifled
with the rich odor of the cordial which filled the room, and was now
exuded from the corpse.
He heard the voice of Pansie, crying at the door, which was locked, and,
turning the key, he caught her in his arms, and hastened with her below
stairs, to give her into the charge of Martha, who seemed half stupefied
with a sense of something awful that had occurred.
Meanwhile there was a rattling and a banging at the street portal, to
which several people had been attracted both by the Doctor's outcry from
the window, and by the awful screech in which the Colonel's spirit (if,
indeed, he had that divine part) had just previously taken its flight.
He let them in, and, pale and shivering, ushered them up to the death-
chamber, where one or two, with a more delicate sense of smelling than the
rest, snuffed the atmosphere, as if sensible of an unknown fragrance, yet
appeared afraid to breathe, when they saw the terrific countenance leaning
back against the chair, and eying them so truculently.
I would fain quit the scene and have done with the Colonel, who, I am
glad, has happened to die at so early a period of the narrative. I
therefore hasten to say that a coroner's inquest was held on the spot,
though everybody felt that it was merely ceremonial, and that the
testimony of their good and ancient townsman, Dr. Dolliver, was amply
sufficient to settle the matter. The verdict was, "Death by the visitation
of God."
The apothecary gave evidence that the Colonel, without asking leave, and
positively against his advice, had drunk a quantity of distilled spirits;
and one or two servants, or members of the Colonel's family, testified
that he had been in a very uncomfortable state of mind for some days past,
so that they fancied he was insane. Therefore nobody thought of blaming
Dr. Dolliver for what had happened; and, if the plain truth must be told,
everybody who saw the wretch was too well content to be rid of him, to
trouble themselves more than was quite necessary about the way in which
the incumbrance had been removed.
The corpse was taken to the mansion in order to receive a magnificent
funeral; and Dr. Dolliver was left outwardly in quiet, but much disturbed,
and indeed almost overwhelmed inwardly, by what had happened.
Yet it is to be observed, that he had accounted for the death with a
singular dexterity of expression, when he attributed it to a dose of
distilled spirits. What kind of distilled spirits were those, Doctor? and
will you venture to take any more of them?