Ghost Stories of an Antiquary

by M. R. James

  THE MEZZOTINT

  Some time ago I believe I had the pleasure of telling you the story of anadventure which happened to a friend of mine by the name of Dennistoun,during his pursuit of objects of art for the museum at Cambridge.

  He did not publish his experiences very widely upon his return toEngland; but they could not fail to become known to a good many of hisfriends, and among others to the gentleman who at that time presided overan art museum at another University. It was to be expected that the storyshould make a considerable impression on the mind of a man whose vocationlay in lines similar to Dennistoun's, and that he should be eager tocatch at any explanation of the matter which tended to make it seemimprobable that he should ever be called upon to deal with so agitatingan emergency. It was, indeed, somewhat consoling to him to reflect thathe was not expected to acquire ancient MSS. for his institution; that wasthe business of the Shelburnian Library. The authorities of thatinstitution might, if they pleased, ransack obscure corners of theContinent for such matters. He was glad to be obliged at the moment toconfine his attention to enlarging the already unsurpassed collection ofEnglish topographical drawings and engravings possessed by his museum.Yet, as it turned out, even a department so homely and familiar as thismay have its dark corners, and to one of these Mr Williams wasunexpectedly introduced.

  Those who have taken even the most limited interest in the acquisition oftopographical pictures are aware that there is one London dealer whoseaid is indispensable to their researches. Mr J. W. Britnell publishes atshort intervals very admirable catalogues of a large and constantlychanging stock of engravings, plans, and old sketches of mansions,churches, and towns in England and Wales. These catalogues were, ofcourse, the ABC of his subject to Mr Williams: but as his museum alreadycontained an enormous accumulation of topographical pictures, he was aregular, rather than a copious, buyer; and he rather looked to MrBritnell to fill up gaps in the rank and file of his collection than tosupply him with rarities.

  Now, in February of last year there appeared upon Mr Williams's desk atthe museum a catalogue from Mr Britnell's emporium, and accompanying itwas a typewritten communication from the dealer himself. This latter ranas follows:

  Dear Sir,

  We beg to call your attention to No. 978 in our accompanying catalogue, which we shall be glad to send on approval.

  Yours faithfully,

  J. W. Britnell.

  To turn to No. 978 in the accompanying catalogue was with Mr. Williams(as he observed to himself) the work of a moment, and in the placeindicated he found the following entry:

  978.--_Unknown._ Interesting mezzotint: View of a manor-house, early part of the century. 15 by 10 inches; black frame. L2 2s.

  It was not specially exciting, and the price seemed high. However, as MrBritnell, who knew his business and his customer, seemed to set store byit, Mr Williams wrote a postcard asking for the article to be sent onapproval, along with some other engravings and sketches which appeared inthe same catalogue. And so he passed without much excitement ofanticipation to the ordinary labours of the day.

  A parcel of any kind always arrives a day later than you expect it, andthat of Mr Britnell proved, as I believe the right phrase goes, noexception to the rule. It was delivered at the museum by the afternoonpost of Saturday, after Mr Williams had left his work, and it wasaccordingly brought round to his rooms in college by the attendant, inorder that he might not have to wait over Sunday before looking throughit and returning such of the contents as he did not propose to keep. Andhere he found it when he came in to tea, with a friend.

  The only item with which I am concerned was the rather large,black-framed mezzotint of which I have already quoted the shortdescription given in Mr Britnell's catalogue. Some more details of itwill have to be given, though I cannot hope to put before you the look ofthe picture as clearly as it is present to my own eye. Very nearly theexact duplicate of it may be seen in a good many old inn parlours, or inthe passages of undisturbed country mansions at the present moment. Itwas a rather indifferent mezzotint, and an indifferent mezzotint is,perhaps, the worst form of engraving known. It presented a full-face viewof a not very large manor-house of the last century, with three rows ofplain sashed windows with rusticated masonry about them, a parapet withballs or vases at the angles, and a small portico in the centre. Oneither side were trees, and in front a considerable expanse of lawn. Thelegend _A. W. F. sculpsit_ was engraved on the narrow margin; and therewas no further inscription. The whole thing gave the impression that itwas the work of an amateur. What in the world Mr Britnell could mean byaffixing the price of L2 2s. to such an object was more than Mr Williamscould imagine. He turned it over with a good deal of contempt; upon theback was a paper label, the left-hand half of which had been torn off.All that remained were the ends of two lines of writing; the first hadthe letters--_ngley Hall_; the second,--_ssex_.

  It would, perhaps, be just worth while to identify the place represented,which he could easily do with the help of a gazetteer, and then he wouldsend it back to Mr Britnell, with some remarks reflecting upon thejudgement of that gentleman.

  He lighted the candles, for it was now dark, made the tea, and suppliedthe friend with whom he had been playing golf (for I believe theauthorities of the University I write of indulge in that pursuit by wayof relaxation); and tea was taken to the accompaniment of a discussionwhich golfing persons can imagine for themselves, but which theconscientious writer has no right to inflict upon any non-golfingpersons.

  The conclusion arrived at was that certain strokes might have beenbetter, and that in certain emergencies neither player had experiencedthat amount of luck which a human being has a right to expect. It was nowthat the friend--let us call him Professor Binks--took up the framedengraving and said:

  'What's this place, Williams?'

  'Just what I am going to try to find out,' said Williams, going to theshelf for a gazetteer. 'Look at the back. Somethingley Hall, either inSussex or Essex. Half the name's gone, you see. You don't happen to knowit, I suppose?'

  'It's from that man Britnell, I suppose, isn't it?' said Binks. 'Is itfor the museum?'

  'Well, I think I should buy it if the price was five shillings,' saidWilliams; 'but for some unearthly reason he wants two guineas for it. Ican't conceive why. It's a wretched engraving, and there aren't even anyfigures to give it life.'

  'It's not worth two guineas, I should think,' said Binks; 'but I don'tthink it's so badly done. The moonlight seems rather good to me; and Ishould have thought there _were_ figures, or at least a figure, just onthe edge in front.'

  'Let's look,' said Williams. 'Well, it's true the light is rathercleverly given. Where's your figure? Oh, yes! Just the head, in the veryfront of the picture.'

  And indeed there was--hardly more than a black blot on the extreme edgeof the engraving--the head of a man or woman, a good deal muffled up, theback turned to the spectator, and looking towards the house.

  Williams had not noticed it before.

  'Still,' he said, 'though it's a cleverer thing than I thought, I can'tspend two guineas of museum money on a picture of a place I don't know.'

  Professor Binks had his work to do, and soon went; and very nearly up toHall time Williams was engaged in a vain attempt to identify the subjectof his picture. 'If the vowel before the _ng_ had only been left, itwould have been easy enough,' he thought; 'but as it is, the name may beanything from Guestingley to Langley, and there are many more namesending like this than I thought; and this rotten book has no index ofterminations.'

  Hall in Mr Williams's college was at seven. It need not be dwelt upon;the less so as he met there colleagues who had been playing golf duringthe afternoon, and words with which we have no concern were freelybandied across the table--merely golfing words, I would hasten toexplain.

  I suppose an hour or more to have been spent in what is calledcommon-room after dinner. Later in the evening some few retired toWilliams's rooms, and I have little doubt that wh
ist was played andtobacco smoked. During a lull in these operations Williams picked up themezzotint from the table without looking at it, and handed it to a personmildly interested in art, telling him where it had come from, and theother particulars which we already know.

  The gentleman took it carelessly, looked at it, then said, in a tone ofsome interest:

  'It's really a very good piece of work, Williams; it has quite a feelingof the romantic period. The light is admirably managed, it seems to me,and the figure, though it's rather too grotesque, is somehow veryimpressive.'

  'Yes, isn't it?' said Williams, who was just then busy giving whisky andsoda to others of the company, and was unable to come across the room tolook at the view again.

  It was by this time rather late in the evening, and the visitors were onthe move. After they went Williams was obliged to write a letter or twoand clear up some odd bits of work. At last, some time past midnight, hewas disposed to turn in, and he put out his lamp after lighting hisbedroom candle. The picture lay face upwards on the table where the lastman who looked at it had put it, and it caught his eye as he turned thelamp down. What he saw made him very nearly drop the candle on the floor,and he declares now if he had been left in the dark at that moment hewould have had a fit. But, as that did not happen, he was able to putdown the light on the table and take a good look at the picture. It wasindubitable--rankly impossible, no doubt, but absolutely certain. In themiddle of the lawn in front of the unknown house there was a figure whereno figure had been at five o'clock that afternoon. It was crawling on allfours towards the house, and it was muffled in a strange black garmentwith a white cross on the back.

  I do not know what is the ideal course to pursue in a situation of thiskind, I can only tell you what Mr Williams did. He took the picture byone corner and carried it across the passage to a second set of roomswhich he possessed. There he locked it up in a drawer, sported the doorsof both sets of rooms, and retired to bed; but first he wrote out andsigned an account of the extraordinary change which the picture hadundergone since it had come into his possession.

  Sleep visited him rather late; but it was consoling to reflect that thebehaviour of the picture did not depend upon his own unsupportedtestimony. Evidently the man who had looked at it the night before hadseen something of the same kind as he had, otherwise he might have beentempted to think that something gravely wrong was happening either to hiseyes or his mind. This possibility being fortunately precluded, twomatters awaited him on the morrow. He must take stock of the picture verycarefully, and call in a witness for the purpose, and he must make adetermined effort to ascertain what house it was that was represented. Hewould therefore ask his neighbour Nisbet to breakfast with him, and hewould subsequently spend a morning over the gazetteer.

  Nisbet was disengaged, and arrived about 9.20. His host was not quitedressed, I am sorry to say, even at this late hour. During breakfastnothing was said about the mezzotint by Williams, save that he had apicture on which he wished for Nisbet's opinion. But those who arefamiliar with University life can picture for themselves the wide anddelightful range of subjects over which the conversation of two Fellowsof Canterbury College is likely to extend during a Sunday morningbreakfast. Hardly a topic was left unchallenged, from golf tolawn-tennis. Yet I am bound to say that Williams was rather distraught;for his interest naturally centred in that very strange picture which wasnow reposing, face downwards, in the drawer in the room opposite.

  The morning pipe was at last lighted, and the moment had arrived forwhich he looked. With very considerable--almost tremulous--excitement heran across, unlocked the drawer, and, extracting the picture--still facedownwards--ran back, and put it into Nisbet's hands.

  'Now,' he said, 'Nisbet, I want you to tell me exactly what you see inthat picture. Describe it, if you don't mind, rather minutely. I'll tellyou why afterwards.'

  'Well,' said Nisbet, 'I have here a view of a country-house--English, Ipresume--by moonlight.'

  'Moonlight? You're sure of that?'

  'Certainly. The moon appears to be on the wane, if you wish for details,and there are clouds in the sky.'

  'All right. Go on. I'll swear,' added Williams in an aside, 'there was nomoon when I saw it first.'

  'Well, there's not much more to be said,' Nisbet continued. 'The househas one--two--three rows of windows, five in each row, except at thebottom, where there's a porch instead of the middle one, and--'

  'But what about figures?' said Williams, with marked interest.

  'There aren't any,' said Nisbet; 'but--'

  'What! No figure on the grass in front?'

  'Not a thing.'

  'You'll swear to that?'

  'Certainly I will. But there's just one other thing.'

  'What?'

  'Why, one of the windows on the ground-floor--left of the door--is open.'

  'Is it really so? My goodness! he must have got in,' said Williams, withgreat excitement; and he hurried to the back of the sofa on which Nisbetwas sitting, and, catching the picture from him, verified the matter forhimself.

  It was quite true. There was no figure, and there was the open window.Williams, after a moment of speechless surprise, went to thewriting-table and scribbled for a short time. Then he brought two papersto Nisbet, and asked him first to sign one--it was his own description ofthe picture, which you have just heard--and then to read the other whichwas Williams's statement written the night before.

  'What can it all mean?' said Nisbet.

  'Exactly,' said Williams. 'Well, one thing I must do--or three things,now I think of it. I must find out from Garwood'--this was his lastnight's visitor--'what he saw, and then I must get the thing photographedbefore it goes further, and then I must find out what the place is.'

  'I can do the photographing myself,' said Nisbet, 'and I will. But, youknow, it looks very much as if we were assisting at the working out of atragedy somewhere. The question is, has it happened already, or is itgoing to come off? You must find out what the place is. Yes,' he said,looking at the picture again, 'I expect you're right: he has got in. Andif I don't mistake, there'll be the devil to pay in one of the roomsupstairs.'

  'I'll tell you what,' said Williams: 'I'll take the picture across to oldGreen' (this was the senior Fellow of the College, who had been Bursarfor many years). 'It's quite likely he'll know it. We have property inEssex and Sussex, and he must have been over the two counties a lot inhis time.'

  'Quite likely he will,' said Nisbet; 'but just let me take my photographfirst. But look here, I rather think Green isn't up today. He wasn't inHall last night, and I think I heard him say he was going down for theSunday.'

  'That's true, too,' said Williams; 'I know he's gone to Brighton. Well,if you'll photograph it now, I'll go across to Garwood and get hisstatement, and you keep an eye on it while I'm gone. I'm beginning tothink two guineas is not a very exorbitant price for it now.'

  In a short time he had returned, and brought Mr Garwood with him.Garwood's statement was to the effect that the figure, when he had seenit, was clear of the edge of the picture, but had not got far across thelawn. He remembered a white mark on the back of its drapery, but couldnot have been sure it was a cross. A document to this effect was thendrawn up and signed, and Nisbet proceeded to photograph the picture.

  'Now what do you mean to do?' he said. 'Are you going to sit and watch itall day?'

  'Well, no, I think not,' said Williams. 'I rather imagine we're meant tosee the whole thing. You see, between the time I saw it last night andthis morning there was time for lots of things to happen, but thecreature only got into the house. It could easily have got through itsbusiness in the time and gone to its own place again; but the fact of thewindow being open, I think, must mean that it's in there now. So I feelquite easy about leaving it. And besides, I have a kind of idea that itwouldn't change much, if at all, in the daytime. We might go out for awalk this afternoon, and come in to tea, or whenever it gets dark. Ishall leave it out on the table here, and sport the door. M
y skip can getin, but no one else.'

  The three agreed that this would be a good plan; and, further, that ifthey spent the afternoon together they would be less likely to talk aboutthe business to other people; for any rumour of such a transaction as wasgoing on would bring the whole of the Phasmatological Society about theirears.

  We may give them a respite until five o'clock.

  At or near that hour the three were entering Williams's staircase. Theywere at first slightly annoyed to see that the door of his rooms wasunsported; but in a moment it was remembered that on Sunday the skipscame for orders an hour or so earlier than on weekdays. However, asurprise was awaiting them. The first thing they saw was the pictureleaning up against a pile of books on the table, as it had been left, andthe next thing was Williams's skip, seated on a chair opposite, gazing atit with undisguised horror. How was this? Mr Filcher (the name is not myown invention) was a servant of considerable standing, and set thestandard of etiquette to all his own college and to several neighbouringones, and nothing could be more alien to his practice than to be foundsitting on his master's chair, or appearing to take any particular noticeof his master's furniture or pictures. Indeed, he seemed to feel thishimself. He started violently when the three men were in the room, andgot up with a marked effort. Then he said:

  'I ask your pardon, sir, for taking such a freedom as to set down.'

  'Not at all, Robert,' interposed Mr Williams. 'I was meaning to ask yousome time what you thought of that picture.'

  'Well, sir, of course I don't set up my opinion against yours, but itain't the pictur I should 'ang where my little girl could see it, sir.'

  'Wouldn't you, Robert? Why not?'

  'No, sir. Why, the pore child, I recollect once she see a Door Bible,with pictures not 'alf what that is, and we 'ad to set up with her threeor four nights afterwards, if you'll believe me; and if she was to ketcha sight of this skelinton here, or whatever it is, carrying off the porebaby, she would be in a taking. You know 'ow it is with children; 'ownervish they git with a little thing and all. But what I should say, itdon't seem a right pictur to be laying about, sir, not where anyonethat's liable to be startled could come on it. Should you be wantinganything this evening, sir? Thank you, sir.'

  With these words the excellent man went to continue the round of hismasters, and you may be sure the gentlemen whom he left lost no time ingathering round the engraving. There was the house, as before under thewaning moon and the drifting clouds. The window that had been open wasshut, and the figure was once more on the lawn: but not this timecrawling cautiously on hands and knees. Now it was erect and steppingswiftly, with long strides, towards the front of the picture. The moonwas behind it, and the black drapery hung down over its face so that onlyhints of that could be seen, and what was visible made the spectatorsprofoundly thankful that they could see no more than a white dome-likeforehead and a few straggling hairs. The head was bent down, and the armswere tightly clasped over an object which could be dimly seen andidentified as a child, whether dead or living it was not possible to say.The legs of the appearance alone could be plainly discerned, and theywere horribly thin.

  From five to seven the three companions sat and watched the picture byturns. But it never changed. They agreed at last that it would be safe toleave it, and that they would return after Hall and await furtherdevelopments.

  When they assembled again, at the earliest possible moment, the engravingwas there, but the figure was gone, and the house was quiet under themoonbeams. There was nothing for it but to spend the evening overgazetteers and guide-books. Williams was the lucky one at last, andperhaps he deserved it. At 11.30 p.m. he read from Murray's _Guide toEssex_ the following lines:

  16-1/2 miles, _Anningley_. The church has been an interesting building of Norman date, but was extensively classicized in the last century. It contains the tomb of the family of Francis, whose mansion, Anningley Hall, a solid Queen Anne house, stands immediately beyond the churchyard in a park of about 80 acres. The family is now extinct, the last heir having disappeared mysteriously in infancy in the year 1802. The father, Mr Arthur Francis, was locally known as a talented amateur engraver in mezzotint. After his son's disappearance he lived in complete retirement at the Hall, and was found dead in his studio on the third anniversary of the disaster, having just completed an engraving of the house, impressions of which are of considerable rarity.

  This looked like business, and, indeed, Mr Green on his return at onceidentified the house as Anningley Hall.

  'Is there any kind of explanation of the figure, Green?' was the questionwhich Williams naturally asked.

  'I don't know, I'm sure, Williams. What used to be said in the place whenI first knew it, which was before I came up here, was just this: oldFrancis was always very much down on these poaching fellows, and wheneverhe got a chance he used to get a man whom he suspected of it turned offthe estate, and by degrees he got rid of them all but one. Squires coulddo a lot of things then that they daren't think of now. Well, this manthat was left was what you find pretty often in that country--the lastremains of a very old family. I believe they were Lords of the Manor atone time. I recollect just the same thing in my own parish.'

  'What, like the man in _Tess o' the Durbervilles_?' Williams put in.

  'Yes, I dare say; it's not a book I could ever read myself. But thisfellow could show a row of tombs in the church there that belonged to hisancestors, and all that went to sour him a bit; but Francis, they said,could never get at him--he always kept just on the right side of thelaw--until one night the keepers found him at it in a wood right at theend of the estate. I could show you the place now; it marches with someland that used to belong to an uncle of mine. And you can imagine therewas a row; and this man Gawdy (that was the name, to be sure--Gawdy; Ithought I should get it--Gawdy), he was unlucky enough, poor chap! toshoot a keeper. Well, that was what Francis wanted, and grand juries--youknow what they would have been then--and poor Gawdy was strung up indouble-quick time; and I've been shown the place he was buried in, on thenorth side of the church--you know the way in that part of the world:anyone that's been hanged or made away with themselves, they bury themthat side. And the idea was that some friend of Gawdy's--not a relation,because he had none, poor devil! he was the last of his line: kind of_spes ultima gentis_--must have planned to get hold of Francis's boy andput an end to _his_ line, too. I don't know--it's rather anout-of-the-way thing for an Essex poacher to think of--but, you know, Ishould say now it looks more as if old Gawdy had managed the job himself.Booh! I hate to think of it! have some whisky, Williams!'

  The facts were communicated by Williams to Dennistoun, and by him to amixed company, of which I was one, and the Sadducean Professor ofOphiology another. I am sorry to say that the latter when asked what hethought of it, only remarked: 'Oh, those Bridgeford people will sayanything'--a sentiment which met with the reception it deserved.

  I have only to add that the picture is now in the Ashleian Museum; thatit has been treated with a view to discovering whether sympathetic inkhas been used in it, but without effect; that Mr Britnell knew nothing ofit save that he was sure it was uncommon; and that, though carefullywatched, it has never been known to change again.