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COMPETITION

Mid-Victorian madness

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1978 you were invited to supply a scene from a melodra- matic mid-Victorian novel and given the three last sentences.

None of you won the flyer I waved entic- ingly at you for spotting the source, which was Wilkie Collins's Man and Wife (1870), end of chapter XXXI. The hypocritical harridan Lady Lundie is in top gear: 'Shocking as the whole thing was, I presid- ed calmly over the screams and sobs of my stepdaughter. I closed my ears to the pro- fane violence of her language. I set the necessary example, as an English gentle- woman at the head of her household. It was only when I distinctly heard the name of a person never to be mentioned again in my family circle issue (if I may use the expression) from Blanche's lips, that I began to be really alarmed. I said to my maid: 'Hopkins. . " ' Prepare for some deuced odd scenes. The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Susan Therkel- sen for her very plausible period piece.

As Papa left, Miss Hopkins closed the study doors and tiptoed to the pianoforte. Francelli, Papa's private secretary, was busy at his desk as she struck the first chords of the Tritsch Tratsch Polka. It was my signal to grab the unsuspecting little man, swirling and twirling him in a mael- strom of frenzied dancing. 'Let me go!' he shrieked as we went faster and faster to my governess's crazed playing until I was breathless and my partner's complexion changed from beetroot to sickly eau de Nil.

'Enough, enough!' cried poor Francelli, drop- ping to the floor in an untidy heap. Hopkins stopped playing and I ran to her laughing merri- ly. But she suppressed her mirth as Papa had entered the room. He strode angrily towards Francelli and, prodding him with his stick, addressed my governess: 'Hopkins, this is not hysteria. This is a possession of the devil. Fetch

the chloroform.' (Susan Therkelsen)

Night had come early. Both lamps were lit. Cissy Yarrington was reclining on the chaise and Cap- tain Martineau was playing the E flat Nocturne. In the lamplight Cissy was ghastly pale; only her remarkable cheekbones glowed a sullen red.

Suddenly, above the most turbulent passage of the music, we heard that sound again: nearer this time. The little Frenchman broke off in mid- arpeggio.

`Wolves!' Branscombe said.

`I think not,' muttered Doctor MacArley. He glanced at Hopkins.

No one who was present will ever forget what occurred next. The frail and lovely Yarrington arched her back, stretched her slender neck and uttered an ululation so bloodcurdling that, I will confess, I let my wineglass fall. From without came an answering howl (far nearer now) and from Cissy a shriek of maniacal laughter.

MacArley was the first to speak: 'Hopkins, this is not hysteria. This is a possession of the devil. Fetch the chloroform.' (Gerard Benson) I felt my eyes starting from their sockets. Lady Bywater's behaviour was shocking to behold. From the virtuous wife and the supreme paragon of female modesty she had been transformed, as if by some violent, atavistic convulsion, into an all but naked, wanton animal. Like the rest of the company at dinner, I was struck by simulta- neous horror and fascination — horror not only at the gross, sensual magnitude of her self- degradation, but also at the thought that it could fascinate me. I had been exposed to something more than a lascivious exhibition, to a hidden area of my own spotted soul that repelled me. Dr Hopkins's eyes alone held a calm glow of detached observation. As she shed the last of her garments he drily observed, 'Ignore her. Hysteria in the married woman is common.'

Affronted, I seized his arm and said, 'Hopkins, this is not hysteria. This is a possession of the devil. Fetch the chloroform.'

(Basil Ransome-Davies) `Damnably strange,' Doctor Sharston muttered. `The fellow swore an oath that his moustache had disappeared.'

`Don't become overwrought, old man,' said Hopkins, observing the worthy practitioner's dis- comfort. 'The charlatan merely shaved it off.'

`Look, old chap, over there.' Sharston's eyes grew wide with terror.

Hopkins followed his gaze. Creeping undu- lantly across the smoking-room floor was a bristly creature, two inches in length and looking uncommonly as though it were tobacco-stained. 'By Hades, I see what you mean,' Hopkins exclaimed. As he uttered these words, the mous- tache attacked. Fiendishly, it leapt a full six feet to gain attachment upon Sharston's upper lip and there wriggled as if to obtain comfort. Sharston could not have writhed more if set upon by a tribe of wild savages. Attempting to suffocate the beast, he spluttered, 'Hopkins, this is not hysteria. This is a possession of the devil. Fetch the chloroform.' (Bill Harris) I reached the house at midnight. Hopkins was at the door. 'I put her in the library, sir. Thought it would quiet her.'

'You fool!' I stumbled past him and down the long corridors, horror cackling at me out of the gloom. Emily's face, pure and serene, was illumi- nated by a single candle in the darkened library. Uncle Peregrine's collection of political pornog- raphy lay around her. I was too late.

`It's all here, Uncle,' she said, and though her voice was light something unholy looked from her eyes. 'Female emancipation.... ' 'No, child, no!'

`Votes for women. It's all perfectly sensible.' Hopkins was by my side, panting. He held smelling salts and a stout walking-stick. 'Miss Emily's 'ysterical,' he gasped. 'She's a-babbling.' Thank God the trusty old servant's ignorance protected him. 'Hopkins, this is not hysteria. This is a possession of the devil. Fetch the chlo- roform.' (Nick Syrett)

No. 1981: Bouts-rimes

You are invited to write a piece of verse with the following rhyme scheme: snappily, how's, happily, browse, creation, sensation, contained, brained, fingers, stuff, enough, lingers, bun, one. Entries to 'Competition No. 1981' by 1 May.