The God of the Labyrinth

  * Which will be published as an appendix to Donelly’s Memoirs.

  Compared to Esmond, Glenney was a fool; or, if not a fool, at least a man without intellectual breadth. Esmond dominated him completely, and Glenney apparently infuriated a professor called Kästner by telling him that Esmond was one of the greatest minds in Europe after Moses Mendelssohn. (After this, Kästner used to address Esmond ironically as ‘Magister Doctissime’.) What fascinated Glenney about Esmond was the com­bination of intellectuality and physical vitality. Litchenberg was brilliant, but he was also a hump-backed cripple. Esmond was a fine swordsman, a good horseman, a good swimmer, a favourite with ladies, and also something of a poet, a philosopher and a mystic. Glenney had been subjected to heavy parental domina­tion; he was inclined to be dour and repressed. Within a few months, Donelly was describing him as ‘an apostle of gallantry, carnality, seduction, ribaldry, stupration and defloration’. Soon they became bored with the serving wenches of the town, and began to pay court to the daughters of professors and other respectable citizens. Both were apparently amazed and delighted with their success, and Esmond came dangerously close to getting married to the youngest daughter of a parson from Norten-Hardenberg, a Fraulein Ulrica Duessen. But it should not be assumed that Esmond and Glenney were inseparable. Glenney would have been delighted if they had been; but Esmond was also interested in reading Kant, and studying mathematics and astronomy. Glenney makes several references to his feeling of being neglected. But he admired Esmond so whole-heartedly that he accepted whatever attention Esmond could spare.

  The letter Glenney wrote to Esmond on December 29, 1766, is fairly typical. He spends a page and a half complaining that Donelly declined his invitation to spend Christmas at the family seat near Golspie, and describing the rigours of the journey north in late November. Glenney’s description of the food eaten on Christmas Day has to be read to be believed, beginning at seven thirty in the morning with a breakfast of oat cakes, braised salmon, roast beef, ham, kidneys and porter. But the main item of the letter, inevitably, is the description of his amorous adven­tures over the holiday. ‘I was at first determined that I should obtain the favours of a girl named Maggie McBean, the daughter of one of our tenant farmers who had already shown a tender­ness towards me before I left, although she sware then that she would rather die than lose her self respect.’ The defloration of Maggie proved easier than he had expected; it was accom­plished in a barn after a dance at which the young laird had been the centre of interest to the local girls. (In a district so sparsely populated, the lord and his tenants mixed freely.) Glenney was tempted simply to continue an affair with Maggie, ‘which indeed I would have done without further thought than at any time in the past; but I now bethought me of your excel­lent principle that the basic aim of life is a certain freshness of experience, and I had to confess that my desire for the girl was lukewarm, and that the sight of her linen cap and her check cloth apron no longer produced their old effect. I tried, without success, to devote my mind to study. . . .

  ‘On the 28th, my sister Mary (whom you met in Perth) returned from Kincardine, where she had spent Christmas with Fiona Guthrie, the daughter of an old friend of my mother’s. My sister, as you know, is thin and small for her age (fourteen), and I may say without undue pride that she loves me with a warmth that I have done little to deserve. It came as somewhat of a shock to discover that Fiona had changed a great deal in the eighteen months since I last saw her. She is in that charming stage where the manners and thoughts of a child remain, while the body is that of a grown woman. She has a charming, rosy face, and an upper lip that is too short for its companion, giving her mouth an outthrust appearance which might be mistaken for petulance. As a child she had been a tomboy (if that word may be deprived of all connotations of immodesty), and I had often romped with her and swung her by the wrists. And now, since she had grown so pretty, I decided I might do worse than follow Mr Sterne’s advice and cultivate a sentimental† relation with her, even though it should be somewhat one-sided . . . [I have in­serted leader dots where there are digressions on his motives, since they serve no real purpose.] This proved to be easier than I expected, for all I had to do was to treat her as I treated Mary, with much attention and brotherly affection. I give you my word that my thoughts up to this stage were as blameless as Pastor Geiss could have wished. Their room had a fire, and I spent hours there drinking dishes of tea and describing the customs of Hanover, feeling for all the world like Othello the Moor. I found the tender regard of these two children more pleasing than the study of Flaccus, and convinced myself at one point that this was what Rousseau had in mind, when he speaks of the bliss of the second state of nature.

  † In Sterne’s day, this did not mean emotional, but characterised by idealistic or elevated feelings.—Editor.

  ‘Alas, my elevated feelings suffered their first defeat on the second day of the new year, about half an hour before dinner. The girls were romping when I came into the room, and when I joined in their game, I could not help noticing the bouncing of her bosoms as she jumped upon the bed to escape Mary, nor the fine shape of her calves as she leapt down again. When I paid her a compliment on the change in her shape, she was not em­barrassed, but laughed at me, and Mary declared it was through the eating of too much mutton. Then they asked me to read to them from Grandison, which I accordingly did, sitting before the fire on the hearthrug, while they sat beside me and sewed the blue muslin dresses they are both to wear for the ball at Strathpeffer in February. After a while, Mary became so absorbed that she laid by her sewing and placed her head on my lap, stretching her legs out to the stool; some minutes later, Fiona did the same; but since Mary had usurped the soft part of my thigh, she had to lay her cheek higher still, upon something that soon ceased to be soft. She also curled up in such a manner that the back of her skirt came high upon her thighs, revealing the shapeliest leg I have seen this Christmas. I soon noticed that the buttons down her back had started to come undone, and allowed my free hand to wander in the gap and stroke her flesh, which she appeared to enjoy . . . I can assure you, my dear Ned, that the beating of my heart did not improve the quality of my reading. When the bell rang for supper, I was delighted to observe her reluctance in sitting up; she pretended this was because she had fallen asleep, but I, who could see the movements of her eyelids, knew better.

  ‘On the following day, there was no further progress, since the minister returned our sleigh, and father and brother Moray took them out for a drive to show them the view of the towers of Dunrobin Castle. But when I saw Fiona before we supped, she said: “We missed our reading today. You must read twice as much tomorrow.” I pulled her close to me, and let my hand wander over her back. She asked what I was doing, and I said: “Seeing how many buttons are done up.”

  ‘The next day, the Wednesday, was sunny and cold, and [Lord] Glenney was out all day calling on a retired lady about her sheep. When Jamie told me this news, I told him I would sleep again and take my breakfast and hot water at ten. Shortly thereafter, as I stood in my nightshirt making my ablutions, Mary came in and asked if I would go with them through the empty rooms. Soon Fiona came seeking her, and both admired the material of the shirt, which was one of those I bought in Strasbourg at the linen fair. Then Fiona told a story of a man­servant of her aunt, who was running about in his shirtsleeves preparing the table for guests. She told him to put on his coat, but he replied: “Indeed, my lady, there’s sae muckle rinnin’ here and there, I’m just distrackit, I hae cast off my coat and waistcoat, and faith I dinna ken how lang I can bear my breeks.” We all laughed a great deal at this, and I noted with satisfaction that she regarded my state of undress with no more embarrass­ment than Mary, which indicated that she thought of me as a brother. So before I put them out, that I might dress, I passed an arm around the waist of each of them and squeezed, and remarked that Fiona’s plumpness would keep a man warm with­out his nightshirt.

  ‘I
must not describe the morning in full, for this letter would become as long as a sermon by Warburton; so let me say only that we joked and laughed a great deal, and I took every oppor­tunity to chase them both, both to keep warm in the empty wing, and to accustom Fiona to my familiarity. It was, of course, necessary to devote much of my attention to Mary, to stimulate the sense of rivalry between them and make Fiona accept my squeezes as natural. I met no resistance here, for both were full of high spirits. . . . You will take note of the lesson of all this, Ned, and incorporate it in your History. The situation here reveals the truth of Lichtenberg’s assertion that the feelings enter into combination like chemicals. Mary was my sister and took every opportunity to remind Fiona of this, as though I were on loan; Fiona accepted the loan and the brotherly attentions that went with it. Since I was now licensed to treat Fiona as I would treat Mary, I had only to treat Mary with the familiarity I would use upon Fiona to make the whole thing appear natural.

  ‘The advantage of this appeared later in the afternoon, when I went to their room to read Grandison. I knew they intended to try on the blue muslin dresses before they sewed on the tapes; so I went early. Fiona was still sewing her dress, but Mary stood in her chemise, trying on a whalebone corset. They asked me to give advice from the male point of view, which I did with pleasure, while helping Mary to tie the corset. I told them that in Paris, the women of the court often wore dresses that left their breasts completely exposed. Mary said she would not like that, and I slipped a hand into her chemise, and felt the tiny, hard breast that was barely formed, and said she would have reason to object to such a fashion. At this she pulled the chemise off both shoulders, exposing both bosoms, and asked me if I did not think they would grow a great deal larger. She was not as inno­cent as she pretended; she wanted me to see them, to prove she was not a child, and she knew I was curious. I pretended to consider the question without prejudice, and told her that the relation of the size of the nipple to the total circumference would give some idea of their future development—upon which, I took one of the nipples between my fingers and began to pinch it. After a few moments, it became stiff; so did another early riser, and I was tempted to bend forward and take the other one between my lips; but I feared it might ruin the professorial air. . . . After this, I helped her on with the dress, and discoursed like a milliner on the relative virtues of metal or bone as a material for buttons, and of the advantages of loops over buttonholes.

  ‘By now, Fiona had laid down her needle, and I asked her if I could not help to undo her buttons, which this time were between her breasts. She seemed to be shy, but my faithful Mary rallied like a Hessian, and told her she would never again have such an expert lady’s maid, upon which, the girl entered into the spirit of the game and allowed me to undo her and pull the dress off her shoulders. This time I took no liberties with the delicious orbs that were now exposed to my sight, for I sensed that Mary would be jealous; instead, I helped her on with her blue dress, and took care to keep my front turned away from them, lest they should note the evidence of my absorption in my new trade.

  ‘The maid came in to make up the fire, and I sat in a chair and pretended to be absorbed in a book. But as soon as we were alone again, I suggested that we might commence our reading before it became too dark (for it was now after four). Mary said they would change first, but I told her it was not worth the trouble, and that in any case, they should learn whether the dresses would crease. This reasoning convinced them, and they sat beside me on the rug. As soon as I began to read, Mary again placed her head on my lap, and Fiona quickly followed her lead. Both had placed themselves so that neither could see the other, and I took double precautions against peeping by resting the book against Mary’s head so it would fall down if she moved. You will observe that this manoeuvre left both my hands free, although my position made any sudden moves impossible. I slipped my left hand into the open back of Fiona’s dress, and allowed my right one to rest on Mary’s breast. I removed it to turn over a page, and replaced it inside the dress, upon her right bosom, and began to gently pinch and tweak the nipple. After the next page, I moved it to her left, and did the same there. From the increased force of her breathing I guessed that she was becoming somewhat less interested in the wearisome virtues of Sir Charles Grandison. When I had finished tweaking the nipples, I gently stroked the breasts, and observed with amusement the involuntary parting of her thighs.

  ‘Absorbed for the moment in the pleasure I was so disinter­estedly bestowing upon Mary, I contented myself with a vague caressing of Fiona’s back. As it was, I felt like a juggler betwixt Grandison and my two winter flowers. But when Mary had sunk into a trance of contentment, I began to consider the duties of my right hand. Since the dress was low cut, and the back was undone, it was no problem to slip my hand under the armpit, and on to her right bosom. The movements of her skin under my caress told me that this advance would not be rejected. Indeed, she stretched like a cat, and made a single movement with her hips that made me fear that an unbidden guest would burst his flap and peep out to see what was happening. Her breasts were fuller and weightier than Mary’s, but the nipples were smaller, and when I began to pinch the right one, I could only judge the result from the increased rate at which her breath came and went. I found this so delightful that after a while, I moved my hand to her mouth, and pinched the lower lip, then played with it between my thumb and forefinger. Then her lips closed around the finger, and she sucked it as if it were a comforter. When I tired of this, I slipped my hand into her bosom again, this time down the front of the dress, and devoted some attention to the neglected breast.

  ‘A log on the fire fell with a shower of sparks, and at the same time, the book fell from off my legs. I was not entirely sorry, for the chair against which I was leaning had slipped, and I was becoming cramped. Fiona sat up and said she would have to leave us for a moment. I was on the point of recommending the pot under the bed, but thought this would place too great a strain on her modesty, and so held my peace. This was something of a feat, for by now I was in such a state of eagerness that I could have driven my ardent Pegasus through a crack in a brick wall.

  ‘When we were alone, I let my hand return within Mary’s dress; she covered it with her own. I asked her if she liked me to do that, and she said it gave her a pleasant feeling that was like icy water. The room was now dark except for the light of the fire, and she had moved around to warm her shins. I was in such a state of impatience that I had almost ceased to calculate the consequences. With one hand still pinching her breast, I leaned forward, pulled up her dress, and ran my hand roughly over the inside of her thigh, then up to the source of delight. It was smooth and almost unprotected. I first pressed it with all my fingers; then, discovering it was warm and moist, allowed my middle finger to trace its course upward. She whispered, “Be careful, Fiona won’t be long”, and I swear she must have read my mind, for I was about to move on her and find whether the inner folds would welcome a larger guest. I knew her admonition was sensible, for the privy was only at the end of the passage. But I needed some further outlet, if I was to preserve my sanity; so I quickly undid the buttons at the top of my flap, seized her hand, and pushed it inside. She knew what to expect, since she had often seen it as a child, but must have been startled at its expansion. She sat up and peered at it by the light of the fire, paying particular attention to the vermilion head, which she squeezed and prodded, and smeared a little smooth moisture around in a circle. At that moment, we heard steps outside, and I could have cursed Fiona and wished her in hell. When she came in, we were both respectable again, and my heart was beating so loud that I was afraid she could hear it across the room.

  ‘She sat down by my side, and said: “It’s too dark to read. Tell us about Göttingen.” “What would you like to know?” “Tell us again about the time the students fought the journey­men.” So with a few deeps breaths to master the racing of my pulse, I told them again the familiar old story. Mary stretch
ed out her feet to the fire, and for a few minutes, I could think of nothing but the pleasant spot I had been exploring, and of how I could find an excuse to get her alone. But a few moments’ thought convinced me this was impracticable, so I decided to see what advantage could be drawn from the present situation. Mary was lying as before, with her head against my thigh; Fiona, as before, curled up with her cheek against my breeches, her dress pulled over her knees in front, but free of the back of her thighs. I caressed her breast, as before, then, when I felt her responding, moved my hand down to her buttocks. This alarmed her for a moment, as I could tell, but as my hand rested there without movement, she grew reassured, and I began stroking her side under the dress. Mary glanced across once to see what we were about, but evidently decided it was no business of hers, and from then on, kept her eyes turned to the other corner of the room.

  ‘We all knew the bell would sound soon, and this added to our pleasure. When I said: “It will soon be time to sup”, Mary pressed herself tighter against me, and Fiona muttered impatiently. This decided me that it was time to press forward; I let the hand on Fiona’s buttocks move down, and pull aside the cloth of the dress. A moment later, my hand was resting on her bared behind, delighting in its softness and the gentleness of its curve. Indeed, it was such a delight to touch that I could have kept on caressing it until the bell rang. But bethinking myself of my more serious business, I changed my position slightly to extend my reach, and explored further. Her bent position made it impractical to move around to the front of her thighs, but it meant she was accessible from my present position. Here, as in the case of the bosom, she was more developed than Mary, although the hair was soft as down. This new movement alarmed her and she jerked suddenly, so I removed my hand to soothe her. I was certain by now that she must be aware of my state, for she could scarcely believe that the mound against which her cheek rested was a burglar’s jemmy. One of the buttons was only half done-up; it took but the slightest movement to release it. I am certain she did not observe this. But I could tell from her stillness that she would not have me believe her offended, so I returned my hand to its former position between her buttocks, and allowed it to rest there, the finger tips pressing in unison. She stirred, then lay still. My voice had become tight, and I had no idea what I was babbling, but I was equally certain that they were also indifferent. I allowed my middle finger to probe. At first, I was disappointed, and believed myself mistaken about her; but after a moment, my finger parted the fold, and I saw that her con­dition was much as Mary’s had been a quarter of an hour earlier. The need for calm had so far reduced the violence of my feelings that I was able to observe the different texture of this moisture; that it was less plentiful, but more slippery, like the feel of a mackerel as you take it off the hook.