up, so imperfectly concealed, culminated in one grand outburst of a not
ignoble indignation, to the hour when I summoned up moral courage to
sever the bonds which linked us so unequally.
I remember it so well, that brilliant morning in June when we left the
Temperance Hotel, Doldwyddlm, and scaled in sulky silence the craggy
heights of Cader Idris, which, I presume, still overhang that
picturesque village, while, as we ascended, an ever-changing and
ever-improving panorama unrolled itself before my delighted eyes.
The air up there was keen and bracing, and I recollect that I could not
repress an aesthetic shudder at the crude and primitive tone which
Barnjum's nose had assumed under atmospheric influences. I mentioned
this (for we still maintained the outward forms of friendship), when he
retorted, with the brutal personality which formed so strong an
ingredient of his character, that if I could only see myself in that
suit of mine, and that hat (referring to the dress I was then wearing),
I should feel the propriety of letting his nose alone. To which I
replied, with a sarcasm that I feel now was a little too crushing, that
I had every intention of doing so, as it was quite painful enough to
merely contemplate such a spectacle; and he, evidently meaning to be
offensive, remarked, that no one could help his nose getting red, but
that any man in my position could at least _dress_ like a gentleman I
took no notice of this insult; a Bunting (I don't think I mentioned
before that my name is Philibert Bunting)--a Bunting can afford to pass
such insinuations by; indeed, I find it actually cheaper to do so, and I
flattered myself that my dress was distinguished by a sort of studied
looseness, that would appeal at once to a cultivated and artistic eye,
though of course Barnjum's hard and shallow organs could not be expected
to appreciate it.
I overlooked it, then, and presently we found ourselves skirting the
edge of a huge chasm, whose steep sides sloped sheer down into the
slate-blue waters of the lake below.
How can I hope to give an idea of the magnificent view which met our
eyes as we stood there--a view of which, as far as I am aware, no
description has ever yet been attempted?
To our right towered the Peaks of Dolgelly, with their saw-like outline
cutting the blue sky with a faint grating sound, while the shreds of
white cloud lay below in drifts. At our feet were the sun-lit waters of
the lake, upon which danced a fleet of brown-sailed herring-boats;
beyond was the plain of Capel Curig, and there, over on the left,
sparkled the falls of Y-Dydd.
As I took all this in I felt a longing to say something worthy of the
occasion. Being possessed of a considerable fund of carefully-dried and
selected humour, I frequently amuse myself by a species of intellectual
exercise, which consists in so framing a remark that a word or more
therein may bear two entirely opposite constructions; and some of the
quaint names of the vicinity seemed to me just then admirably adapted
for this purpose.
I was about to gauge my dull-witted companion's capacity by some such
test, when he forestalled me.
'You ought to live up here, Bunting,' said he; 'you were made for this
identical old mountain.'
I was not displeased, for, Londoner as I am, I have the nerve and
steadiness of a practised mountaineer.
'Perhaps I was,' I said good-humouredly; 'but how did _you_ find it
out?'
'I'll tell you,' he replied, with one of his odious grins. 'This is
Cader Idris, ain't it? well, and you're a _cad awry dressed_, ain't you?
Cader Idrissed, see?' (he was dastard enough to explain) 'That's how _I_
get at it!'
He must have been laboriously leading up to that for the last ten
minutes!
I solemnly declare that it was not the personal outrage that roused me;
I simply felt that a paltry verbal quibble of that description, emitted
amidst such scenery and at that altitude, required a protest in the name
of indignant Nature, and I protested accordingly, although with an
impetuosity which I afterwards regretted, and of which I cannot even now
entirely approve.
He happened to be standing on the brink of an abyss, and had just turned
his back upon me, as, with a vigorous thrust of my right foot, I
launched him into the blue aether, with the chuckle at his unhallowed
jest still hovering upon his lips.
I am aware that by such an act I took a liberty which, under ordinary
circumstances, even the licence of a life-long friendship would scarcely
have justified; but I thought it only due to myself to let him see
plainly that I desired our acquaintanceship to cease from that instant,
and Barnjum was the kind of man upon whom a more delicate hint would
have been distinctly thrown away.
I watched his progress with some interest as he rebounded from point to
point during his descent. I waited--punctiliously, perhaps, until the
echoes he had aroused had died away on the breeze, and then, slowly and
thoughtfully, I retraced my steps, and left a spot which was already
becoming associated for me with memories the reverse of pleasurable.
* * * * *
I took the next up-train, and before I reached town had succeeded in
dismissing the incident from my mind, or if I thought of it at all, it
was only to indulge relief at the reflection that I had shaken off
Barnjum for ever.
But when I had paid my cab, and was taking out my latch-key, a curious
thing happened--the driver called me back.
'Beg pardon, sir,' he said hoarsely, 'but I think you've bin and left
something white in my cab!'
I turned and looked in: there, grinning at me from the interior of the
hansom, over the folding-doors, was the wraith of Barnjum!
I had presence of mind enough to thank the man for his honesty, and go
upstairs to my rooms with as little noise as possible. Barnjum's ghost,
as I expected, followed me in, and sat down coolly before the fire, in
my arm-chair, thus giving me an opportunity of subjecting the apparition
to a thorough examination.
It was quite the conventional ghost, filmy, transparent, and, though
wanting firmness in outline, a really passable likeness of Barnjum.
Before I retired to rest I had thrown both my boots and the contents of
my bookcase completely through the thing, without appearing to cause it
more than a temporary inconvenience--which convinced me that it was
indeed a being from another world.
Its choice of garments struck me even then as decidedly unusual. I am
not narrow; I cheerfully allow that, assuming the necessity for
apparitions at all, it is well that they should be clothed in robes of
some kind; but Barnjum's ghost delighted in a combination of costume
which set the fitness of things at defiance.
It wore that evening, for instance, to the best of my recollection,
striped pantaloons, a surplice, and an immense cocked hat; but on
subsequent occasions its changes of costume were so rapid and eccentric,
that I ceased to pay much attention to them, and could only explain them
on the supposition that somewhere in space there exists a supernatural
store in the nature of a theatrical wardrobe, and that Barnjum's ghost
had the run of it.
I had not been in very long before my landlady came up to see if I
wanted anything, and of course as soon as she came in, she saw the
wraith. At first she objected to it very strongly, declaring that she
would not have such nasty things in _her_ house, and if I wanted to keep
ghosts, I had better go somewhere else; but I pacified her at last by
representing that it would give her no extra trouble, and that I was
only taking care of it for a friend.
When she had gone, however, I sat up till late, thinking calmly over my
position, and the complications which might be expected to ensue from
it.
It would be very easy to harrow the reader's feelings and work upon his
sympathies here by a telling description of my terror and my guilty
confusion at the unforeseen consequences of what I had done. But I
think, in relating an experience of this kind, the straightforward way
is always the best, and I do not care to heighten the effect by
attributing to myself a variety of sensations which I do not remember to
have actually felt at the time.
My first impression had not unnaturally been that the spectre was
merely the product of overwrought nerves or indigestion, but it seemed
improbable that a cabman should be plagued by a morbid activity of
imagination, and that a landlady's digestion could be delicate
sufficiently to evolve a thing so far removed from the merely
commonplace; and, reluctantly enough, I was forced to the conclusion
that it was a real ghost, and would probably continue to haunt me to the
end of my days.
Of course I was disgusted by this exhibition of petty revenge and low
malice on the part of Barnjum, which might be tolerated perhaps in a
Christmas annual, with a full-page illustration, but which, in real life
and the height of summer, was a glaring anachronism.
Still, it was of no use to repine then; I resolved to look at the thing
in a common-sense light--I told myself that I had made my ghost, and
would have to live with it. And after all, I had much to be thankful
for: Barnjum in the spirit was a decided improvement upon Barnjum in the
flesh; and as the spirit did not appear to be gifted with speech, it was
unlikely to tell tales.
Luckily for me, too, Barnjum was absolutely unknown about town: his only
relative was an aunt resident at Camberwell, and so there was no danger
of any suspicion being excited by chance recognition in the circles to
which I belonged.
It would have been folly to shut one's eyes to the fact that it might
require considerable nerve to re-enter society closely attended by an
obscure and fancifully-attired apparition.
Society would sneer considerably at first and make remarks, but I was
full of tact and knowledge of the world, and I knew, too, that men have
overcome far more formidable obstacles to social success than any
against which I should be called upon to contend.
And so, instead of weakly giving way to unreasonable panic, I took the
more manly course of determining to live it down, with what success I
shall have presently to show.
When I went out after breakfast the next morning, Barnjum's ghost
insisted upon coming too, and followed me, to my intense annoyance, all
down St. James's Street; in fact, for many weeks it was almost
constantly by my side, and rendered me the innocent victim of mingled
curiosity and aversion.
I thought it best to affect to be unaware of the presence of anything of
a ghostly nature, and when taxed with it, ascribed it to the diseased
fancy of my interlocutor; but, by-and-by, as the whole town began to
ring with the story, I found it impossible to pretend ignorance any
longer.
So I gave out that it was an artfully-contrived piece of spectral
mechanism, of which I was the inventor, and for which I contemplated
taking out a patent; and this would have earned for me a high
reputation in the scientific world if Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke had
not grown envious of my fame, declaring that they had long since
anticipated the secret of my machine, and could manufacture one in every
way superior to it, which they presently did.
Then I was obliged to confide (in the strictest secrecy) to two members
of the Peerage (both persons of irreproachable breeding, with whom I was
at that time exceedingly intimate) that it was indeed a _bona fide_
apparition, and that I rather liked such things about me. I cannot
explain how it happened, but in a very short time the story had gone the
round of the clubs and drawing-rooms, and I found myself launched as a
lion of the largest size--if it is strictly correct to speak of
launching a lion.
I received invitations everywhere, on the tacit understanding that I was
to bring my ghost, and the wraith of Barnjum, as some who read this may
remember, was to be seen at all the best houses in town for the
remainder of the season; while in the following autumn, I was asked down
for the shooting by several wealthy _parvenus_, with a secret hope,
unless I am greatly mistaken, that the ghost might conceive the idea of
remaining with them permanently, thereby imparting to their brand-new
palaces the necessary flavour of legend and mystery; but of course it
never did.
To tell the truth, whatever novelty there was about it soon wore
off--too soon, in fact, for, fickle as society is, I have no hesitation
in asserting that we ought to have lasted it at least a second season,
if only Barnjum's ghost had not persisted in making itself so
ridiculously cheap that, in little more than a fortnight, society was as
sick of it as I was myself.
And then the inconveniences which attached to my situation began to
assert themselves more and more emphatically.
I began to stay at home sometimes in the evening, when I observed that
the phantom had an unpleasant trick of illuminating itself at the
approach of darkness with a bilious green light, which, as it was not
nearly strong enough to enable me to dispense with a reading lamp,
merely served to depress me.
And then it began to absent itself occasionally for days together, and
though at first I was rather glad not to see so much of it, I grew
uneasy at last. I was always fancying that the Psychical Society, who
are credited with understanding the proper treatment of spectres in
health and disease, from the tomb upwards, might have got hold of it and
be teaching it to talk and compromise me. I heard afterwards that one of
their most prominent members did happen to come across it, but, with a
scepticism which I cannot but think was somewhat wanting in discernment,
rejected it as a palpable imposition.
I had to leave the rooms where I had been so comfortable, for my
landlady complained that the street was blocked up by a mob of the
lowest description from seven till twelve every evening, and she really
could not put up with it any longer.
On inquiry I found that this was owing to Barnjum's ghost getting out
upon the roof almost every night after dark, and playing the fool among
the chimney-pots, causing me, as its apparent owner, to be indicted five
times for committing a common nuisance by obstructing the thoroughfare,
and once for collecting an unlawful assembly: I spent all my spare cash
in fines.
I believe there were portraits of us both in the 'Illustrated Police
News,' but the distinction implied in this was more than outweighed by
the fact that Barnjum's wraith was slowly but surely undermining both my
fortune and my reputation.
It followed me one day to one of the underground railway stations, and
_would_ get into a compartment with me, which led to a lawsuit that made
a nine days' sensation in the legal world. I need only mention the
celebrated case of 'The Metropolitan District Railway _v._ Bunting,' in
which the important principle was once for all laid down that a railway
company by the terms of its contract is entitled to refuse to carry
ghosts, spectres, or any other supernatural baggage, and can moreover
exact a heavy penalty from passengers who infringe its bye-laws in this
respect.
This was, of course, a decision against me, and carried heavy costs,
which my private fortune was just sufficient to meet.
But Barnjum's ghost was bent upon alienating me from society also, for
at one of the best dances of the season, at a house where I had with
infinite pains just succeeded in establishing a precarious footing, that
miserable phantom disgraced me for ever by executing a shadowy but
decidedly objectionable species of _cancan_ between the dances!
Feeling indirectly responsible for its behaviour, I apologised profusely
to my hostess, but the affair found its way into the society journals,
and she never either forgave or recognised me again.
Shortly after that, the committee of my club (one of the most exclusive
in London) invited me to resign, intimating that, by introducing an
acquaintance of questionable antecedents and disreputable exterior into
the smoking-room, I had abused the privileges of membership.
I had been afraid of this when I saw it following me into the building,
arrayed in Highland costume and a tall hat; but I was quite unable to
drive it away.
Up to that time I had been at the bar, where I was doing pretty well,
but now no respectable firm of solicitors would employ a man who had
such an unprofessional thing as a phantom about his chambers. I threw up
my practice, and had no sooner changed my last sovereign than I was
summoned for keeping a ghost without a licence!
Some men, no doubt, would have given up there and then in despair--but
I am made of sterner stuff, and, besides, an idea had already occurred
to me of turning the table upon my shadowy persecutor.
Barnjum's ghost had ruined me: why should I not endeavour to turn an
honest penny out of Barnjum's ghost? It was genuine--as I well knew; it
was, in some respects, original; it was eminently calculated to delight
the young and instruct the old; there was even a moral or two to be got
out of it, and though it had long failed to attract in town, I saw no
reason why it should not make a great hit in the provinces.
I borrowed the necessary funds and had soon made all preliminary
arrangements for running the wraith of Barnjum on a short tour in the
provinces, deciding to open at Tenby, in South Wales.
I took every precaution, travelling by night and keeping within doors
all day, lest the shade (which was deplorably destitute of the commonest
professional pride) should get about and exhibit itself beforehand for
nothing; and so successful was I, that when it first burst upon a Welsh
audience, from the platform of the Assembly Rooms, Tenby, no ghost could
have wished for a more enthusiastic reception, and--for the first and
last time--I felt positively proud of it!
But the applause gradually subsided, and was succeeded by an awkward
pause. It had not struck me till that moment that it would be necessary
to do or say anything in particular during the exhibition, beyond
showing the spectators round the phantom, and making the customary
assurance that there was no deception and no concealed machinery, which
I could do with a clear conscience. But a terrible conviction struck me
as I stood there bowing repeatedly, that the audience had come prepared
for a comic duologue, with incidental music and dances.
This was quite out of the question, even supposing that Barnjum's ghost
would have helped me to entertain them, which, perhaps, I could scarcely
expect. As it was, it did nothing at all, except grimace at the audience
and make an idiotic fool of itself and me--an exhibition of which they
soon wearied. I am perfectly certain that an ordinary magic lantern
would have made a far deeper impression upon them.
Whether the wraith managed in some covert way, when my attention was
diverted, to insult the national prejudices of that sensitive and
hot-blooded nation, I cannot say. All I know is, that after sitting
still for some time they suddenly rose as one man; chairs were hurled at
me through the ghost, and the stage was completely wrecked before the
audience could be induced to go away.
It was all over. I was hopelessly ruined now! My weak fancy that even a
spectre would have some remnants of common decency and good-feeling
hanging about it, had put the finishing touch to my misfortunes!
I paid for the smashed platform and windows with the money that had been
taken at the doors, and then I travelled back to London, third class,
that night, with the feeling that everything was against me.
* * * * *
It was Christmas, and I was sitting gloomily in my shabby Bloomsbury
lodgings, watching with a miserable, apathetic interest Barnjum's wraith
as, clad in a Roman toga, topboots, and a turban, it flitted about the
horsehair furniture.
I was wondering if they would admit me into any workhouse while the
spectre continued my attendant; I was utterly and completely wretched,
and now, for the first time, I really repented my conduct in having
parted with Barnjum so abruptly by the bleak cliff side, that bright
June morning.
I had heard no more of him--I knew he must have reached the bottom after
his fall, because I heard the splash he made--but no tidings had come of
the discovery of his body; the lake kept its dark secret well.
If I could only hope that this insidious shade, now that it had hounded
me down to poverty, would consider this as a sufficient expiation of my
error and go away and leave me in peace! But I felt, only too keenly,
that it was one of those one-idea'd apparitions, which never know when
they have had enough of a good thing--it would be sure to stay and see
the very last of me!
All at once there came a sharp tap at my door, and another figure strode
solemnly in. This, too, wore the semblance of Barnjum, but was cast in a
more substantial mould, and possessed the power of speech, as I gathered
from its addressing me instantly as a cowardly villain.
I started back, and stood behind an arm-chair, facing those two forms,
the shadow and the solid, with a feeling of sick despair. 'Listen to
me,' I said, 'both of you: so long as your--your original proprietor was
content with a single wraith, I put up with it; I did not enjoy
myself--but I endured it. But a _brace_ of apparitions is really
carrying the thing too far; it's more than any one man's fair allowance,
and I won't stand it. I defy the pair of you. I will find means to
escape you. I will leave the world! Other people can be ghosts as well
as you--it's not a monopoly! If you don't go directly, I shall blow my
brains out!'
There was no firearm of any description in the house, but I was too
excited for perfect accuracy.
'Blow your brains out by all means!' said the solid figure; 'I don't
know what all this nonsense you're talking is about. I'm not a ghost
that I'm aware of; I'm alive (no thanks to you); and, to come back to
the point--scoundrel!'
'Barnjum--and alive!' I cried, almost with relief. 'If that is so,' I
added, feeling that I had been imposed upon in a very unworthy and
ungentlemanly manner, 'will you have the goodness to tell me what right
you have to this ridiculous apparition here?'
He did not seem to have noticed it particularly till then. 'Hullo!' he
said, looking at it with some curiosity, 'what d'ye call _that_ thing?'
'I call it a beastly nuisance!' I said. 'Ever since--since I last saw
you, it's been following me about everywhere in a--in a very annoying
manner!'
Will it be believed that the unfeeling brute only chuckled at this? '_I_
don't know anything about it,' he said, 'but all I can say is that it
serves you jolly well right, and I hope it will go on annoying you.'
'This is ungenerous,' I said, determined to appeal to any better
feelings he might have; 'we did not part on--on the best of terms
perhaps----'
'Considering that you kicked me over a precipice when I wasn't looking,'
he retorted brutally, 'we may take that as admitted.'
'But, at all events,' I argued, 'it is ridiculous to cherish an old
grudge all this time; you must see the absurdity of it yourself.'
'No, I don't,' he said.
I determined to make a last effort to move him. 'It is Christmas Eve,
Barnjum,' I said earnestly, 'Christmas Eve. Think of it. At this hour,
thousands of throbbing human hearts are speeding the cheap but genial
Christmas card to such of their relations as they consider at all likely
to respond with a turkey. The costermonger, imaginative for the nonce,
is investing damaged evergreens with a purely fictitious value, and the
cheery publican is sending the member of his village goose-club back to
his cottage home, rich in the possession of a shot-distended bird and a
bottle of poisonous port. Hear my appeal. If I was hasty with you, I
have been punished. That detestable thing on the hearthrug there has
dogged my path to misery and ruin; you cannot be without _some_
responsibility for its conduct. I ask you now, as a man--nay, as an
individual--to call it off. You can do it well enough if you only
choose; you know you can.'
But Barnjum wouldn't; he only looked at his own wraith with a grim
satisfaction as it capered in an imbecile fashion upon the rug.
'Do,' I implored him; 'I would do it for _you_, Barnjum. I've had it
about me for six months, and I _am_ so sick of it.'