Author: Arthur Machen
Category: Fiction
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HISTORY OF THE YOUNG MAN WITH SPECTACLES
From the filthy and obscure lodging, situated, I verily believe, in oneof the foulest slums of Clerkenwell, I indite this history of a lifewhich, daily threatened, cannot last for very much longer. Every day,nay, every hour, I know too well my enemies are drawing their netscloser about me; even now, I am condemned to be a close prisoner in mysqualid room, and I know that when I go out I shall go to mydestruction. This history, if it chance to fall into good hands, may,perhaps, be of service in warning young men of the dangers and pitfallsthat most surely must accompany any deviation from the ways ofrectitude.
My name is Joseph Walters. When I came of age I found myself inpossession of a small but sufficient income, and I determined that Iwould devote my life to scholarship. I do not mean the scholarship ofthese days; I had no intention of associating myself with men whoselives are spent in the unspeakably degrading occupation of "editing"classics, befouling the fair margins of the fairest books with idle andsuperfluous annotation, and doing their utmost to give a lastingdisgust of all that is beautiful. An abbey church turned to the base useof a stable or a bake-house is a sorry sight; but more pitiable still isa masterpiece spluttered over with the commentator's pen, and hishideous mark "cf."
For my part I chose the glorious career of scholar in its ancient sense;I longed to possess encyclopaedic learning, to grow old amongst books, todistil day by day, and year after year, the inmost sweetness of allworthy writings. I was not rich enough to collect a library, and I wastherefore forced to betake myself to the Reading-Room of the BritishMuseum.
O dim, far-lifted and mighty dome, Mecca of many minds, mausoleum ofmany hopes, sad house where all desires fail. For there men enter inwith hearts uplifted, and dreaming minds, seeing in those exalted stairsa ladder to fame, in that pompous portico the gate of knowledge; andgoing in, find but vain vanity, and all but in vain. There, when thelong streets are ringing, is silence, there eternal twilight, and theodor of heaviness. But there the blood flows thin and cold, and thebrain burns adust; there is the hunt of shadows, and the chase ofembattled phantoms; a striving against ghosts, and a war that has novictory. O dome, tomb of the quick; surely in thy galleries where noreverberant voice can call, sighs whisper ever, and mutterings of deadhopes; and there men's souls mount like moths towards the flame, andfall scorched and blackened beneath thee, O dim, far-lifted, and mightydome.
Bitterly do I now regret the day when I took my place at a desk for thefirst time, and began my studies. I had not been an habitue of the placefor many months, when I became acquainted with a serene and benevolentgentleman, a man somewhat past middle age, who nearly always occupied adesk next to mine. In the Reading-Room it takes little to make anacquaintance, a casual offer of assistance, a hint as to the search inthe catalogue, and the ordinary politeness of men who constantly sitnear each other; it was thus I came to know the man calling himself Dr.Lipsius. By degrees I grew to look for his presence, and to miss himwhen he was away, as was sometimes the case, and so a friendship sprangup between us. His immense range of learning was placed freely at myservice; he would often astonish me by the way in which he would sketchout in a few minutes the bibliography of a given subject, and beforelong I had confided to him my ambitions.
"Ah," he said, "you should have been a German. I was like that myselfwhen I was a boy. It is a wonderful resolve, an infinite career. 'I willknow all things;' yes, it is a device indeed. But it means this--a lifeof labor without end, and a desire unsatisfied at last. The scholar hasto die, and die saying, 'I know very little.'"
Gradually, by speeches such as these, Lipsius seduced me: he wouldpraise the career, and at the same time hint that it was as hopeless asthe search for the philosopher's stone, and so by artful suggestions,insinuated with infinite address, he by degrees succeeded in underminingall my principles. "After all," he used to say, "the greatest of allsciences, the key to all knowledge, is the science and art of pleasure.Rabelais was perhaps the greatest of all the encyclopaedic scholars; andhe, as you know, wrote the most remarkable book that has ever beenwritten. And what does he teach men in this book? Surely, the joy ofliving. I need not remind you of the words, suppressed in most of theeditions, the key of all the Rabelaisian mythology, of all the enigmasof his grand philosophy, _Vivez joyeux_. There you have all hislearning; his work is the institutes of pleasure as the fine art; thefinest art there is; the art of all arts. Rabelais had all science, buthe had all life too. And we have gone a long way since his time. You areenlightened, I think; you do not consider all the petty rules andby-laws that a corrupt society has made for its own selfish convenienceas the immutable decrees of the eternal."
Such were the doctrines that he preached; and it was by such insidiousarguments, line upon line, here a little and there a little, that he atlast succeeded in making me a man at war with the whole social system. Iused to long for some opportunity to break the chains and to live a freelife, to be my own rule and measure. I viewed existence with the eyes ofa pagan, and Lipsius understood to perfection the art of stimulating thenatural inclinations of a young man hitherto a hermit. As I gazed up atthe great dome I saw it flushed with the flames and colors of a world ofenticement, unknown to me, my imagination played me a thousand wantontricks, and the forbidden drew me as surely as a loadstone draws oniron. At last my resolution was taken, and I boldly asked Lipsius to bemy guide.
He told me to leave the Museum at my usual hour, half past four, to walkslowly along the northern pavement of Great Russell Street, and to waitat the corner of the street till I was addressed, and then to obey inall things the instructions of the person who came up to me. I carriedout these directions, and stood at the corner looking about meanxiously, my heart beating fast, and my breath coming in gasps. Iwaited there for some time, and had begun to fear I had been made theobject of a joke, when I suddenly became conscious of a gentleman whowas looking at me with evident amusement from the opposite pavement ofTottenham Court Road. He came over, and raising his hat, politely beggedme to follow him, and I did so without a word, wondering where we weregoing, and what was to happen. I was taken to a house of quiet andrespectable aspect in a street lying to the north of Oxford Street, andmy guide rang the bell, and a servant showed us into a large room,quietly furnished, on the ground floor. We sat there in silence for sometime, and I noticed that the furniture, though unpretending, wasextremely valuable. There were large oak-presses, two book-cases ofextreme elegance, and in one corner a carved chest which must have beenmediaeval. Presently Dr. Lipsius came in and welcomed me with his usualmanner, and after some desultory conversation, my guide left the room.Then an elderly man dropped in and began talking to Lipsius; and fromtheir conversation I understood that my friend was a dealer in antiques;they spoke of the Hittite seal, and of the prospects of furtherdiscoveries, and later, when two or three more persons had joined us,there was an argument as to the possibility of a systematic explorationof the pre-celtic monuments in England I was; in fact, present at anarchaeological reception of an informal kind; and at nine o'clock, whenthe antiquaries were gone, I stared at Lipsius in a manner that showed Iwas puzzled, and sought an explanation.
"Now," he said, "we will go upstairs."
As we passed up the stairs, Lipsius lighting the way with a hand-lamp, Iheard the sound of a jarring lock and bolts and bars shot on at thefront door. My guide drew back a baize door, and we went down a passage,and I began to hear odd sounds, a noise of curious mirth, and then hepushed me through a second door, and my initiation began. I cannot writedown what I witnessed that night; I cannot bear to recall what went onin those secret rooms fast shuttered and curtained so that no lightshould escape into the quiet street; they gave me red wine to drink, anda woman told me as I sipped it that it was wine of the Red Jar thatAvallaunius had made. Another asked me how I liked the Wine of theFauns, and I heard a dozen fantastic names, while the stuff boiled in myveins, and stirred, I think, something that had slept within me from themoment I was born. It seemed as
if my self-consciousness deserted me; Iwas no longer a thinking agent, but at once subject and object. Imingled in the horrible sport and watched the mystery of the Greekgroves and fountains enacted before me, saw the reeling dance, and heardthe music calling as I sat beside my mate, and yet I was outside it all,and viewed my own part an idle spectator. Thus with strange rites theymade me drink the cup, and when I woke up in the morning I was one ofthem, and had sworn to be faithful. At first I was shown the enticingside of things. I was bidden to enjoy myself and care for nothing butpleasure, and Lipsius himself indicated to me as the acutest enjoymentthe spectacle of the terrors of the unfortunate persons who were fromtime to time decoyed into the evil house. But after a time it waspointed out to me that I must take my share in the work, and so I foundmyself compelled to be in my turn a seducer; and thus it is on myconscience that I have led many to the depths of the pit.
One day Lipsius summoned me to his private room, and told me that he hada difficult task to give me. He unlocked a drawer, and gave me a sheetof type-written paper, and had me read it. It was without place, ordate, or signature, and ran as follows:--
"Mr. James Headley, F.S.A., will receive from his agent in Armenia, onthe 12th inst., a unique coin, the gold Tiberius. It hears on thereverse a faun, with the legend VICTORIA. It is believed that this coinis of immense value. Mr. Headley will come up to town to show the cointo his friend, Professor Memys, of Chenies Street, Oxford Street, onsome date between the 13th and the 18th."
Dr. Lipsius chuckled at my face of blank surprise when I laid down thissingular communication.
"You will have a good chance of showing your discretion," he said. "Thisis not a common case; it requires great management and infinite tact. Iam sure I wish I had a Panurge in my service, but we will see what youcan do."
"But is it not a joke?" I asked him. "How can you know, or rather howcan this correspondent of yours know that a coin has been despatchedfrom Armenia to Mr. Headley? And how is it possible to fix the period inwhich Mr. Headley will take it into his head to come up to town? Itseems to me a lot of guess work."
"My dear Mr. Walters," he replied; "we do not deal in guess work here.It would bore you if I went into all these little details, the cogs andwheels, if I may say so, which move the machine. Don't you think it ismuch more amusing to sit in front of the house and be astonished, thanto be behind the scenes and see the mechanism? Better tremble at thethunder, believe me, than see the man rolling the cannon ball. But,after all, you needn't bother about the how and why; you have your shareto do. Of course, I shall give you full instructions, but a great dealdepends on the way the thing is carried out. I have often heard veryyoung men maintain that style is everything in literature, and I canassure you that the same maxim holds good in our far more delicateprofession. With us style is absolutely everything, and that is why wehave friends like yourself."
I went away in some perturbation; he had no doubt designedly lefteverything in mystery, and I did not know what part I should have toplay. Though I had assisted at scenes of hideous revelry, I was not yetdead to all echo of human feeling, and I trembled lest I should receivethe order to be Mr. Headley's executioner.
A week later, it was on the sixteenth of the month, Dr. Lipsius made mea sign to come into his room.
"It is for to-night," he began. "Please to attend carefully to what I amgoing to say, Mr. Walters, and on peril of your life, for it is adangerous matter,--on peril of your life I say, follow theseinstructions to the letter. You understand? Well, to-night at abouthalf-past seven you will stroll quietly up the Hampstead Road till youcome to Vincent Street. Turn down here and walk along, taking the thirdturning to your right, which is Lambert Terrace. Then follow theterrace, cross the road, and go along Hertford Street, and so intoLillington Square. The second turning you will come to in the square iscalled Sheen Street; but in reality it is more a passage between blankwalls than a street. Whatever you do, take care to be at the corner ofthis street at eight o'clock precisely. You will walk along it, and justat the bend, where you lose sight of the square, you will find an oldgentleman with white beard and whiskers. He will in all probability beabusing a cabman for having brought him to Sheen Street instead ofChenies Street. You will go up to him quietly and offer your services;he will tell you where he wants to go, and you will be so courteous asto offer to show him the way. I may say that Professor Memys moved,into Chenies Street a month ago; thus Mr. Headley has never been to seehim there, and moreover he is very short-sighted, and knows little ofthe topography of London. Indeed he has quite lived the life of alearned hermit at Audley Hall.
"Well, need I say more to a man of your intelligence? You will bring himto this house; he will ring the bell, and a servant in quiet livery willlet him in. Then your work will be done, and I am sure done well. Youwill leave Mr. Headley at the door, and simply continue your walk, and Ishall hope to see you the next day. I really don't think there isanything more I can tell you."
These minute instructions I took care to carry out to the letter. Iconfess that I walked up the Tottenham Court Road by no means blindly,but with an uneasy sense that I was coming to a decisive point in mylife. The noise and rumor of the crowded pavements were to me butdumb-show. I revolved again and again in ceaseless iteration the taskthat had been laid on me, and I questioned myself as to the possibleresults. As I got near the point of turning, I asked myself whetherdanger were not about my steps; the cold thought struck me that I wassuspected and observed, and every chance foot-passenger who gave me asecond glance seemed to me an officer of police. My time was runningout, the sky had darkened, and I hesitated, half resolved to go nofarther, but to abandon Lipsius and his friends forever. I had almostdetermined to take this course, when the conviction suddenly came to methat the whole thing was a gigantic joke, a fabrication of rankimprobability. Who could have procured the information about theArmenian agent, I asked myself. By what means could Lipsius have knownthe particular day, and the very train that Mr. Headley was to take? Howengage him to enter one special cab amongst the dozens waiting atPaddington? I vowed it a mere Milesian tale, and went forward merrily,and turned down Vincent Street, and threaded out the route that Lipsiushad so carefully impressed upon me. The various streets he had namedwere all places of silence and an oppressive cheap gentility; it wasdark, and I felt alone in the musty squares and crescents, where peoplepattered by at intervals, and the shadows were growing blacker. Ientered Sheen Street, and found it, as Lipsius had said, more a passagethan a street; it was a by-way, on one side a low wall and neglectedgardens and grim backs of a line of houses, and on the other a timberyard. I turned the corner, and lost sight of the square, and then to myastonishment I saw the scene of which I had been told. A hansom cab hadcome to a stop beside the pavement, and an old man carrying a handbagwas fiercely abusing the cabman, who sat on his perch the image ofbewilderment.
"Yes, but I'm sure you said Sheen Street, and that's where I broughtyou," I heard him saying, as I came up, and the old gentleman boiled ina fury, and threatened police and suits at law.
The sight gave me a shock; and in an instant I resolved to go throughwith it. I strolled on, and without noticing the cabman, lifted my hatpolitely to old Mr. Headley.
"Pardon me, sir," I said, "but is there any difficulty? I see you are atraveller; perhaps the cabman has made a mistake. Can I direct you?"
The old fellow turned to me, and I noticed that he snarled and showedhis teeth like an ill-tempered cur as he spoke.
"This drunken fool has brought me here," he said. "I told him to driveto Chenies Street, and he brings me to this infernal place. I won't payhim a farthing, and I meant to have given him a handsome sum. I am goingto call for the police and give him in charge."
At this threat the cabman seemed to take alarm. He glanced round as ifto make sure that no policeman was in sight and drove off grumblingloudly, and Mr. Headley grinned, savagely with satisfaction at havingsaved his fare, and put back one and sixpence into his pocket, the"handsome sum" the cab
man had lost.
"My dear sir," I said, "I am afraid this piece of stupidity has annoyedyou a great deal. It is a long way to Chenies Street, and you will havesome difficulty in finding the place unless you know London prettywell."
"I know it very little," he replied. "I never come up except onimportant business, and I've never been to Chenies Street in my life."
"Really? I should be happy to show you the way. I have been for astroll, and it will not at all inconvenience me to take you to yourdestination."
"I want to go to Professor Memys, at number 15. It's most annoying tome. I'm short-sighted, and I can never make out the numbers on thedoors."
"This way if you please," I said, and we set out.
I did not find Mr. Headley an agreeable man; indeed, he grumbled thewhole way. He informed me of his name, and I took care to say, "Thewell-known antiquary?" and thenceforth I was compelled to listen to thehistory of his complicated squabbles with publishers, who had treatedhim, as he said, disgracefully. The man was a chapter in theIrritability of Authors. He told me that he had been on the point ofmaking the fortune of several firms, but had been compelled to abandonthe design owing to their rank ingratitude. Besides these ancienthistories of wrong and the more recent misadventure of the cabman, hehad another grievous complaint to make. As he came along in the train,he had been sharpening a pencil, and the sudden jolt of the engine as itdrew up at a station had driven the penknife against his face,inflicting a small triangular wound just on the cheek-bone, which heshowed me. He denounced the railway company, and heaped imprecations onthe head of the driver, and talked of claiming damages. Thus he grumbledall the way, not noticing in the least where he was going, and soinamiable did his conduct appear to me that I began to enjoy the trick Iwas playing on him.
Nevertheless my heart beat a little faster as we turned into the streetwhere Lipsius was waiting. A thousand accidents, I thought, mighthappen. Some chance might bring one of Headley's friends to meet us;perhaps, though he knew not Chenies Street, he might know the streetwhere I was taking him; in spite of his short-sight he might possiblymake out the number, or in a sudden fit of suspicion he might make aninquiry of the policeman at the corner. Thus every step upon thepavement, as we drew nearer to the goal, was to me a pang and a terror,and every approaching passenger carried a certain threat of danger. Igulped down my excitement with an effort, and made shift to say prettyquietly:--
"No. 15, I think you said? That is the third house from this. If youwill allow me, I will leave you now; I have been delayed a little, andmy way lies on the other side of Tottenham Court Road."
He snarled out some kind of thanks, and I turned my back and walkedswiftly in the opposite direction. A minute or two later, I looked roundand saw Mr. Headley standing on the doorstep, and then the door openedand he went in. For my part I gave a sigh of relief, and hastened to getaway from the neighborhood and endeavored to enjoy myself in merrycompany.
The whole of the next day I kept away from Lipsius. I felt anxious, butI did not know what had happened or what was happening, and a reasonableregard for my own safety told me that I should do well to remain quietlyat home. My curiosity, however, to learn the end of the odd drama inwhich I had played a part stung me to the quick, and late in the eveningI made up my mind to go and see how events had turned out. Lipsiusnodded when I came in, and asked me if I could give him five minutes'talk. We went into his room, and he began to walk up and down, and I satwaiting for him to speak.
"My dear Mr. Walters," he said at length, "I congratulate you warmly.Your work was done in the most thorough and artistic manner. You will gofar. Look."
He went to his escritoire and pressed a secret spring, and a drawer flewout, and he laid something on the table. It was a gold coin, and I tookit up and examined it eagerly, and read the legend about the figure ofthe faun.
"Victoria," I said, smiling.
"Yes, it was a great capture, which we owe to you. I had greatdifficulty in persuading Mr. Headley that a little mistake had beenmade; that was how I put it. He was very disagreeable, and indeedungentlemanly about it; didn't he strike you as a very cross old man?"
I held the coin, admiring the choice and rare design, clear cut as iffrom the mint; and I thought the fine gold glowed and burned like alamp.
"And what finally became of Mr. Headley?" I said at last.
Lipsius smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"What on earth does it matter?" he said. "He might be here, or there, oranywhere; but what possible consequence could it be? Besides, yourquestion rather surprises me. You are an intelligent man, Mr. Walters.Just think it over, and I'm sure you won't repeat the question."
"My dear sir," I said, "I hardly think you are treating me fairly. Youhave paid me some handsome compliments on my share in the capture, and Inaturally wish to know how the matter ended. From what I saw of Mr.Headley, I should think you must have had some difficulty with him."
He gave me no answer for the moment, but began again to walk up and downthe room, apparently absorbed in thought.
"Well," he said at last, "I suppose there is something in what you say.We are certainly indebted to you. I have said, that I have a highopinion of your intelligence, Mr. Walters. Just look here, will you."
He opened a door communicating with another room and pointed.
There was a great box lying on the floor; a queer coffin-shaped thing. Ilooked at it and saw it was a mummy case like those in the BritishMuseum, vividly painted in the brilliant Egyptian colors, with I knewnot what proclamation of dignity or hopes of life immortal. The mummy,swathed about in the robes of death, was lying within, and the face hadbeen uncovered.
"You are going to send this away?" I said, forgetting the question I hadput.
"Yes; I have an order from a local museum. Look a little more closely,Mr. Walters."
Puzzled by his manner, I peered into the face, while he held up thelamp. The flesh was black with the passing of the centuries; but as Ilooked I saw upon the right cheek-bone a small triangular scar, and thesecret of the mummy flashed upon me. I was looking at the dead body ofthe man whom I had decoyed into that house.
There was no thought or design of action in my mind. I held the accursedcoin in my hand, burning me with a foretaste of hell, and I fled as Iwould have fled from pestilence and death, and dashed into the streetin blind horror, not knowing where I went. I felt the gold coin graspedin my clenched list, and threw it away, I knew not where, and ran on andon through by-streets and dark ways, till at last I issued out into acrowded thoroughfare, and checked myself. Then, as consciousnessreturned, I realized my instant peril, and understood what would happenif I fell into the hands of Lipsius. I knew that I had put forth myfinger to thwart a relentless mechanism rather than a man; my recentadventure with the unfortunate Mr. Headley had taught me that Lipsiushad agents in all quarters, and I foresaw that if I fell into his hands,he would remain true to his doctrine of style, and cause me to die adeath of some horrible and ingenious torture. I bent my whole mind tothe task of outwitting him and his emissaries, three of whom I knew tohave proved their ability for tracking down persons who for variousreasons preferred to remain obscure. These servants of Lipsius were twomen and a woman, and the woman was incomparably the most subtle and themost deadly. Yet I considered that I too had some portion of craft, andI took my resolve. Since then I have matched myself day by day and hourby hour against the ingenuity of Lipsius and his myrmidons. For a time Iwas successful; though they beat furiously after me in the covert ofLondon, I remained _perdu_, and watched with some amusement theirfrantic efforts to recover the scent lost in two or three minutes. Everylure and wile was put forth to entice me from my hiding-place. I wasinformed by the medium of the public prints that what I had taken hadbeen recovered, and meetings were proposed in which I might hope togain a great deal without the slightest risk. I laughed at theirendeavors, and began a little to despise the organization I had sodreaded, and ventured more abroad. Not once or twice, but several times,I recog
nized the two men who were charged with my capture, and Isucceeded in eluding them easily at close quarters; and a little hastilyI decided that I had nothing to dread, and that my craft was greaterthan theirs. But in the mean while, while I congratulated myself on mycunning, the third of Lipsius's emissaries was weaving her nets, and inan evil hour I paid a visit to an old friend, a literary man namedRussell, who lived in a quiet street in Bayswater. The woman, as I foundout too late, a day or two ago, occupied rooms in the same house, and Iwas followed and tracked down. Too late, as I have said, I recognizedthat I had made a fatal mistake, and that I was besieged. Sooner orlater I shall find myself in the power of an enemy without pity; and sosurely as I leave this house I shall go to receive doom. I hardly dareto guess how it will at last fall upon me. My imagination, always avivid one, paints to me appalling pictures of the unspeakable torturewhich I shall probably endure; and I know that I shall die with Lipsiusstanding near and gloating over the refinements of my suffering and myshame.
Hours, nay, minutes, have become very precious to me. I sometimes pausein the midst of anticipating my tortures, to wonder whether even now Icannot hit upon some supreme stroke, some design of infinite subtlety,to free myself from the toils. But I find that the faculty ofcombination has left me. I am as the scholar in the old myth, desertedby the power which has helped, me hitherto. I do not know when thesupreme moment will come, but sooner or later it is inevitable, andbefore long I shall receive sentence, and from the sentence to executionwill not be long.
* * * * *
I cannot remain here a prisoner any longer. I shall go out to-night whenthe streets are full of crowds and clamors, and make a last effort toescape.
* * * * *
It was with profound astonishment that Dyson closed the little book, andthought of the strange series of incidents which had brought him intotouch with the plots and counterplots connected with the Gold Tiberius.He had bestowed the coin carefully away, and he shuddered at the barepossibility of its place of deposit becoming known to the evil band whoseemed to possess such extraordinary sources of information.
It had grown late while he read, and he put the pocket-book away, hopingwith all his heart that the unhappy Walters might even at the eleventhhour escape the doom he dreaded.
ADVENTURE OF THE DESERTED RESIDENCE.
"A wonderful story, as you say; an extraordinary sequence and play ofcoincidence. I confess that your expressions when you first showed methe Gold Tiberius were not exaggerated. But do you think that Waltershas really some fearful fate to dread?"
"I cannot say. Who can presume to predict events when life itself putson the robe of coincidence and plays at drama? Perhaps we have not yetreached the last chapter in the queer story. But, look, we are drawingnear to the verge of London; there are gaps, you see, in the serriedranks of brick, and a vision of green fields beyond."
Dyson had persuaded the ingenious Mr. Phillipps to accompany him on oneof those aimless walks to which he was himself so addicted. Startingfrom the very heart of London, they had made their way westward throughthe stony avenues, and were now just emerging from the red lines of anextreme suburb, and presently the half-finished road ended, a quiet lanebegan, and they were beneath the shade of elm-trees. The yellow autumnsunlight that had lit up the bare distance of the suburban street nowfiltered down through the boughs of the trees and shone on the glowingcarpet of fallen leaves, and the pools of rain glittered and shot backthe gleam of light. Over all the broad pastures there was peace and thehappy rest of autumn before the great winds begin, and afar off, Londonlay all vague and immense amidst the veiling mist; here and there adistant window catching the sun and kindling with fire, and a spiregleaming high, and below the streets in shadow, and the turmoil of life.Dyson and Phillipps walked on in silence beneath the high hedges, tillat a turn of the lane they saw a mouldering and ancient gate standingopen, and the prospect of a house at the end of a moss-grown carriagedrive.
"There is a survival for you," said Dyson; "it has come to its lastdays, I imagine. Look how the laurels have grown gaunt, and weedy, andblack, and bare, beneath; look at the house, covered with yellow washand patched with green damp. Why, the very notice-board which informsall and singular that the place is to be let has cracked and halffallen."
"Suppose we go in and see it," said Phillipps. "I don't think there isanybody about."
They turned up the drive, and walked slowly, towards this remnant of olddays. It was a large straggling house, with curved wings at either end,and behind a series of irregular roofs and projections, showing that theplace had been added to at divers dates; the two wings were roofed incupola fashion, and at one side, as they came nearer, they could see astable-yard, and a clock turret with a bell, and the dark masses ofgloomy cedars. Amidst all the lineaments of dissolution, there was butone note of contrast: the sun was setting beyond the elm-trees, and allthe west and the south were in flames, and on the upper windows of thehouse the glow shone reflected, and it seemed as if blood and fire weremingled. Before the yellow front of the mansion, stained, as Dyson hadremarked, with gangrenous patches, green and blackening, stretched whatonce had been, no doubt, a well-kept lawn, but it was now rough andragged, and nettles and great docks, and all manner of coarse weeds,struggled in the places of the flower-beds. The urns had fallen fromtheir pillars beside the walk, and lay broken in shards upon the ground,and everywhere from grass-plot and path a fungoid growth had sprung upand multiplied, and lay dank and slimy like a festering sore upon theearth. In the middle of the rank grass of the lawn was a desolatefountain; the rim of the basin was crumbling and pulverized with decay,and within, the water stood stagnant, with green scum for the liliesthat had once bloomed there; and rust had eaten into the bronze flesh ofthe Triton that stood in the middle, and the conch-shell he held wasbroken.
"Here," said Dyson, "one might moralize over decay and death. Here allthe stage is decked out with the symbols of dissolution; the cedarngloom and twilight hangs heavy around us, and everywhere within the paledankness has found a harbor, and the very air is changed and brought toaccord with the scene. To me, I confess, this deserted house is as moralas a graveyard, and I find something sublime in that lonely Triton,deserted in the midst of his water-pool. He is the last of the gods;they have left him and he remembers the sound of water falling on water,and the days that were sweet."
"I like your reflections extremely," said Phillipps, "but I may mentionthat the door of the house is open.".
"Let us go in then."
The door was just ajar, and they passed into the mouldy hall, and lookedin at a room on one side. It was a large room, going far back, and therich old red flock paper was peeling from the walls in long strips, andblackened with vague patches of rising damp; the ancient clay, the dankreeking earth rising up again, and subduing all the work of men's handsafter the conquest of many years. And the floor was thick with the dustof decay, and the painted ceiling fading from all gay colors and lightfancies of cupids in a career, and disfigured with sores of dampness,seemed transmuted into other work. No longer the amorini chased oneanother pleasantly, with limbs that sought not to advance, and handsthat merely simulated the act of grasping at the wreathed flowers, butit appeared some savage burlesque of the old careless world and of itscherished conventions, and the dance of the loves had become a dance ofDeath; black pustules and festering sores swelled and clustered on fairlimbs, and smiling faces showed corruption, and the fairy blood hadboiled with the germs of foul disease; it was a parable of the leavenworking, and worms devouring for a banquet the heart of the rose.
Strangely, under the painted ceiling, against the decaying walls, twoold chairs still stood alone, the sole furniture of the empty place.High-backed, with curving arms and twisted legs, covered with faded goldleaf, and upholstered in tattered damask, they too were a part of thesymbolism, and struck Dyson with surprise. "What have we here?" he said."Who has sat in these chairs? Who, clad in peach-bloom sa
tin, with laceruffles and diamond buckles, all golden, _a conte fleurettes_ to hiscompanion? Phillipps, we are in another age. I wish I had some snuff tooffer you, but failing that, I beg to offer you a seat, and we will sitand smoke tobacco. A horrid practice, but I am no pedant."
They sat down on the queer old chairs, and looked out of the dim andgrimy panes to the ruined lawn, and the fallen urns, and the desertedTriton.
Presently Dyson ceased his imitation of eighteenth century airs; he nolonger pulled forward imaginary ruffles, or tapped a ghostly snuff-box.
"It's a foolish fancy," he said at last, "but I keep thinking I hear anoise like some one groaning. Listen; no, I can't hear it now. There itis again! Did you notice it, Phillipps?
"No, I can't say I heard anything. But I believe that old places likethis are like shells from the shore, ever echoing with noises. The oldbeams, mouldering piecemeal, yield a little and groan, and such a houseas this I can fancy all resonant at night with voices, the voices ofmatter so slowly and so surely transformed into other shapes; the voiceof the worm that gnaws at last the very heart of the oak; the voice ofstone grinding on stone, and the voice of the conquest of time."
They sat still in the old armchairs and grew graver in the musty ancientair,--the air of a hundred years ago.
"I don't like the place," said Phillipps, after a long pause. "To me itseems, as if there were a sickly, unwholesome smell about it, a smell ofsomething burning."
"You are right; there is an evil odor here. I wonder what it is! Hark!Did you hear that?"
A hollow sound, a noise of infinite sadness and infinite pain broke inupon the silence; and the two men looked fearfully at one another,horror and the sense of unknown things glimmering in their eyes.
"Come," said Dyson, "we must see into this," and they went into the halland listened in the silence.
"Do you know," said Phillipps, "it seems absurd, but I could almostfancy that the smell is that of burning flesh."
They went up the hollow-sounding stairs, and the the odor became thickand noisome, stifling the breath; and a vapor, sickening as the smell ofthe chamber of death, choked them. A door was open and they entered thelarge upper room, and clung hard to one another, shuddering at the sightthey saw.
A naked man was lying on the floor, his arms and legs stretched wideapart, and bound to pegs that had been hammered into the boards. Thebody was torn and mutilated in the most hideous fashion, scarred withthe marks of red-hot irons, a shameful ruin of the human shape. But uponthe middle of the body a fire of coals was smouldering; the flesh hadbeen burned through. The man was dead, but the smoke of his tormentmounted still, a black vapor.
"The young man with spectacles," said Mr. Dyson.
THE END.