Oscar Wilde. The Canterville Ghost
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Printed: Library of Congress, "TREASURES"; "The Canterville Ghost/ Oscar Wilde,
illustrated by Inga Moore, Candlewick Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. First U.S. edition 1997."
Typed by: Olga Staritsyna
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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 grand-aunt, the Dowager Duches 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 Duches, 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 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 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."
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 53rd 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,
will 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 Stars and Stripes," as they
were always getting swished. They were delightful boys, and with the
exception of the worthy Minister the only true republicans of the family.
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 pine-woods. 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 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 on 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."
"How horrid," cried Mrs. Otis; "I don't at all care for blood-stains in
a sitting room. It must be removed."
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 liked 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 over-populated 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 upstairs.
The whole family were now quite interested; Mr. Otis began to suspect that
he had been to 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 for ever.
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 expectation
which so often precede the presentation of psychical phenomena. The subjects
discussed, as I have since learned from Mr. Otis, were merely such a form
the ordinary conversation of cultured Americans of the better class, such as
the immense superiority of Miss Fanny Davenport over Sara 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. Some time 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.
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 realise his
position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred
years, has 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 off into hysterics when
he merely grinned at them through the curtains of one of the spare bedrooms;
of the rector of the parish, whose candle he has 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, in 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
L50,000 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
egoism 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 debut as "Gaunt
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 law-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 downstairs, 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 terrible 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 Dr. 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 sounds 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.
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 suite 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 national 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 suite. He had worn it with great
success at the Kenilworth tournament, and had been highly complimented on it
by no less 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 relsoved to make
a third attempt to frighten the United States Minister and his family. He
selected Friday, the 17th of August, for his appearance, and
spent most of that day in looking over his wardrobe, ultimately deciding in
favor of a large slouched hat with a red feather, a winding-sheet frilled at
the wrists and neck, and a rasty 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 slow 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
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
that 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
paralysed 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 role 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."
At half-past ten he heard the family going to bed. For some more 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 sailed 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 stealthy 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 chucked 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.
The whole thing flashed across him. He had been
tricked, foiled, and outwitted! 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 Chantecleer 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.
The next day the ghost was very weak and tired. The terrible excitement
of the last four weeks was beginig 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 Wednesday in every month, and he did not see how he could
honourably escape frim 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
Isaak, 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 assest
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."
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 Gretta Green with handsome Jack
Castleton, 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 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.
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
downstairs 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.
Seized with a panic, which, under the circumstances, was only natural,
he rushed for the staircase, but found Washington Otis waitnig 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 dispair.
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 organised a wonderful clam-bake, which
amazed the whole country; 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 decieved, 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's Recollections 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 beed 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 disinherting the Cantervilles, who were her
nearest relations, and leaving all her money to her London apothecary. At
the last moment, 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 Brockery 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 runnig 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 here, 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 tillshe 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 up 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 had killed 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 that 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
vermillion, and I could'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 thousands 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 beautifull 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?"
"Far away beyond the pinewoods," 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 wispered.
"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 forgive 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 sighning 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 it 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 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 fearfull
shapes in darkness, and wicked voices will wisper 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 chimney-piece, 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.
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 exitement, 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 country, 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!"
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."
"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 heartbroken. 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
Brockerly 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 might 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 a 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 found 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.
"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 beautifull 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.
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 corner of the 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 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 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 priviledge 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 recognise 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 suitableor
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. Perchaps I shoud 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 perchaps 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 mediaevalism 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 heatless 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 buttler, and when Miss Virginia grows up I daresay 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 disressed 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 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 the 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
tomb-stone, 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 sectrets
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 kisse 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 some day, won't you?"
Virginia blushed.
Last-modified: Wed, 29 Nov 2000 05:13:15 GMT