The Canterville Ghost
By
Oscar
Wilde
Illustrated
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The Canterville Ghost
An
amusing chronicle of the tribulations of the Ghost of Canterville Chase
when his ancestral halls became the home of the American Minister to the Court of St. James
when his ancestral halls became the home of the American Minister to the Court of St. James
By
Oscar
Wilde
Illustrated
by
WALLACE GOLDSMITH
WALLACE GOLDSMITH
I
When
Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American Minister, bought Canterville Chase, every one
told him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no doubt at all that
the place was haunted. Indeed, Lord Canterville himself, who was a man of the
most punctilious honour, had felt it his duty to mention the fact to Mr. Otis
when they came to discuss terms.
"We
have not cared to live in the place ourselves," said Lord Canterville,
"since my grandaunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, was frightened into a
fit, from which she never really recovered, by two skeleton hands being placed
on her shoulders as she was dressing for dinner, and I feel bound to tell you,
Mr. Otis, that the ghost has been seen by several living members of my family,
as well as by the rector of the parish, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, who is a
Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. After the unfortunate accident to the
Duchess, none of our younger servants would stay with us, and Lady Canterville
often got very little sleep at night, in consequence of the mysterious noises
that came from the corridor and the library."
"My
Lord," answered the Minister, "I will take the furniture and the
ghost at a valuation. I have come from a modern country, where we have
everything that money can buy; and with all our spry young fellows painting the
Old World red, and carrying off your best actors and prima-donnas, I reckon
that if there were such a thing as a ghost in Europe, we'd have it at home in a
very short time in one of our public museums, or on the road as a show."
"I
fear that the ghost exists," said Lord Canterville, smiling, "though
it may have resisted the overtures of your enterprising impresarios. It has
been well known for three centuries, since 1584 in fact, and always makes its
appearance before the death of any member of our family."
"Well,
so does the family doctor for that matter, Lord Canterville. But there is no
such thing, sir, as a ghost, and I guess the laws of Nature are not going to be
suspended for the British aristocracy."
"You
are certainly very natural in America," answered Lord Canterville, who did
not quite understand Mr. Otis's last observation, "and if you don't mind a
ghost in the house, it is all right. Only you must remember I warned you."
MISS
VIRGINIA E. OTIS
A
few weeks after this, the purchase was concluded, and at the close of the
season the Minister and his family went down to Canterville Chase. Mrs. Otis,
who, as Miss Lucretia R. Tappan, of West 53d Street, had been a celebrated New
York belle, was now a very handsome, middle-aged woman, with fine eyes, and a
superb profile. Many American ladies on leaving their native land adopt an
appearance of chronic ill-health, under the impression that it is a form of
European refinement, but Mrs. Otis had never fallen into this error.
She had a magnificent constitution, and a
really wonderful amount of animal spirits. Indeed, in many respects, she was
quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact that we have really
everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language. Her
eldest son, christened Washington by his parents in a moment of patriotism,
which he never ceased to regret, was a fair-haired, rather good-looking young
man, who had qualified himself for American diplomacy by leading the German at
the Newport Casino for three successive seasons, and even in London was well
known as an excellent dancer. Gardenias and the peerage were his only
weaknesses.
Otherwise
he was extremely sensible. Miss Virginia E. Otis was a little girl of fifteen,
lithe and lovely as a fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes. She
was a wonderful Amazon, and had once raced old Lord Bilton on her pony twice
round the park, winning by a length and a half, just in front of the Achilles
statue, to the huge delight of the young Duke of Cheshire, who proposed for her
on the spot, and was sent back to Eton that very night by his guardians, in
floods of tears. After Virginia came the twins, who were usually called
"The Star and Stripes," as they were always getting swished. They
were delightful boys, and, with the exception of the worthy Minister, the only
true republicansof the family.
"HAD ONCE RACED OLD LORD BILTON ON
HER PONY"
As
Canterville Chase is seven miles from Ascot, the nearest railway station, Mr.
Otis had telegraphed for a waggonette to meet them, and they started on their
drive in high spirits. It was a lovely July evening, and the air was delicate
with the scent of the pinewoods. Now and then they heard a wood-pigeon brooding
over its own sweet voice, or saw, deep in the rustling fern, the burnished
breast of the pheasant. Little squirrels peered at them from the beech-trees as
they went by, and the rabbits scudded away through the brushwood and over the
mossy knolls, with their white tails in the air. As they entered the avenue of
Canterville Chase, however, the sky became suddenly overcast with clouds, a
curious stillness seemed to hold the atmosphere, a great flight of rooks passed
silently over their heads, and, before they reached the house, some big drops
of rain had fallen.
Standing
on the steps to receive them was an old woman, neatly dressed in black silk,
with a white cap and apron. This was Mrs. Umney, the housekeeper, whom Mrs.
Otis, at Lady Canterville's earnest request, had consented to keep in her
former position. She made them each a low curtsey as they alighted, and said in
a quaint, old-fashioned manner, "I bid you welcome to Canterville Chase."
Following her, they passed through the fine Tudor hall into the library, a
long, low room, panelled in black oak, at the end of which was a large stained
glass window. Here they found tea laid out for them, and, after taking off
their wraps, they sat down and began to look round, while Mrs. Umney waited on
them.
Suddenly
Mrs. Otis caught sight of a dull red stain on the floor just by the fireplace,
and, quite unconscious of what it really signified, said to Mrs. Umney, "I
am afraid something has been spilt there."
"Yes,
madam," replied the old housekeeper in a low voice, "blood has been
spilt on that spot."
"BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED ON THAT
SPOT"
"How
horrid!" cried Mrs. Otis; "I don't at all care for blood-stains in a
sitting-room. It must be removed at once."
The
old woman smiled, and answered in the same low, mysterious voice, "It is
the blood of Lady Eleanore de Canterville, who was murdered on that very spot
by her own husband, Sir Simon de Canterville, in 1575. Sir Simon survived her
nine years, and disappeared suddenly under very mysterious circumstances. His
body has never been discovered, but his guilty spirit still haunts the Chase.
The blood-stain has been much admired by tourists and others, and cannot be
removed."
"That
is all nonsense," cried Washington Otis; "Pinkerton's Champion Stain
Remover and Paragon Detergent will clean it up in no time," and before the
terrified housekeeper could interfere, he had fallen upon his knees, and was
rapidly scouring the floor with a small stick of what looked like a black
cosmetic. In a few moments no trace of the blood-stain could be seen.
"I
knew Pinkerton would do it," he exclaimed, triumphantly, as he looked
round at his admiring family; but no sooner had he said these words than a
terrible flash of lightning lit up the sombre room, a fearful peal of thunder
made them all start to their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.
"What
a monstrous climate!" said the American Minister, calmly, as he lit a long
cheroot. "I guess the old country is so overpopulated that they have not
enough decent weather for everybody. I have always been of opinion that
emigration is the only thing for England."
"My
dear Hiram," cried Mrs. Otis, "what can we do with a woman who
faints?"
"Charge
it to her like breakages," answered the Minister; "she won't faint
after that;" and in a few moments Mrs. Umney certainly came to. There was
no doubt, however, that she was extremely upset, and she sternly warned Mr.
Otis to beware of some trouble coming to the house.
"I
have seen things with my own eyes, sir," she said, "that would make
any Christian's hair stand on end, and many and many a night I have not closed
my eyes in sleep for the awful things that are done here." Mr. Otis,
however, and his wife warmly assured the honest soul that they were not afraid
of ghosts, and, after invoking the blessings of Providence on her new master
and mistress, and making arrangements for an increase of salary, the old
housekeeper tottered off to her own room.
The
storm raged fiercely all that night, but nothing of particular note occurred.
The next morning, however, when they came down to breakfast, they found the
terrible stain of blood once again on the floor. "I don't think it can be
the fault of the Paragon Detergent," said Washington, "for I have
tried it with everything. It must be the ghost." He accordingly rubbed out
the stain a second time, but the second morning it appeared again. The third
morning also it was there, though the library had been locked up at night by
Mr. Otis himself, and the key carried up-stairs. The whole family were now
quite interested; Mr. Otis began to suspect that he had been too dogmatic in
his denial of the existence of ghosts, Mrs. Otis expressed her intention of
joining the Psychical Society, and Washington prepared a long letter to Messrs.
Myers and Podmore on the subject of the Permanence of Sanguineous Stains when
connected with Crime. That night all doubts about the objective existence of
phantasmata were removed forever.
The
day had been warm and sunny; and, in the cool of the evening, the whole family
went out to drive. They did not return home till nine o'clock, when they had a
light supper. The conversation in no way turned upon ghosts, so there were not
even those primary conditions of receptive expectations which so often precede
the presentation of psychical phenomena. The subjects discussed, as I have
since learned from Mr. Otis, were merely such as form the ordinary conversation
of cultured Americans of the better class, such as the immense superiority of
Miss Fanny Devonport over Sarah Bernhardt as an actress; the difficulty of
obtaining green corn, buckwheat cakes, and hominy, even in the best English
houses; the importance of Boston in the development of the world-soul; the
advantages of the baggage-check system in railway travelling; and the sweetness
of the New York accent as compared to the London drawl. No mention at all was
made of the supernatural, nor was Sir Simon de Canterville alluded to in any
way. At eleven o'clock the family retired, and by half-past all the lights were
out. Sometime after, Mr. Otis was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor,
outside his room. It sounded like the clank of metal, and seemed to be coming
nearer every moment. He got up at once, struck a match, and looked at the time.
It was exactly one o'clock. He was quite calm, and felt his pulse, which was
not at all feverish. The strange noise still continued, and with it he heard
distinctly the sound of footsteps. He put on his slippers, took a small oblong
phial out of his dressing-case, and opened the door. Right in front of him he
saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red
burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his
garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his
wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves.
"My
dear sir," said Mr. Otis, "I really must insist on your oiling those
chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of the Tammany
Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious upon one
application, and there are several testimonials to that effect on the wrapper
from some of our most eminent native divines. I shall leave it here for you by
the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more, should you
require it." With these words the United States Minister laid the bottle
down on a marble table, and, closing his door, retired to rest.
"I
REALLY MUST INSIST ON YOUR OILING THOSE CHAINS"
For
a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation;
then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor, he fled down the
corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a ghastly green light. Just,
however, as he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a door was flung
open, two little white-robed figures appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past
his head! There was evidently no time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the
Fourth dimension of Space as a means of escape, he vanished through the
wainscoting, and the house became quite quiet.
On
reaching a small secret chamber in the left wing, he leaned up against a
moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realize his position.
Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred years, had he
been so grossly insulted. He thought of the Dowager Duchess, whom he had frightened
into a fit as she stood before the glass in her lace and diamonds; of the four
housemaids, who had gone into hysterics when he merely grinned at them through
the curtains on one of the spare bedrooms; of the rector of the parish, whose
candle he had blown out as he was coming late one night from the library, and
who had been under the care of Sir William Gull ever since, a perfect martyr to
nervous disorders; and of old Madame de Tremouillac, who, having wakened up one
morning early and seen a skeleton seated in an armchair by the fire reading her
diary, had been confined to her bed for six weeks with an attack of brain
fever, and, on her recovery, had become reconciled to the Church, and broken
off her connection with that notorious sceptic, Monsieur de Voltaire. He
remembered the terrible night when the wicked Lord Canterville was found
choking in his dressing-room, with the knave of diamonds half-way down his
throat, and confessed, just before he died, that he had cheated Charles James
Fox out of £50,000 at Crockford's by means of that very card, and swore that
the ghost had made him swallow it. All his great achievements came back to him
again, from the butler who had shot himself in the pantry because he had seen a
green hand tapping at the window-pane, to the beautiful Lady Stutfield, who was
always obliged to wear a black velvet band round her throat to hide the mark of
five fingers burnt upon her white skin, and who drowned herself at last in the
carp-pond at the end of the King's Walk. With the enthusiastic egotism of the
true artist, he went over his most celebrated performances, and smiled bitterly
to himself as he recalled to mind his last appearance as "Red Reuben, or
the Strangled Babe," his début as "Guant Gibeon, the
Blood-sucker of Bexley Moor," and the furore he had excited one
lovely June evening by merely playing ninepins with his own bones upon the
lawn-tennis ground. And after all this some wretched modern Americans were to
come and offer him the Rising Sun Lubricator, and throw pillows at his head! It
was quite unbearable. Besides, no ghost in history had ever been treated in
this manner. Accordingly, he determined to have vengeance, and remained till
daylight in an attitude of deep thought.
The
next morning, when the Otis family met at breakfast, they discussed the ghost
at some length. The United States Minister was naturally a little annoyed to
find that his present had not been accepted. "I have no wish," he
said, "to do the ghost any personal injury, and I must say that,
considering the length of time he has been in the house, I don't think it is at
all polite to throw pillows at him,"—a very just remark, at which, I am
sorry to say, the twins burst into shouts of laughter. "Upon the other
hand," he continued, "if he really declines to use the Rising Sun
Lubricator, we shall have to take his chains from him. It would be quite
impossible to sleep, with such a noise going on outside the bedrooms."
For
the rest of the week, however, they were undisturbed, the only thing that
excited any attention being the continual renewal of the blood-stain on the
library floor. This certainly was very strange, as the door was always locked
at night by Mr. Otis, and the windows kept closely barred. The chameleon-like
colour, also, of the stain excited a good deal of comment. Some mornings it was
a dull (almost Indian) red, then it would be vermilion, then a rich purple, and
once when they came down for family prayers, according to the simple rites of
the Free American Reformed Episcopalian Church, they found it a bright
emerald-green. These kaleidoscopic changes naturally amused the party very
much, and bets on the subject were freely made every evening. The only person
who did not enter into the joke was little Virginia, who, for some unexplained
reason, was always a good deal distressed at the sight of the blood-stain, and
very nearly cried the morning it was emerald-green.
The
second appearance of the ghost was on Sunday night. Shortly after they had gone
to bed they were suddenly alarmed by a fearful crash in the hall. Rushing
down-stairs, they found that a large suit of old armour had become detached
from its stand, and had fallen on the stone floor, while seated in a
high-backed chair was the Canterville ghost, rubbing his knees with an
expression of acute agony on his face. The twins, having brought their
pea-shooters with them, at once discharged two pellets on him, with that
accuracy of aim which can only be attained by long and careful practice on a writing-master,
while the United States Minister covered him with his revolver, and called upon
him, in accordance with Californian etiquette, to hold up his hands! The ghost
started up with a wild shriek of rage, and swept through them like a mist,
extinguishing Washington Otis's candle as he passed, and so leaving them all in
total darkness. On reaching the top of the staircase he recovered himself, and
determined to give his celebrated peal of demoniac laughter. This he had on
more than one occasion found extremely useful. It was said to have turned Lord
Raker's wig grey in a single night, and had certainly made three of Lady
Canterville's French governesses give warning before their month was up. He
accordingly laughed his most horrible laugh, till the old vaulted roof rang and
rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door opened, and
Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. "I am afraid you are far
from well," she said, "and have brought you a bottle of Doctor Dobell's
tincture. If it is indigestion, you will find it a most excellent remedy."
The ghost glared at her in fury, and began at once to make preparations for
turning himself into a large black dog, an accomplishment for which he was
justly renowned, and to which the family doctor always attributed the permanent
idiocy of Lord Canterville's uncle, the Hon. Thomas Horton. The sound of
approaching footsteps, however, made him hesitate in his fell purpose, so he
contented himself with becoming faintly phosphorescent, and vanished with a
deep churchyard groan, just as the twins had come up to him.
"THE
TWINS ... AT ONCE DISCHARGED TWO PELLETS ON HIM"
On
reaching his room he entirely broke down, and became a prey to the most violent
agitation. The vulgarity of the twins, and the gross materialism of Mrs. Otis,
were naturally extremely annoying, but what really distressed him most was that
he had been unable to wear the suit of mail. He had hoped that even modern
Americans would be thrilled by the sight of a Spectre in armour, if for no more
sensible reason, at least out of respect for their natural poet Longfellow,
over whose graceful and attractive poetry he himself had whiled away many a
weary hour when the Cantervilles were up in town. Besides it was his own suit.
He had worn it with great success at the Kenilworth tournament, and had been
highly complimented on it by no less a person than the Virgin Queen herself.
Yet when he had put it on, he had been completely overpowered by the weight of
the huge breastplate and steel casque, and had fallen heavily on the stone
pavement, barking both his knees severely, and bruising the knuckles of his
right hand.
For
some days after this he was extremely ill, and hardly stirred out of his room
at all, except to keep the blood-stain in proper repair. However, by taking
great care of himself, he recovered, and resolved to make a third attempt to
frighten the United States Minister and his family. He selected Friday, August
17th, for his appearance, and spent most of that day in looking over his
wardrobe, ultimately deciding in favour of a large slouched hat with a red
feather, a winding-sheet frilled at the wrists and neck, and a rusty dagger.
Towards evening a violent storm of rain came on, and the wind was so high that
all the windows and doors in the old house shook and rattled. In fact, it was
just such weather as he loved. His plan of action was this. He was to make his
way quietly to Washington Otis's room, gibber at him from the foot of the bed,
and stab himself three times in the throat to the sound of low music. He bore
Washington a special grudge, being quite aware that it was he who was in the
habit of removing the famous Canterville blood-stain by means of Pinkerton's
Paragon Detergent. Having reduced the reckless and foolhardy youth to a
condition of abject terror, he was then to proceed to the room occupied by the
United States Minister and his wife, and there to place a clammy hand on Mrs.
Otis's forehead, while he hissed into her trembling husband's ear the awful
secrets of the charnel-house. With regard to little Virginia, he had not quite
made up his mind. She had never insulted him in any way, and was pretty and
gentle. A few hollow groans from the wardrobe, he thought, would be more than
sufficient, or, if that failed to wake her, he might grabble at the counterpane
with palsy-twitching fingers. As for the twins, he was quite determined to
teach them a lesson. The first thing to be done was, of course, to sit upon
their chests, so as to produce the stifling sensation of nightmare. Then, as
their beds were quite close to each other, to stand between them in the form of
a green, icy-cold corpse, till they became paralyzed with fear, and finally, to
throw off the winding-sheet, and crawl round the room, with white, bleached
bones and one rolling eyeball, in the character of "Dumb Daniel, or the
Suicide's Skeleton," a rôle in which he had on more than one
occasion produced a great effect, and which he considered quite equal to his
famous part of "Martin the Maniac, or the Masked Mystery."
"ITS
HEAD WAS BALD AND BURNISHED"
At
half-past ten he heard the family going to bed. For some time he was disturbed
by wild shrieks of laughter from the twins, who, with the light-hearted gaiety
of schoolboys, were evidently amusing themselves before they retired to rest,
but at a quarter-past eleven all was still, and, as midnight sounded, he
sallied forth. The owl beat against the window-panes, the raven croaked from
the old yew-tree, and the wind wandered moaning round the house like a lost
soul; but the Otis family slept unconscious of their doom, and high above the
rain and storm he could hear the steady snoring of the Minister for the United
States. He stepped stealthily out of the wainscoting, with an evil smile on his
cruel, wrinkled mouth, and the moon hid her face in a cloud as he stole past
the great oriel window, where his own arms and those of his murdered wife were
blazoned in azure and gold. On and on he glided, like an evil shadow, the very
darkness seeming to loathe him as he passed. Once he thought he heard something
call, and stopped; but it was only the baying of a dog from the Red Farm, and
he went on, muttering strange sixteenth-century curses, and ever and anon
brandishing the rusty dagger in the midnight air. Finally he reached the corner
of the passage that led to luckless Washington's room. For a moment he paused
there, the wind blowing his long grey locks about his head, and twisting into
grotesque and fantastic folds the nameless horror of the dead man's shroud.
Then the clock struck the quarter, and he felt the time was come. He chuckled
to himself, and turned the corner; but no sooner had he done so than, with a
piteous wail of terror, he fell back, and hid his blanched face in his long,
bony hands. Right in front of him was standing a horrible spectre, motionless
as a carven image, and monstrous as a madman's dream! Its head was bald and
burnished; its face round, and fat, and white; and hideous laughter seemed to
have writhed its features into an eternal grin. From the eyes streamed rays of
scarlet light, the mouth was a wide well of fire, and a hideous garment, like
to his own, swathed with its silent snows the Titan form. On its breast was a
placard with strange writing in antique characters, some scroll of shame it
seemed, some record of wild sins, some awful calendar of crime, and, with its
right hand, it bore aloft a falchion of gleaming steel.
Never
having seen a ghost before, he naturally was terribly frightened, and, after a
second hasty glance at the awful phantom, he fled back to his room, tripping up
in his long winding-sheet as he sped down the corridor, and finally dropping
the rusty dagger into the Minister's jack-boots, where it was found in the
morning by the butler. Once in the privacy of his own apartment, he flung
himself down on a small pallet-bed, and hid his face under the clothes. After a
time, however, the brave old Canterville spirit asserted itself, and he
determined to go and speak to the other ghost as soon as it was daylight.
Accordingly, just as the dawn was touching the hills with silver, he returned
towards the spot where he had first laid eyes on the grisly phantom, feeling
that, after all, two ghosts were better than one, and that, by the aid of his
new friend, he might safely grapple with the twins. On reaching the spot,
however, a terrible sight met his gaze. Something had evidently happened to the
spectre, for the light had entirely faded from its hollow eyes, the gleaming
falchion had fallen from its hand, and it was leaning up against the wall in a
strained and uncomfortable attitude. He rushed forward and seized it in his
arms, when, to his horror, the head slipped off and rolled on the floor, the
body assumed a recumbent posture, and he found himself clasping a white dimity
bed-curtain, with a sweeping-brush, a kitchen cleaver, and a hollow turnip
lying at his feet! Unable to understand this curious transformation, he
clutched the placard with feverish haste, and there, in the grey morning light,
he read these fearful words:—
YE OTIS GHOSTE
Ye Onlie True and Originale Spook,
Beware of Ye Imitationes.
All others are counterfeite.
Ye Onlie True and Originale Spook,
Beware of Ye Imitationes.
All others are counterfeite.
The whole thing
flashed across him. He had been tricked, foiled, and out-witted! The old
Canterville look came into his eyes; he ground his toothless gums together;
and, raising his withered hands high above his head, swore according to the
picturesque phraseology of the antique school, that, when Chanticleer had
sounded twice his merry horn, deeds of blood would be wrought, and murder walk
abroad with silent feet.
Hardly
had he finished this awful oath when, from the red-tiled roof of a distant
homestead, a cock crew. He laughed a long, low, bitter laugh, and waited. Hour
after hour he waited, but the cock, for some strange reason, did not crow
again. Finally, at half-past seven, the arrival of the housemaids made him give
up his fearful vigil, and he stalked back to his room, thinking of his vain
oath and baffled purpose. There he consulted several books of ancient chivalry,
of which he was exceedingly fond, and found that, on every occasion on which
this oath had been used, Chanticleer had always crowed a second time.
"Perdition seize the naughty fowl," he muttered, "I have seen
the day when, with my stout spear, I would have run him through the gorge, and
made him crow for me an 'twere in death!" He then retired to a comfortable
lead coffin, and stayed there till evening.
IV
"HE
MET WITH A SEVERE FALL"
The
next day the ghost was very weak and tired. The terrible excitement of the last
four weeks was beginning to have its effect. His nerves were completely
shattered, and he started at the slightest noise. For five days he kept his
room, and at last made up his mind to give up the point of the blood-stain on
the library floor. If the Otis family did not want it, they clearly did not
deserve it. They were evidently people on a low, material plane of existence,
and quite incapable of appreciating the symbolic value of sensuous phenomena.
The question of phantasmic apparitions, and the development of astral bodies,
was of course quite a different matter, and really not under his control. It
was his solemn duty to appear in the corridor once a week, and to gibber from
the large oriel window on the first and third Wednesdays in every month, and he
did not see how he could honourably escape from his obligations. It is quite
true that his life had been very evil, but, upon the other hand, he was most
conscientious in all things connected with the supernatural. For the next three
Saturdays, accordingly, he traversed the corridor as usual between midnight and
three o'clock, taking every possible precaution against being either heard or
seen. He removed his boots, trod as lightly as possible on the old worm-eaten
boards, wore a large black velvet cloak, and was careful to use the Rising Sun
Lubricator for oiling his chains. I am bound to acknowledge that it was with a
good deal of difficulty that he brought himself to adopt this last mode of
protection. However, one night, while the family were at dinner, he slipped
into Mr. Otis's bedroom and carried off the bottle. He felt a little humiliated
at first, but afterwards was sensible enough to see that there was a great deal
to be said for the invention, and, to a certain degree, it served his purpose.
Still in spite of everything he was not left unmolested. Strings were
continually being stretched across the corridor, over which he tripped in the
dark, and on one occasion, while dressed for the part of "Black Isaac, or
the Huntsman of Hogley Woods," he met with a severe fall, through treading
on a butter-slide, which the twins had constructed from the entrance of the
Tapestry Chamber to the top of the oak staircase. This last insult so enraged
him, that he resolved to make one final effort to assert his dignity and social
position, and determined to visit the insolent young Etonians the next night in
his celebrated character of "Reckless Rupert, or the Headless Earl."
"A
HEAVY JUG OF WATER FELL RIGHT DOWN ON HIM."
He
had not appeared in this disguise for more than seventy years; in fact, not
since he had so frightened pretty Lady Barbara Modish by means of it, that she
suddenly broke off her engagement with the present Lord Canterville's
grandfather, and ran away to Gretna Green with handsome Jack Castletown,
declaring that nothing in the world would induce her to marry into a family
that allowed such a horrible phantom to walk up and down the terrace at
twilight. Poor Jack was afterwards shot in a duel by Lord Canterville on
Wandsworth Common, and Lady Barbara died of a broken heart at Tunbridge Wells
before the year was out, so, in every way, it had been a great success. It was,
however an extremely difficult "make-up," if I may use such a
theatrical expression in connection with one of the greatest mysteries of the
supernatural, or, to employ a more scientific term, the higher-natural world,
and it took him fully three hours to make his preparations. At last everything
was ready, and he was very pleased with his appearance. The big leather
riding-boots that went with the dress were just a little too large for him, and
he could only find one of the two horse-pistols, but, on the whole, he was
quite satisfied, and at a quarter-past one he glided out of the wainscoting and
crept down the corridor. On reaching the room occupied by the twins, which I
should mention was called the Blue Bed Chamber, on account of the colour of its
hangings, he found the door just ajar. Wishing to make an effective entrance,
he flung it wide open, when a heavy jug of water fell right down on him,
wetting him to the skin, and just missing his left shoulder by a couple of
inches. At the same moment he heard stifled shrieks of laughter proceeding from
the four-post bed. The shock to his nervous system was so great that he fled
back to his room as hard as he could go, and the next day he was laid up with a
severe cold. The only thing that at all consoled him in the whole affair was
the fact that he had not brought his head with him, for, had he done so, the
consequences might have been very serious.
"MAKING
SATIRICAL REMARKS ON THE PHOTOGRAPHS"
He
now gave up all hope of ever frightening this rude American family, and
contented himself, as a rule, with creeping about the passages in list
slippers, with a thick red muffler round his throat for fear of draughts, and a
small arquebuse, in case he should be attacked by the twins. The final blow he
received occurred on the 19th of September. He had gone down-stairs to the
great entrance-hall, feeling sure that there, at any rate, he would be quite
unmolested, and was amusing himself by making satirical remarks on the large
Saroni photographs of the United States Minister and his wife which had now
taken the place of the Canterville family pictures. He was simply but neatly
clad in a long shroud, spotted with churchyard mould, had tied up his jaw with a
strip of yellow linen, and carried a small lantern and a sexton's spade. In
fact, he was dressed for the character of "Jonas the Graveless, or the
Corpse-Snatcher of Chertsey Barn," one of his most remarkable
impersonations, and one which the Cantervilles had every reason to remember, as
it was the real origin of their quarrel with their neighbour, Lord Rufford. It
was about a quarter-past two o'clock in the morning, and, as far as he could
ascertain, no one was stirring. As he was strolling towards the library,
however, to see if there were any traces left of the blood-stain, suddenly
there leaped out on him from a dark corner two figures, who waved their arms
wildly above their heads, and shrieked out "BOO!" in his ear.
"SUDDENLY
THERE LEAPED OUT TWO FIGURES."
Seized
with a panic, which, under the circumstances, was only natural, he rushed for
the staircase, but found Washington Otis waiting for him there with the big
garden-syringe, and being thus hemmed in by his enemies on every side, and
driven almost to bay, he vanished into the great iron stove, which, fortunately
for him, was not lit, and had to make his way home through the flues and
chimneys, arriving at his own room in a terrible state of dirt, disorder, and
despair.
After
this he was not seen again on any nocturnal expedition. The twins lay in wait
for him on several occasions, and strewed the passages with nutshells every
night to the great annoyance of their parents and the servants, but it was of
no avail. It was quite evident that his feelings were so wounded that he would
not appear. Mr. Otis consequently resumed his great work on the history of the
Democratic Party, on which he had been engaged for some years; Mrs. Otis
organized a wonderful clam-bake, which amazed the whole county; the boys took
to lacrosse euchre, poker, and other American national games, and Virginia rode
about the lanes on her pony, accompanied by the young Duke of Cheshire, who had
come to spend the last week of his holidays at Canterville Chase. It was
generally assumed that the ghost had gone away, and, in fact, Mr. Otis wrote a
letter to that effect to Lord Canterville, who, in reply, expressed his great
pleasure at the news, and sent his best congratulations to the Minister's
worthy wife.
The
Otises, however, were deceived, for the ghost was still in the house, and
though now almost an invalid, was by no means ready to let matters rest,
particularly as he heard that among the guests was the young Duke of Cheshire,
whose grand-uncle, Lord Francis Stilton, had once bet a hundred guineas with
Colonel Carbury that he would play dice with the Canterville ghost, and was
found the next morning lying on the floor of the card-room in such a helpless
paralytic state that, though he lived on to a great age, he was never able to say
anything again but "Double Sixes." The story was well known at the
time, though, of course, out of respect to the feelings of the two noble
families, every attempt was made to hush it up, and a full account of all the
circumstances connected with it will be found in the third volume of Lord
Tattle'sRecollections of the Prince Regent and his Friends. The ghost,
then, was naturally very anxious to show that he had not lost his influence
over the Stiltons, with whom, indeed, he was distantly connected, his own first
cousin having been married en secondes noces to the Sieur de Bulkeley,
from whom, as every one knows, the Dukes of Cheshire are lineally descended.
Accordingly, he made arrangements for appearing to Virginia's little lover in
his celebrated impersonation of "The Vampire Monk, or the Bloodless
Benedictine," a performance so horrible that when old Lady Startup saw it,
which she did on one fatal New Year's Eve, in the year 1764, she went off into
the most piercing shrieks, which culminated in violent apoplexy, and died in
three days, after disinheriting the Cantervilles, who were her nearest
relations, and leaving all her money to her London apothecary. At the last
moment, however, his terror of the twins prevented his leaving his room, and
the little Duke slept in peace under the great feathered canopy in the Royal
Bedchamber, and dreamed of Virginia.
A
few days after this, Virginia and her curly-haired cavalier went out riding on
Brockley meadows, where she tore her habit so badly in getting through a hedge
that, on their return home, she made up her mind to go up by the back staircase
so as not to be seen. As she was running past the Tapestry Chamber, the door of
which happened to be open, she fancied she saw some one inside, and thinking it
was her mother's maid, who sometimes used to bring her work there, looked in to
ask her to mend her habit. To her immense surprise, however, it was the
Canterville Ghost himself! He was sitting by the window, watching the ruined
gold of the yellowing trees fly through the air, and the red leaves dancing
madly down the long avenue. His head was leaning on his hand, and his whole
attitude was one of extreme depression. Indeed, so forlorn, and so much out of
repair did he look, that little Virginia, whose first idea had been to run away
and lock herself in her room, was filled with pity, and determined to try and
comfort him. So light was her footfall, and so deep his melancholy, that he was
not aware of her presence till she spoke to him.
"I
am so sorry for you," she said, "but my brothers are going back to
Eton to-morrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy you."
"It
is absurd asking me to behave myself," he answered, looking round in
astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him,
"quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and
walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for
existing."
"It
is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very wicked. Mrs.
Umney told us, the first day we arrived here, that you had killed your
wife."
"Well,
I quite admit it," said the Ghost, petulantly, "but it was a purely
family matter, and concerned no one else."
"It
is very wrong to kill any one," said Virginia, who at times had a sweet
puritan gravity, caught from some old New England ancestor.
"Oh,
I hate the cheap severity of abstract ethics! My wife was very plain, never had
my ruffs properly starched, and knew nothing about cookery. Why, there was a
buck I had shot in Hogley Woods, a magnificent pricket, and do you know how she
had it sent to table? However, it is no matter now, for it is all over, and I
don't think it was very nice of her brothers to starve me to death, though I
did kill her."
"Starve
you to death? Oh, Mr. Ghost—I mean Sir Simon, are you hungry? I have a sandwich
in my case. Would you like it?"
"No,
thank you, I never eat anything now; but it is very kind of you, all the same,
and you are much nicer than the rest of your horrid, rude, vulgar, dishonest
family."
"Stop!"
cried Virginia, stamping her foot, "it is you who are rude, and horrid,
and vulgar, and as for dishonesty, you know you stole the paints out of my box
to try and furbish up that ridiculous blood-stain in the library. First you
took all my reds, including the vermilion, and I couldn't do any more sunsets,
then you took the emerald-green and the chrome-yellow, and finally I had
nothing left but indigo and Chinese white, and could only do moonlight scenes,
which are always depressing to look at, and not at all easy to paint. I never
told on you, though I was very much annoyed, and it was most ridiculous, the
whole thing; for who ever heard of emerald-green blood?"
"Well,
really," said the Ghost, rather meekly, "what was I to do? It is a
very difficult thing to get real blood nowadays, and, as your brother began it
all with his Paragon Detergent, I certainly saw no reason why I should not have
your paints. As for colour, that is always a matter of taste: the Cantervilles
have blue blood, for instance, the very bluest in England; but I know you
Americans don't care for things of this kind."
"You
know nothing about it, and the best thing you can do is to emigrate and improve
your mind. My father will be only too happy to give you a free passage, and
though there is a heavy duty on spirits of every kind, there will be no
difficulty about the Custom House, as the officers are all Democrats. Once in
New York, you are sure to be a great success. I know lots of people there who
would give a hundred thousand dollars to have a grandfather, and much more than
that to have a family ghost."
"I
don't think I should like America."
"I
suppose because we have no ruins and no curiosities," said Virginia,
satirically.
"No
ruins! no curiosities!" answered the Ghost; "you have your navy and
your manners."
"Good
evening; I will go and ask papa to get the twins an extra week's holiday."
"Please
don't go, Miss Virginia," he cried; "I am so lonely and so unhappy,
and I really don't know what to do. I want to go to sleep and I cannot."
"That's
quite absurd! You have merely to go to bed and blow out the candle. It is very
difficult sometimes to keep awake, especially at church, but there is no
difficulty at all about sleeping. Why, even babies know how to do that, and
they are not very clever."
"I
have not slept for three hundred years," he said sadly, and Virginia's
beautiful blue eyes opened in wonder; "for three hundred years I have not
slept, and I am so tired."
Virginia
grew quite grave, and her little lips trembled like rose-leaves. She came
towards him, and kneeling down at his side, looked up into his old withered
face.
"Poor,
poor Ghost," she murmured; "have you no place where you can
sleep?"
"'POOR,
POOR GHOST,' SHE MURMURED; 'HAVE YOU NO PLACE WHERE YOU CAN SLEEP?'"
"Far
away beyond the pine-woods," he answered, in a low, dreamy voice,
"there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are
the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all
night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal moon looks down, and
the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers."
Virginia's
eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.
"You
mean the Garden of Death," she whispered.
"Yes,
death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the
grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday,
and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help
me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with
you, and love is stronger than death is."
Virginia
trembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few moments there was
silence. She felt as if she was in a terrible dream.
Then
the ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighing of the wind.
"Have
you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?"
"Oh,
often," cried the little girl, looking up; "I know it quite well. It
is painted in curious black letters, and is difficult to read. There are only
six lines:
"'When
a golden girl can win
Prayer
from out the lips of sin,
When
the barren almond bears,
And
a little child gives away its tears,
Then
shall all the house be still
And
peace come to Canterville.'
But I don't know what
they mean."
"They
mean," he said, sadly, "that you must weep with me for my sins,
because I have no tears, and pray with me for my soul, because I have no faith,
and then, if you have always been sweet, and good, and gentle, the angel of
death will have mercy on me. You will see fearful shapes in darkness, and
wicked voices will whisper in your ear, but they will not harm you, for against
the purity of a little child the powers of Hell cannot prevail."
Virginia
made no answer, and the ghost wrung his hands in wild despair as he looked down
at her bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very pale, and with a strange
light in her eyes. "I am not afraid," she said firmly, "and I
will ask the angel to have mercy on you."
He
rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent over it
with old-fashioned grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold as ice, and
his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not falter, as he led her across
the dusky room. On the faded green tapestry were broidered little huntsmen.
They blew their tasselled horns and with their tiny hands waved to her to go
back. "Go back! little Virginia," they cried, "go back!"
but the ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her eyes against
them. Horrible animals with lizard tails and goggle eyes blinked at her from
the carven chimneypiece, and murmured, "Beware! little Virginia, beware!
we may never see you again," but the Ghost glided on more swiftly, and
Virginia did not listen. When they reached the end of the room he stopped, and
muttered some words she could not understand. She opened her eyes, and saw the
wall slowly fading away like a mist, and a great black cavern in front of her.
A bitter cold wind swept round them, and she felt something pulling at her
dress. "Quick, quick," cried the Ghost, "or it will be too
late," and in a moment the wainscoting had closed behind them, and the
Tapestry Chamber was empty.
"THE
GHOST GLIDED ON MORE SWIFTLY"
About
ten minutes later, the bell rang for tea, and, as Virginia did not come down,
Mrs. Otis sent up one of the footmen to tell her. After a little time he
returned and said that he could not find Miss Virginia anywhere. As she was in
the habit of going out to the garden every evening to get flowers for the
dinner-table, Mrs. Otis was not at all alarmed at first, but when six o'clock
struck, and Virginia did not appear, she became really agitated, and sent the
boys out to look for her, while she herself and Mr. Otis searched every room in
the house. At half-past six the boys came back and said that they could find no
trace of their sister anywhere. They were all now in the greatest state of
excitement, and did not know what to do, when Mr. Otis suddenly remembered
that, some few days before, he had given a band of gipsies permission to camp
in the park. He accordingly at once set off for Blackfell Hollow, where he knew
they were, accompanied by his eldest son and two of the farm-servants. The
little Duke of Cheshire, who was perfectly frantic with anxiety, begged hard to
be allowed to go too, but Mr. Otis would not allow him, as he was afraid there
might be a scuffle. On arriving at the spot, however, he found that the gipsies
had gone, and it was evident that their departure had been rather sudden, as
the fire was still burning, and some plates were lying on the grass. Having
sent off Washington and the two men to scour the district, he ran home, and
despatched telegrams to all the police inspectors in the county, telling them
to look out for a little girl who had been kidnapped by tramps or gipsies. He
then ordered his horse to be brought round, and, after insisting on his wife
and the three boys sitting down to dinner, rode off down the Ascot road with a
groom. He had hardly, however, gone a couple of miles, when he heard somebody
galloping after him, and, looking round, saw the little Duke coming up on his
pony, with his face very flushed, and no hat. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr.
Otis," gasped out the boy, "but I can't eat any dinner as long as
Virginia is lost. Please don't be angry with me; if you had let us be engaged
last year, there would never have been all this trouble. You won't send me
back, will you? I can't go! I won't go!"
"HE
HEARD SOMEBODY GALLOPING AFTER HIM"
The
Minister could not help smiling at the handsome young scapegrace, and was a
good deal touched at his devotion to Virginia, so leaning down from his horse,
he patted him kindly on the shoulders, and said, "Well, Cecil, if you
won't go back, I suppose you must come with me, but I must get you a hat at
Ascot."
"OUT
ON THE LANDING STEPPED VIRGINIA"
"Oh,
bother my hat! I want Virginia!" cried the little Duke, laughing, and they
galloped on to the railway station. There Mr. Otis inquired of the
station-master if any one answering to the description of Virginia had been
seen on the platform, but could get no news of her. The station-master,
however, wired up and down the line, and assured him that a strict watch would
be kept for her, and, after having bought a hat for the little Duke from a
linen-draper, who was just putting up his shutters, Mr. Otis rode off to
Bexley, a village about four miles away, which he was told was a well-known
haunt of the gipsies, as there was a large common next to it. Here they roused
up the rural policeman, but could get no information from him, and, after
riding all over the common, they turned their horses' heads homewards, and
reached the Chase about eleven o'clock, dead-tired and almost heart-broken.
They found Washington and the twins waiting for them at the gate-house with
lanterns, as the avenue was very dark. Not the slightest trace of Virginia had
been discovered. The gipsies had been caught on Brockley meadows, but she was
not with them, and they had explained their sudden departure by saying that
they had mistaken the date of Chorton Fair, and had gone off in a hurry for
fear they should be late. Indeed, they had been quite distressed at hearing of
Virginia's disappearance, as they were very grateful to Mr. Otis for having
allowed them to camp in his park, and four of their number had stayed behind to
help in the search. The carp-pond had been dragged, and the whole Chase
thoroughly gone over, but without any result. It was evident that, for that
night at any rate, Virginia was lost to them; and it was in a state of the
deepest depression that Mr. Otis and the boys walked up to the house, the groom
following behind with the two horses and the pony. In the hall they found a
group of frightened servants, and lying on a sofa in the library was poor Mrs.
Otis, almost out of her mind with terror and anxiety, and having her forehead
bathed with eau de cologne by the old housekeeper. Mr. Otis at once insisted on
her having something to eat, and ordered up supper for the whole party. It was
a melancholy meal, as hardly any one spoke, and even the twins were awestruck
and subdued, as they were very fond of their sister. When they had finished,
Mr. Otis, in spite of the entreaties of the little Duke, ordered them all to
bed, saying that nothing more could be done that night, and that he would
telegraph in the morning to Scotland Yard for some detectives to be sent down
immediately. Just as they were passing out of the dining-room, midnight began
to boom from the clock tower, and when the last stroke sounded they heard a
crash and a sudden shrill cry; a dreadful peal of thunder shook the house, a
strain of unearthly music floated through the air, a panel at the top of the
staircase flew back with a loud noise, and out on the landing, looking very
pale and white, with a little casket in her hand, stepped Virginia. In a moment
they had all rushed up to her. Mrs. Otis clasped her passionately in her arms,
the Duke smothered her with violent kisses, and the twins executed a wild
war-dance round the group.
"Good
heavens! child, where have you been?" said Mr. Otis, rather angrily,
thinking that she had been playing some foolish trick on them. "Cecil and
I have been riding all over the country looking for you, and your mother has
been frightened to death. You must never play these practical jokes any
more."
"Except
on the Ghost! except on the Ghost!" shrieked the twins, as they capered
about.
"My
own darling, thank God you are found; you must never leave my side again,"
murmured Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and smoothed the tangled
gold of her hair.
"Papa,"
said Virginia, quietly, "I have been with the Ghost. He is dead, and you
must come and see him. He had been very wicked, but he was really sorry for all
that he had done, and he gave me this box of beautiful jewels before he
died."
The
whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, but she was quite grave and
serious; and, turning round, she led them through the opening in the
wainscoting down a narrow secret corridor, Washington following with a lighted
candle, which he had caught up from the table. Finally, they came to a great
oak door, studded with rusty nails. When Virginia touched it, it swung back on
its heavy hinges, and they found themselves in a little low room, with a
vaulted ceiling, and one tiny grated window. Imbedded in the wall was a huge
iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton, that was stretched out at
full length on the stone floor, and seemed to be trying to grasp with its long
fleshless fingers an old-fashioned trencher and ewer, that were placed just out
of its reach. The jug had evidently been once filled with water, as it was
covered inside with green mould. There was nothing on the trencher but a pile
of dust. Virginia knelt down beside the skeleton, and, folding her little hands
together, began to pray silently, while the rest of the party looked on in
wonder at the terrible tragedy whose secret was now disclosed to them.
"CHAINED
TO IT WAS A GAUNT SKELETON"
"Hallo!"
suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, who had been looking out of the window to
try and discover in what wing of the house the room was situated. "Hallo!
the old withered almond-tree has blossomed. I can see the flowers quite plainly
in the moonlight."
"God
has forgiven him," said Virginia, gravely, as she rose to her feet, and a
beautiful light seemed to illumine her face.
"What
an angel you are!" cried the young Duke, and he put his arm round her
neck, and kissed her.
"BY THE SIDE OF THE HEARSE AND THE
COACHES WALKED THE SERVANTS WITH LIGHTED TORCHES"
Four
days after these curious incidents, a funeral started from Canterville Chase at
about eleven o'clock at night. The hearse was drawn by eight black horses, each
of which carried on its head a great tuft of nodding ostrich-plumes, and the
leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple pall, on which was embroidered in
gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By the side of the hearse and the coaches
walked the servants with lighted torches, and the whole procession was
wonderfully impressive. Lord Canterville was the chief mourner, having come up
specially from Wales to attend the funeral, and sat in the first carriage along
with little Virginia. Then came the United States Minister and his wife, then
Washington and the three boys, and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It was
generally felt that, as she had been frightened by the ghost for more than
fifty years of her life, she had a right to see the last of him. A deep grave
had been dug in the corner of the churchyard, just under the old yew-tree, and
the service was read in the most impressive manner by the Rev. Augustus Dampier.
When the ceremony was over, the servants, according to an old custom observed
in the Canterville family, extinguished their torches, and, as the coffin was
being lowered into the grave, Virginia stepped forward, and laid on it a large
cross made of white and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so, the moon came out
from behind a cloud, and flooded with its silent silver the little churchyard,
and from a distant copse a nightingale began to sing. She thought of the
ghost's description of the Garden of Death, her eyes became dim with tears, and
she hardly spoke a word during the drive home.
"THE
MOON CAME OUT FROM BEHIND A CLOUD"
The
next morning, before Lord Canterville went up to town, Mr. Otis had an
interview with him on the subject of the jewels the ghost had given to
Virginia. They were perfectly magnificent, especially a certain ruby necklace
with old Venetian setting, which was really a superb specimen of
sixteenth-century work, and their value was so great that Mr. Otis felt
considerable scruples about allowing his daughter to accept them.
"My
lord," he said, "I know that in this country mortmain is held to
apply to trinkets as well as to land, and it is quite clear to me that these
jewels are, or should be, heirlooms in your family. I must beg you, accordingly,
to take them to London with you, and to regard them simply as a portion of your
property which has been restored to you under certain strange conditions. As
for my daughter, she is merely a child, and has as yet, I am glad to say, but
little interest in such appurtenances of idle luxury. I am also informed by
Mrs. Otis, who, I may say, is no mean authority upon Art,—having had the
privilege of spending several winters in Boston when she was a girl,—that these
gems are of great monetary worth, and if offered for sale would fetch a tall
price. Under these circumstances, Lord Canterville, I feel sure that you will
recognize how impossible it would be for me to allow them to remain in the
possession of any member of my family; and, indeed, all such vain gauds and
toys, however suitable or necessary to the dignity of the British aristocracy,
would be completely out of place among those who have been brought up on the
severe, and I believe immortal, principles of Republican simplicity. Perhaps I
should mention that Virginia is very anxious that you should allow her to
retain the box, as a memento of your unfortunate but misguided ancestor. As it
is extremely old, and consequently a good deal out of repair, you may perhaps
think fit to comply with her request. For my own part, I confess I am a good
deal surprised to find a child of mine expressing sympathy with mediævalism in
any form, and can only account for it by the fact that Virginia was born in one
of your London suburbs shortly after Mrs. Otis had returned from a trip to
Athens."
Lord
Canterville listened very gravely to the worthy Minister's speech, pulling his
grey moustache now and then to hide an involuntary smile, and when Mr. Otis had
ended, he shook him cordially by the hand, and said: "My dear sir, your
charming little daughter rendered my unlucky ancestor, Sir Simon, a very
important service, and I and my family are much indebted to her for her
marvellous courage and pluck. The jewels are clearly hers, and, egad, I believe
that if I were heartless enough to take them from her, the wicked old fellow
would be out of his grave in a fortnight, leading me the devil of a life. As
for their being heirlooms, nothing is an heirloom that is not so mentioned in a
will or legal document, and the existence of these jewels has been quite
unknown. I assure you I have no more claim on them than your butler, and when
Miss Virginia grows up, I dare say she will be pleased to have pretty things to
wear. Besides, you forget, Mr. Otis, that you took the furniture and the ghost
at a valuation, and anything that belonged to the ghost passed at once into
your possession, as, whatever activity Sir Simon may have shown in the corridor
at night, in point of law he was really dead, and you acquired his property by
purchase."
Mr.
Otis was a good deal distressed at Lord Canterville's refusal, and begged him
to reconsider his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite firm, and
finally induced the Minister to allow his daughter to retain the present the
ghost had given her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the young Duchess of
Cheshire was presented at the Queen's first drawing-room on the occasion of her
marriage, her jewels were the universal theme of admiration. For Virginia
received the coronet, which is the reward of all good little American girls,
and was married to her boy-lover as soon as he came of age. They were both so
charming, and they loved each other so much, that every one was delighted at
the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had tried to catch the
Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less than three
expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, and, strange to say, Mr. Otis
himself. Mr. Otis was extremely fond of the young Duke personally, but,
theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use his own words, "was not
without apprehension lest, amid the enervating influences of a pleasure-loving
aristocracy, the true principles of Republican simplicity should be
forgotten." His objections, however, were completely overruled, and I
believe that when he walked up the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, with
his daughter leaning on his arm, there was not a prouder man in the whole
length and breadth of England.
The
Duke and Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to Canterville Chase,
and on the day after their arrival they walked over in the afternoon to the
lonely churchyard by the pine-woods. There had been a great deal of difficulty
at first about the inscription on Sir Simon's tombstone, but finally it had been
decided to engrave on it simply the initials of the old gentleman's name, and
the verse from the library window. The Duchess had brought with her some lovely
roses, which she strewed upon the grave, and after they had stood by it for
some time they strolled into the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the
Duchess sat down on a fallen pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking
a cigarette and looking up at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw his
cigarette away, took hold of her hand, and said to her, "Virginia, a wife
should have no secrets from her husband."
"Dear
Cecil! I have no secrets from you."
"Yes,
you have," he answered, smiling, "you have never told me what
happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost."
"I
have never told any one, Cecil," said Virginia, gravely.
"I
know that, but you might tell me."
"Please
don't ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I owe him a great deal.
Yes, don't laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see what Life is, and what
Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both."
The
Duke rose and kissed his wife lovingly.
"You
can have your secret as long as I have your heart," he murmured.
"You
have always had that, Cecil."
"And
you will tell our children someday, won't you?"
Virginia
blushed.