There Is a Graveyard That Dwells in Man
Page 44
It was on the day that The Times announced it could no longer extend the hospitality of its columns to the debate that Mr. Benchley found himself most blessedly free from another ocular bother. That swollen, red blob which always reminded him so horribly of the pulped eye of a rabbit no longer imprinted itself on flat surfaces, and remained there as it were staring aloofly at him. This, he had hoped subjective appearance, had been both frequent and regular, but like shell-fire its effect on his mind increased rather than diminished with repetition.
The day after he was freed from this eccentricity, all the windows on the ground-floor of his house were broken by persons unknown, and some abusive phrases were painted on his front door, a gesture charitably attributed to medical students. This was quite probable, for the society's inquiry into the pros and cons of vivisection had brought some uncomfortable facts to the light, and it was generally known that Mr. Benchley had been at the back of this inquest. He heard the succession of crashes just as he was reading a report from the secretary stating that, since the date when he had first interested himself in its affairs, the subscriptions and donations received by the society had increased four hundred per cent, that a grant of £10,000 had been made to the affiliated society in Spain, and that the long over-due fight against the torture of the Indian Water Buffalo was about to be begun with adequate financial support. Mr. Benchley felt that those crashes rather appropriately signalled these announcements. A little later the society announced that a certain person, who desired to remain anonymous, had subscribed £5,000 to it to form the nucleus of a special Benchley Fund to be devoted to the further education of the public in regard to Blood Sports.
The fund reached £20,000 in a week. On the last day of that week, Mr. Benchley ceased to fling his hands up towards his ears at regular intervals, for he no longer felt that agonised scream suddenly shake on their drums. Nevertheless he went to bed that night feeling utterly exhausted and ill. The next morning he couldn't get up, and when the doctor came he diagnosed pulmonary pneumonia and engaged day and night nurses.
Up to the crisis, Mr. Benchley fought for his life, for he had much still to do, but he had undermined his powers of resistance by insensate over-work, and presently he knew he could fight no more. After that he relapsed into gradually lengthening periods of unconsciousness. When he realised he was dying he sent for the secretary, to whom he gave certain instructions regarding the use of the fortune he was leaving to the society. The secretary had come to regard Mr. Benchley as a very great man, and when he had shaken hands with him, and said good-bye and left him, there were tears in his eyes as he swung his cane jauntily.
The doctor came about four o’clock and made his examination. He took the nurse out from the sick-room with him, and shrugging his shoulders said “There is nothing more to be done. He may last one hour or twelve.”
“I'm wanted for another case to-morrow,” said the nurse. “Will it be safe for me to accept it?”
“Oh, yes, he can't possibly last through the night. He refuses to have any more oxygen. I can't help respecting him, though I know he financed that damn-fool inquiry.”
During his periods of unconsciousness Mr. Benchley had dreams. In one of them he seemed to be watching a small excited boy who was staring across a surging field of corn over which a windhover was poised against the gale. And suddenly it lifted and soared over the bordering trees, a dark speck against the green, and disappeared. This dream recurred three times. And then he awoke full of a great weakness and a certain sense of peace. The nurse had gone out to pack her bag. The fire was alive but dying, just one still pregnant coal was thrusting forth lazy, lolling flames which slightly darkened the shadows. Mr. Benchley was just about to surrender again to that overmastering weariness when it seemed to him that something leapt lightly on to the bed beside him, something which turned and faced him. And at first one of its eyes was clear, and the other bleeding and broken. With an effort he turned his head towards it, and then he saw that both its eyes were bright and whole again. And it nestled to his side. And after a little while something else fluttered up on to the blanket, something which for a moment trailed a wing and writhed, and then settled itself down beside him, trimly and stealthily. The flames died down, but there was just enough light left to enable Mr. Benchley to catch the outline of something big and brown which dragged its hind legs towards him. Mr. Benchley tried with all his might to get his hands to his ears, and he shut his eyes. But the silence was unbroken and he opened them again, and that big, brown shadow moved easily towards him and tucked itself down beside his arm. And then the fire shook itself slightly and the room was dark. And Mr. Benchley, feeling three little pressures against him, rallied his failing strength, and just succeeded in moving his right hand over and down, and it closed over two long, soft ears, which twitched gently, as if with pleasure. And a moment later Mr. Benchley fell asleep.
Biographical Notes
Compiled by Mark Valentine
Nugent Barker (1888-1955) was the author of only one book, Written With My Left Hand (1951), a collection of original, exuberant macabre stories. Very little is known about him. The only known biographical notice briefly states that he came from an old Irish family, the Nugents of Westmeath, and was educated at Cheltenham. It explains that poor eyesight prevented him joining up in the First World War: and that he began work as a black-and-white illustrator but “has recently devoted himself entirely to literature.” In his introduction to the 2002 Tartarus Press reprint, Douglas Anderson notes that in the 1920s Barker lived at 16, Tite Street, Chelsea, where Oscar Wilde resided just before his trials, and it was still Barker's address at the time of his death.
Arthur Christopher Benson (1862-1925) was born into scholarly and ecclesiastical circles, since his father was in turn Chancellor of Lincoln and Bishop of Truro, then appointed Archbishop of Canterbury in 1882. AC Benson was a contemporary of MR James at Cambridge, successively a Fellow, then President, then Master of Magdalene College. A prolific essayist, mellow and ruminatory in style, his voluminous diaries reveal a sharper tongue. His ghost stories may be found in The Hill of Trouble and Other Stories (1903) and The Isles of Sunset (1904), among other volumes.
Edward Frederic Benson (1867-1940), brother of AC and RH Benson, was a highly prolific and versatile writer who first had success with the light comedy Dodo, A Detail of the Day (1893), and showed a flair for the macabre with his The Luck of the Vails (1901), about an ancient family legend, a taste which continued throughout his career right up to his last novel, Ravens’ Brood (1934). He settled in the picturesque Sussex town of Rye, and his gentle social satires set there featuring two rival grand dames, Mapp and Lucia, won appreciation. He was a dedicated exponent of the ghost story and may be seen as one of the most accomplished contemporaries of MR James. His work here can be found in The Room in the Tower and Other Stories (1912), Spook Stories (1928), More Spook Stories (1934) and others.
Robert Hugh Benson (1871-1914), third of the literary Benson brothers, caused a stir by converting to Roman Catholicism in his early thirties. He then wrote numerous often rather lurid novels in which heroes of his faith battle against sin and villainy: some of these are apocalyptic in range and vision, most notably Lord of the World (1907). He was an enthusiast of the work of Frederick Rolfe, ‘Baron Corvo’, and they planned a book on Thomas Becket in collaboration, but inevitably the Baron fell out with him. Benson's ghost stories were gathered in The Light Invisible (1903) and A Mirror of Shalott (1907).
Algernon Blackwood (1869-1951) was born in Kent, the son of a senior civil servant with rigid religious views. As a youth, Blackwood became interested in Eastern religions and later extolled in his stories a form of pantheistic nature worship. He travelled in the USA and Canada in his twenties, taking casual jobs and often in poverty. From his earliest writing, The Empty House and Other Ghost Stories (1906), he excelled at the supernatural tale, and later, when he broadcast these on BBC wireless, was so identified with the form that he was known
simply as ‘the Ghost Man’. His approach is the opposite of that of MR James – he is fervent, lyrical, interested in the meaning of the otherworldly. He also wrote mystical novels concerned with reincarnation and cosmic forces, such as The Centaur (1911) and Julius LeVallon (1916). His ‘The Willows’ is often cited as one of the finest-ever supernatural stories.
Alfred McClelland Burrage (1889-1956) was a versatile professional writer who wrote War is War (1930), a noted memoir of the First World War, under the pseudonym ‘Ex-Private X’. He wrote widely for Fleet Street newspapers and magazines and a 1920 biographical note described him as “one of the most popular of magazine writers. Everything he does has charm and reflects his own romantic spirit.” He evidently enjoyed writing ghost stories, returning to the form often, and these may be found in Some Ghost Stories (1927), Someone in the Room (as ‘Ex-Private X’, 1931), Don't Break the Seal (1946) and others.
Colette de Curzon (1927-2018) was the daughter of the French Consul-General in Portsmouth and wrote ‘Payman's Trio’ at the age of 22, but did not know how to go about getting it published. Preserved for some sixty-seven years, it was rediscovered by one of her daughters, the novelist Gabrielle Kimm, and published as a chapbook by Nicholas Royle's Nightjar Press. This fine tale of haunted music, in the tradition of J Meade Falkner's The Lost Stradivarius (1895), was soon warmly acclaimed.
Walter De La Mare (1873-1956) was as a young man attracted to the Aesthetical movement and briefly published a magazine, The Basilisk, printed in purple ink. He worked as a clerk for an oil company but his poetry attracted admiration, and friends secured him a government pension so he could escape drudgery and devote himself to writing. Some of his poems are still anthology favourites, and his enigmatic short stories, with their dream-like qualities, helped suggest a different direction for the ghostly tale. His best collections include The Riddle and Other Stories (1923) and The Connoisseur and Other Stories (1926).
Emilia Francis Dilke (1840-1904) was an art historian and progressive campaigner who became Lady Dilke when she married the baronet and Radical politician Sir Charles Dilke in 1884. After attending art school, she was art critic and then art editor for The Academy for some years, and published several studies of the fine and applied arts in eighteenth-century France. She was also active in women's and trade union causes. Her ghost stories, aesthetical in style and decadent in theme, were published as The Shrine of Death and Other Stories (1886) and The Shrine of Love and Other Stories (1891).
Henrietta Dorothy Everett (1851-1923), who mostly wrote under the pseudonym ‘Theo Douglas’, attracted attention with her dramatic Egyptian revivification fantasy Iras: A Mystery (1896), in which the mummy of a princess is restored to life. She went on to publish over a dozen further novels as Douglas, some also with macabre and fantastical elements, but never quite captured the same success. From at least 1910 she published under her own name, as ‘Mrs HD Everett’, and late in life issued a collection of weird stories, The Death-Mask and Other Ghosts (1920). Her work in the form is often sad, gentle, even sentimental, her spirits lovelorn or lost.
Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860-1935), from Connecticut, was a novelist, dramatist, poet, short story writer, lecturer, early feminist and social reformer, a woman of formidable energy and determination. But she is known today mainly for the story ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ (1892). This concerns a young woman, diagnosed as depressive, who becomes morbidly obsessed with the décor in a sinister upper room in the house where she is convalescing. The story had strong autobiographical elements. Its Decadent patina and terse cumulative tension have won the tale high praise. Her other work, like her character, has tended to be absorbed by that dominating wallpaper, but she is also known for Herland (1915), a feminist utopia.
John Gower (about 1325-1408) was a squire and medieval poet of genteel birth but his exact origins, despite scholarly speculation, remain unknown. Links to families in Wales, Yorkshire or Suffolk have been suggested. He was in later life involved as a lay member with a priory in Southwark, which he generously supported. His chief literary work, Confessio Amantis, was published by Caxton in 1483. It mingles classical deities and imagery with Christian morality, and discourses in verse on the seven deadly sins. The numerous contemporary manuscript copies may attest to its popularity in its time.
Leslie Poles Hartley (1895-1972) was born in Whittlesey, Cambridgeshire. His father was a solicitor, later the director of a brickworks, and Hartley grew up in a turreted Victorian Gothic edifice. He was educated at Eton and Balliol, enlisted in the First World War and was commissioned, but because of his weak health was confined to the home front and eventually invalided out. He is best known today as the author of The Go-Between (1953), a smouldering recollection of an Edwardian childhood, with its memorable opening line, ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’ He was also a keen writer of highly effective macabre tales, some gathered in The Travelling Grave and Other Stories (1948).
Leslie Allin Lewis (1899-1961) was the author of only one book, Tales of the Grotesque (1934). Little was known about him until the eminent ghost story anthologist Richard Dalby contacted his estate and was able to bring his work back into print: US scholar Douglas Anderson later added further details about him. Lewis was born in Sheffield, educated at a private school in Abingdon, enlisted in the Artists’ Rifles in the First World War and later trained as a pilot. He apparently suffered from hallucinations and episodes of mental illness in later life. Richard Dalby noted: “Lewis never doubted the existence of demonic creatures and elements on the other side… which continually strive to break through into our world.”
Thomas Ligotti (born Detroit, USA, 1953) was recognised as a distinctive voice in the weird fiction field with the publication of his Songs of A Dead Dreamer (1986) and Grimscribe: His Lives and Works (1991), collections of macabre stories and vignettes replete with images of dolls, puppets, mannequins and other simulacra of the human form. His work introduces Middle-European melancholia and arcane imagery to small-town Middle America. Further collections followed, enhancing his reputation as a poet of pessimism and chronicler of decay. His The Conspiracy Against the Human Race (2010) is a philosophical work which argues that ‘behind the scenes of life lurks something pernicious that makes a nightmare of our world.’
Arthur Machen (1863-1947) was born in the old Roman town of Caerleon in the Welsh border county of Gwent but went to London as a young man to make his way in literature. He worked in poverty as a book cataloguer, tutor, and translator from the French, before finding success in the decadent ‘Yellow Nineties’ with two novellas, The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light (1894), and with The Three Impostors (1895). His mystical and semi-autobiographical The Hill of Dreams (1907) had to wait ten years for book publication. His tales of horror and the supernatural, some collected in The House of Souls (1906), place him among the highest regarded writers in this field. His ‘The White People’ is often seen as one of the greatest horror stories.
Richard Barham Middleton (1882-1911) was primarily a poet who tried and failed to make a living from his verses and took his own life in despair in Brussels at the age of 29. At the New Bohemians literary and drinking society he was a friend of Arthur Machen, who wrote the introduction to a posthumous collection of supernatural tales, The Ghost Ship and Other Stories (1912): other volumes of poems, tales, sketches and essays followed. The title story, in which a spectral buccaneering galleon descends on a cabbage field near a quiet English village, is regarded as one of the best humorous ghost stories, while his ‘On the Brighton Road’ is one of the most effective involving gentle pathos.
Amyas Northcote (1864-1923) was the youngest son of the 1st Earl of Iddesleigh, a leading Victorian Conservative statesman who served as Chancellor of the Exchequer and Foreign Secretary. He grew up in the ancestral family home near Exeter, Devon and attended Eton, where he would have been a contemporary of MR James. He emigrated to the USA, praising the kindness and hospitality of the people, and
was in business in Chicago. He returned to England around the turn of the century, where he seems to have settled into life as a country squire in Buckinghamshire. He was the author of only one book, the well-regarded In Ghostly Company (1922).