{"id":4247,"date":"2013-06-12T11:18:40","date_gmt":"2013-06-12T11:18:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/?p=4247"},"modified":"2013-06-17T11:25:06","modified_gmt":"2013-06-17T11:25:06","slug":"the-skull-and-the-nightingale-by-michael-irwin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/?p=4247","title":{"rendered":"The Skull and the Nightingale by Michael Irwin"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Published by Blue Door 20 June 2013<\/strong><\/p>\n

In a debut described by Diana Athill as \u2018a surprising and thrilling Rake\u2019s Progress\u2019, Michael Irwin introduces Richard Fenwick, a man of not many means who, in eighteenth-century England, is forced to accept the proposition put to him by a wealthy godfather \u2013 that he should assist the older man to \u2018taste, vicariously, the pleasures of a young rake\u2026the Passions: Vanity, Greed, Avarice, Rage, Lust…\u2019<\/p>\n

A specialist in eighteenth-century literature, Irwin offers a morality tale rich in period atmosphere as well as sex and seduction. Now sample it for yourself.\u00a0<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

It was a breezy day in March when I returned to London from two years of travel, my age 23, my prospects uncertain. \u00a0I refreshed myself with coffee at the Roebuck before making my way to Fetter Lane, and the office of my godfather\u2019s agent, Mr Ward.\u00a0 Conceivably, this gentleman might be about to determine the future course of my life in twenty words.\u00a0 I paused at the entrance to his premises to assume unconcern.<\/p>\n

He lurched up from behind his desk as ungainly as ever, a big fellow, with a head like a horse, and a gloomy eye.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018Good afternoon, Mr Ward.\u00a0 I am glad to see you well.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Good afternoon, Mr Fenwick.\u00a0 I have been expecting you.\u2019<\/p>\n

When we sat down there was a silence.\u00a0 I looked to him for more, but his large face was expressionless.\u00a0 Apparently it was for me to lead the way.<\/p>\n

\u2018I hope that my godfather is in good health.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I have heard nothing to the contrary.\u2019\u00a0<\/p>\n

Mr Ward had ever been a sparse talker.\u00a0 I tried again.<\/p>\n

\u2018Have you instructions for me?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I have. Your former lodging with Mrs Deacon has been prepared for you.\u00a0 I will send to Mr Gilbert tomorrow to let him know that you have returned.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018You have nothing further to tell me?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Not at this time.\u2019<\/p>\n

It seemed that the uncertainty was to continue.<\/p>\n

\u2018I shall, of course, be writing to him myself.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I had assumed as much, Mr Fenwick.\u2019<\/p>\n

Old long-chops was formal as an undertaker.\u00a0 Determined to strike a spark from him I brightened into affability.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tell me, Mr Ward, do you not find me wonderfully improved by my grand tour?\u2019<\/p>\n

He surveyed me grudgingly till a brief gleam lit his glum face.<\/p>\n

\u2018I see you are elegantly dressed, Mr Fenwick.\u00a0 The other improvements may require a little more time to take in.\u2019<\/p>\n

It was a slight enough stroke, but it gratified him to the tune of a quarter-smile.\u00a0 I felt sufficiently rewarded: but for my question he might not have tasted such merriment all week.<\/p>\n

\u2018You laugh at me, Mr Ward,\u2019 said I, ruefully, as though he were a jolly dog.\u00a0 \u2018If I am to spend much time in LondonI shall hope to show you the progress I have made.\u2019<\/p>\n

He ignored my hinted question.<\/p>\n

\u2018You do me too much honour, Mr Fenwick.\u00a0 But if you speak to me in French you will receive no reply.\u2019<\/p>\n

This second sally gave rise to the rare full grin, uncovering his big yellow teeth.\u00a0 I chuckled a response to confirm that we were on friendly terms.\u00a0 After all he might one day prove a useful ally.\u00a0 Knowing that I would learn no more, I took my leave.<\/p>\n

At least the news had not been bad.\u00a0 There would be a period of suspense as messages went to and from Worcestershire: meanwhile all my possible futures still lay open.\u00a0 The lodgings in Cathcart Streetwould suit me well enough: I had stayed with Mrs Deacon before leaving for France, and found her courteous and discreet.\u00a0 I could lie low in her house until I heard from my godfather, adjusting myself to English ways again and tuning my tongue to my native language.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

When I had exchanged courtesies with Mrs Deacon and sent for my luggage, I sat down in my parlour to write a letter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My dear Godfather,<\/em><\/p>\n

I returned to London this afternoon from the travels which you so generously sponsored.\u00a0 Mr Ward advised me that I should take my former lodgings with Mrs Deacon and await your further instructions.<\/em><\/p>\n

The last communication I received from you found me in Rouen, on the final stage of my journey home.\u00a0 You were at that time, you reported, in good health, and were kind enough to say that you looked forward to seeing me on my return.\u00a0 When we meet you will find me, I hope, better informed and a little less awkward.\u00a0 Your generosity would have been ill rewarded if that were not the case.\u00a0 In my letters to you I have attempted to convey something of what I have acquired.\u00a0 I can now converse fluently in French and tolerably well in German and Italian. \u00a0My knowledge of the history, politics and arts of the great European countries has been greatly enhanced.<\/em><\/p>\n

When last in London I was still something of a young country colt.\u00a0 I had exuberance without discipline, curiosity without direction. \u00a0I hope my two years of travel have made me more reflective and purposeful.\u00a0\u00a0 At the very least I am improved in deportment and address.<\/em><\/p>\n

These claims may seem idle boasts.\u00a0 I would hope to make them good in conversation when I have the pleasure of seeing you \u2013 the godfather whose generosity to an orphan has done so much to improve his lot and widen his prospects.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

I will remain in London and await further directions.\u00a0 Since a defined period of education has now come to an end, you may imagine that I look forward with eagerness and some little anxiety to hearing what advice you now have for me.<\/em><\/p>\n

I remain, &c.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

The composition of this grave epistle was accompanied by a facetious mental commentary.\u00a0 Much of the knowledge I had acquired related to activities that I would not have cared to discuss with my godfather.\u00a0 I was mimicking the cadences of respectability.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

But I was dissatisfied with the letter even as I wrote it.\u00a0 It was too priggish, too fulsome: it lacked the playful touches that I fancied Mr Gilbert relished.\u00a0 The two-year absence had put me out of practice: I looked to recover the appropriate tone when I saw my patron again and could adapt my conversation to his responses. Perhaps it had been advisable, at this stage, to err on the side of seriousness.\u00a0 He was a formidable old gentleman in his way, not to be taken for granted.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Perversely pleased to be breathing smoky London air once more, I refused Mrs Deacon\u2019s offer to prepare me dinner and strode out through the teeming, noisy streets.\u00a0 The wind had strengthened, and the big shop signs were swinging and creaking overhead.\u00a0 My destination was Keeble\u2019s steak-house near the Strand, which in former days I had often visited with my friend Matt Cullen.\u00a0 With a nod of greeting I took a seat at a table three-quarters full.\u00a0 It quickly struck me that my fellow-diners were talking with particular animation and vigour.\u00a0 I concluded, rightly as I later learned, that this was one of the regular meetings of a Conversation Club. Without attending to what was said I was content to be, once more, sitting in a haze of English words and phrases.\u00a0 I let the talk wash over me and fancied myself linguistically refreshed.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Whatever my future course, for the time being it was comfortable to be home.\u00a0 Weary from travel I drank some wine to feed my reflections, and became pleasantly bemused.\u00a0 What would my godfather have to say to me?\u00a0 Where would I be two weeks hence?\u00a0 Was I to be condemned to rural life?\u00a0 The previous morning I had been conducting my business in French: would I ever have reason to speak that language again?\u00a0 Hereabouts my idle stream of thought circled into an eddy.\u00a0 I wondered in what corner of my skull the unspoken language would be stored.\u00a0 How could such multifarious knowledge, such haystacks of nouns and verbs, such ladders and bridges of number and gender, be folded away into an unseen space?\u00a0 I pondered the paradox until my head swam \u2013 indeed I must have been grinning at my own bewilderment, for a voice cried: \u2018To judge by the smile this young fellow is happy in his meditations.\u2019\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

I came out of my reverie to see a dozen faces around me, chewing, drinking, talking and laughing.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018Gentlemen,\u2019 I said, \u2018you must excuse me.\u00a0 I was lost in thoughts about the mysterious operations of the human brain.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Beware!\u2019 cried one of the number, \u2018I smell a virtuoso.\u00a0 Keep your headpiece out of his hands, or he\u2019ll be at it with microscope and scalpel.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Never fear,\u2019 said I.\u00a0 \u2018I am an idle speculator under the influence of wine.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Then fill your glass,\u2019 said another, \u2018and take us with you.\u2019<\/p>\n

I had no great desire to converse, but it seemed churlish to stay silent.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018My thoughts were of this nature.\u00a0 If any one of our company were now to attempt to write down all the words he knew, he could spend the entire night in the undertaking. By the morning, with his task far from complete, the fruit of his labour would already be a thick wedge of manuscript.\u00a0 Yet his brain would need no replenishment.\u00a0 Where has he been storing this copious knowledge, now translated into a material mass?\u00a0 And how can he dispense it yet still retain it?\u2019<\/p>\n

The company seemed pleased by the problem.\u00a0 After a pause, someone said:<\/p>\n

\u2018As to the former question one might proceed by a course of elimination.\u00a0 To begin facetiously: my poor uncle lost three limbs at the battle of Blenheim, yet his memory was unimpaired.\u00a0 It seems that the storage place you seek is to be found in the head or the torso.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018There is no need for such questions or such reasoning,\u2019 cried another.\u00a0 \u2018We already know that the mind is the seat of reason and memory.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Indeed we do,\u2019 said I.\u00a0 \u2018But although I am no anatomist I believe that the contents of the skull are as unmistakably material as the limbs the gentleman referred to.\u00a0 How are we to account for the unique receptivity of this particular physical organ, its sponge-like capacity to contain words, concepts and images?\u2019<\/p>\n

Several tried to speak, but were over-ridden by a bony fellow with a big voice.<\/p>\n

\u2018We discussed such matters a year ago.\u00a0 I posed questions similar to your own \u2013 and was denounced as a materialist and an atheist for my pains.\u00a0 But I refuted the charge very simply.\u00a0 The Almighty works miracles with material substance.\u00a0 If an acorn can contain a future tree, surely a human head can contain the contents of a dictionary?\u2019<\/p>\n

Fired up by now I struck back: \u2018You explain one mystery by appealing to another.\u00a0 If the unfathomable powers of omnipotence are to be invoked there is an end to all debate.\u2019<\/p>\n

These words produced uproar, and during the heated exchanges that ensued I paid for my entertainment and slipped away.\u00a0<\/p>\n

It was a dark, boisterous night.\u00a0 I made my way back towards Holborn along busy thoroughfares, clutching my hat whenever I turned a corner into a gust of breeze.\u00a0 North of Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields the streets were quieter and but feebly lit.\u00a0 I was brought up short when a haggard girl stepped out suddenly from the end of an alley, crying: \u2018Come this way, sir!\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Not tonight, I thank you,\u2019 said I, affably enough.<\/p>\n

\u2018No, no\u2019 \u2013 in a frantic voice \u2013 \u2018I need help.\u00a0 My child\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n

She turned hurriedly into the alley, and I followed, willing to be of assistance if I could.\u00a0 But after a few yards she turned about, clutched my great-coat and shouted \u2018Rape! Rape!\u2019\u00a0 At once a heavy brute of a man sprang from a doorway brandishing a cudgel.\u00a0 Startled as I was I found myself protected, as in certain previous physical encounters, by an instant blaze of animal rage.\u00a0 Half avoiding the bully\u2019s blow I seized his coat and rammed him back against the wall.\u00a0 He raised his club again, but I checked him with a punch to the belly, and then struck him a dowse to the chops that smacked his head back against the brickwork. The intending robber staggered sideways and stumbled to his knees.\u00a0 The girl leapt at me, scratching with both hands, but I wrenched her away and threw her on top of her fallen protector.\u00a0 Without waiting for more I hastened away.<\/p>\n

Such a fury had surged in me that I walked an extra mile, at top pace, to allow my pounding heart to settle.\u00a0 It had been a sordid episode, but before I reached Mrs Deacon\u2019s house I found myself recovered from it and not unsatisfied.\u00a0 The first evening of my return to Englandhad called into play some of the aptitudes fostered by my travels. I had taken a lively part in impromptu discussion and then shown that I could hold my own in a street fight.\u00a0 It seemed that I was resourceful, a young man of parts.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was a breezy day in March when I returned to London from two years of travel, my age 23, my prospects uncertain. I refreshed myself with coffee at the Roebuck before making my way to Fetter Lane, and the office of my godfather\u2019s agent, Mr Ward. Conceivably, this gentleman might be about to determine the future course of my life in twenty words. I paused at the entrance to his premises to assume unconcern […] in Authors and extracts<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20,23],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4247","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-authors-and-writing","category-extracts-and-short-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4247","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4247"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4247\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4270,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4247\/revisions\/4270"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4247"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4247"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4247"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}