A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,88
in Massachusetts. Walpole, you must realize, is no longer a young man—he's also a martyr to the gout, which may have something else to do with it—but in his time, he's seen great change in Britain. Kings, lately, have become more powerful than they once were, at the expense of those who share their power of governance. In the current king we have an example of the sins of the fathers, newly magnified. Perhaps Walpole wished to call attention to the fact that the Hanoverians, who were invited to England, have nearly worn out their welcome.”
“That could be part of it, I suppose,” Longfellow considered.
“Yet there's something else that concerns Walpole. I believe the rest of us should be aware of it, as well. In England, indeed in much of Europe, lesser men have for some time been gaining influence and power—”
“Lesser men,” Longfellow interrupted. “Those of us without hereditary stature, Edmund?”
“Those with less investment in family, Richard, yes. Those with less interest in chivalrous behavior, too. Merchants, city traders, men with fleets of ships, investors in new canals and other works that benefit the public—and change it. This trend threatens men like Walpole even more than irritable kings, who might be replaced. Otranto, I think, shows us the unhappy effects of an old, corrupt system. And yet it should also remind us that even our children's children will be marked by today's injustices, which will continue to haunt them.”
“And will there be no escape?” asked Longfellow with a gentle smile at this foolishness. “Who, exactly, does Walpole wish to expose?”
“For a start, those now turning whole villages away from the land, forcing enclosures so they may enrich themselves without responsibility—building gigantic farms, and exclusive pleasure parks where they may hunt and otherwise amuse themselves, all at the expense of poor cottagers, and the older landed aristocracy. Increasingly, they do this with the help of Parliament—”
“I've no doubt,” Longfellow said soothingly, hoping to stem the tide. He'd seen before that his new brother enjoyed romantic philosophy. However, while it made the captain more heated, it somehow left him cool. Some curious natural law, no doubt. “Beware, Edmund,” he added, “or you may one day awake to find yourself a revolutionary.”
“I still maintain the novel is about social injustice, Richard. Do you not agree this is something we should all attempt to define, and address?”
“I do. The question is, what are we to make of Walpole's bizarre attempts, if that is what he's up to? What of his apparent passion for gigantism, and spectral invasions?”
“Those are rather difficult,” Edmund admitted. “Yet I think he implies that power, grown too large, can be toppled only by something greater—something grounded in family and honor.”
“Family, honor, medieval chivalry—rather than Nature, Science, and the Rights of Man. An interesting plan, if one's aim is to march backwards. I seem to recall that Voltaire, several years ago, wrote a work in which our planet was said to have been visited by beings from Saturn. Life for our philosopher-novelists seems a riot of fantastic events! In fact, now that I think of it, I may write a novel myself. Something in Walpole's new style—for it seems to be selling well. I believe I know just where to begin. Let us look more deeply into the fire; most of our candles seem to have guttered out, anyway. And I think my sister has fallen asleep—”
“I have not!” Diana said indignantly.
“Then nudge Mrs. Willett, will you? A story, in the style of Mr. Walpole—just the thing to prepare some of us for a visit to Boar Island tomorrow. As an Anglican, Edmund, you will have no faith in ghosts, but do your best to follow. Now…”
Longfellow leaned back and put his feet closer to the dying fire, while he examined the plaster overhead.
“A very long time ago, when gentlemen still controlled the world and ladies knew their place, a nobleman set sail from one of Europe's barbaric regions—a little west of Calais. He wished to see the end of the earth, but found instead a great island populated by people hardly unusual, yet oddly smaller than he. Lesser men, it seemed to him as he tottered about on high heels, his head covered by an immense court wig far grander than anything with which these Lilli-puritans, as they called themselves, were familiar.”
When even his poorly schooled sister had groaned at this, Longfellow went on.
“Eventually this great man built a damp castle, in which he installed his family. One ominous