Shortly before the beginning of the last century, a wealthy
gentleman--let us call him A.--made a proposal for the hand of a young
lady living in the neighbourhood of London, the daughter of an excellent
family, though at that time somewhat reduced in circumstances, probably
in consequence of political jealousies. Judging from what is said of
her, this young lady--Miss B.--must have been a famous beauty; and it
would not therefore be surprising if A. had met with some rivalry in his
suit. To all appearances, however, the course of true love flowed as
smooth as oil. The B. family, in spite of their political disaffection,
did not oppose the marriage of their daughter to so wealthy and
respectable a suitor; and if she herself had any disinclination to him,
she very probably and prudently said nothing about it, but treated Mr.
A. very graciously.
A.'s property, and the general management of his business affairs, were
entrusted by him to the care of a talented young barrister, C. by name;
who, indeed, largely owed his prosperity and brilliant prospects to A.'s
kindness, the latter having aided him in his preparation for the Bar,
and afterwards put a great deal of business in his way, which otherwise
he would have obtained but slowly. In fact, A's attitude towards this
young man was almost parental; and no wonder if he felt himself secure
in trusting his most private concerns to one who owed him so deep a debt
of gratitude.
Nevertheless, it would doubtless have been wiser in him, a man somewhat
advanced in life, not to have made C. the bearer and utterer of
his loving messages to the lady of his heart, quite so often or so
unreservedly as he appears to have done. C., who was probably a
well-favoured and fascinating fellow enough, must have seen more of Miss
B. than did her lover; and in his capacity of the latter's recognised
confidant, he could easily have obtained access to her at any moment.
Perhaps the young beauty was not averse to a little flirtation with the
handsome and clever barrister. Perhaps she encouraged him; the evidence,
such as it is, would seem to point that way. Be that as it may, we must
admit that C. was exposed to pretty strong temptation. His virtue, be
he who he might, must have had a struggle for it; and if we imagine him
rather warm-blooded and tolerably weak-principled, we may be justly
anxious as to virtue's victory.
Having made what allowances we will, there is no denying that C. turned
out a great scoundrel. A. one morning took his carriage and went up to
London, and the coachman stopped at the door of the Court jeweller. Out
steps Mr. A., with his velvet cloak, his silk stockings, his plumed hat,
and his peaked beard; and, with his long rapier dangling at his side,
and his lace ruffles half concealing his white hands, he makes his
stately entry into the bowing tradesman's shop. There he spends a long
time examining, with all the whimsical particularity of an elderly
lover, the trays upon trays of rare, rich, and costly nicknacks which
are set before him. It seems as though he would never be suited. The
pompous horses, standing outside, shake their rattling head-gear and
stamp their proud hoofs impatiently; the obsequious jeweller racks
his brain and exhausts his eloquence unavailingly. Never was there
so difficult a customer. At length the man of jewels picks up a
quaint-looking little locket, and is just on the point of putting it
down again, as not even worth the trouble of offering, when Mr. A.
exclaims:
"Hold, Mr. Jeweller, that is what we are looking for. What is the price
of that locket?"
"Oh sir," replies the shrewd man of business, quickly recovering from
his first surprise, "I see you need not be informed of what is truly
valuable. This little locket, which most persons would look upon as
commonplace, is in fact, in more senses than one, the jewel of my stock.
It is made, you perceive, out of a simple brown tourmaline, exquisitely
cut in relief. The workmanship is really matchless, and the tourmaline
itself--as perhaps you are aware--is believed to be endowed with certain
mystic properties----"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Jeweller," interrupts the dark-visaged customer, in a
somewhat testy tone; "I know the nature and properties of the trinket
quite as well as you do. What I desired of you was to name your price."
The tradesman hesitated for a moment, and then, summoning all his
audacity to his aid, mentioned a sum which made his own heart beat and
his eyes water. But the composure of Mr. A. was not dashed a whit. He
even appeared to smile a little satirically, as though to intimate that
he considered himself as having altogether the best of the bargain. He
paid the money without a moment's demur, and taking up the locket before
the excited jeweller had time to put it in a box for him, Mr. A. saluted
him gravely and stalked out of the shop.
"Well," thought the tradesman, as he watched the heavy coach roll away,
"if he's satisfied, I'm sure I ought to be. And yet--I wonder what that
locket was after all! I don't remember having ever noticed it amongst
the stock before to-day. It really was finely enchased, and may have
been more valuable than I supposed. But pshaw! fifty guineas! Such a
stroke of business was never heard of before. If the locket had been a
witch's amulet, with power to drive men mad or raise the Devil, I should
still have made a good profit!"
Meanwhile Mr. A. was speeding on his way to his betrothed. The fact is,
they were to be married on the morrow, and the honest gentleman had
bought the locket as a pre-nuptial gift. Probably the horses, fleet and
well-conditioned as they were, were somewhat put to it to keep pace with
their owner's eagerness to be at the end of his journey. In due time,
however, behold them reined snorting up at the gateway of the B.
mansion, and Mr. A., locket in hand, preparing to alight.
But, alas! it is too evident that some disaster has occurred. The
servant who opens the door is pale and scared; the household is in
disorder. Twice does the visitor demand news of the master and mistress
before he can elicit a reply.
"Present them my compliments, if they are at leisure," continues Mr. A.,
"and ask whether I may request the honour of an interview with their
daughter."
"Lord bless me, sir!" falters the trembling servant, "haven't you
heard----"
"Heard what?" says A., turning pale; "what is the matter, fellow? Is the
young lady ill?"
"Ill, sir? Lord bless me, sir, she--she's gone!"
Mr. A. recoiled, and seemed to gasp for breath for a moment. His face,
from pale, became suddenly overspread with a deep crimson flush, and the
veins on his forehead swelled. At length he burst out in a terrible
voice:
"Gone? Where? With whom?"
But at this point the appearance of the master and mistress relieved the
wretched footman from his unenviable position. The miserable story was
soon told. The young lady to whom Mr. A. had entrusted his heart and
honour, to whom he was to have been united the next day, whose wedding
gift he even then held in his hand, had eloped the night before in the
good old-fashioned manner, and was by this time far beyond the reach of
pursuit, could pursuit have availed. The flight had been six hours old
before it was discovered by the young lady's mother.
"But with whom? with whom? Who was the villain who dared to rob me?"
cried Mr. A., storming up and down the hall in ungovernable fury. "Who
was it, madam, I say? Stop your wretched whimpering and speak!"
"Dear me, Mr. A.," quavered the poor lady, struggling with her sobs,
"can't you think? Why, it's that young Mr. C. of yours, of course. Who
else could it be?"
At this reply, which he seems not in the least to have expected, Mr.
A. became suddenly and appallingly calm. During a short space he made
neither sound nor movement. At length he slowly uplifted one clenched
hand above his head, and shook it there with a kind of sluggish
deliberation. To the frightened and hushed spectators it seemed as if
the air grew dark around him as he did it. Still without uttering a word
he now partly unclosed his hand, and there was seen to proceed from it a
dusky glow or gleam, as of phosphorescence. Drawing in a deep breath, he
exhaled it slowly over this phosphorescent appearance, as if desirous of
inspiring it with the very essence of his being. If the account is to be
believed, the glow became more lurid, and the tall figure of Mr. A. more
sombre, with the action.
Whatever this odd ceremony might mean, it had the good effect of
restoring the betrayed suitor to his wonted courteous and grave
self-possession. In a manner at once earnest and dignified he besought
Mr. and Mrs. B. to pardon and overlook his late violent and passionate
demeanour.
"I have erred deeply," added he, "in permitting, even for a short time,
that evil spirit which is ever at hand to ensnare the rash and unwary to
gain dominion over me. For, alas! what right have I to be angry? Your
daughter, methinks, has better reason to upbraid me than I her. What
charm could such a one as she is find in a graybeard like myself? Truly,
I blame her not, and sorrow only that she did not frankly make known to
me her disfavour, rather than thus violently and suddenly cast me off.
And as for the partner of her flight, how can I do otherwise than pardon
him? Have I not trusted him and loved him as a son? Nay, nay, I have
been an old fool--an old fool; but I will not be an unforgiving one.
See," he went on, in the same quiet and colourless tone in which he had
spoken throughout, "here is a trifle which I had purposed presenting
to your daughter as a symbol of my affection. It is a jewel, curiously
carven as you see, and fabled to exert a benign and wholesome influence
over the wearer. How that may be, I know not; but sure am I that aught
freighted, like this, with the deepest prayers and most earnest hopes
of him who had thought (a foolish thought--I see it now!) to win
the highest place in her regard, will not be refused by her when,
acknowledging my error, I beg her to accept it as the gift of elder
friend to friend. Permit me, madam"--he laid the locket in Mrs. B.'s
hand, she half shrinkingly receiving it; "you will soon hear from your
daughter and her husband"--this word he pronounced with a certain grave
emphasis--"and your reply, let me venture to hope, will tend to a
speedy reconciliation. Present her, in my name and with my blessing,
with this gem; bid her transmit it as an heirloom to her descendants;
and believe that, so long as it retains its form and virtue, my spirit
will not forget this solemn hour."
Having delivered himself of this long-winded and not altogether
unambiguous speech, good Mr. A. bowed himself out, and rumbled away in
his stately coach. Shortly afterwards the abdication of James II. was
known throughout England. The B.'s rose at once from their position of
political obscurity to an honoured and powerful place under the new
_régime_. C., who now turned out to have been for a long time a plotter
for the successful cause, was not long afterwards installed as a Court
favourite, and his beautiful wife became the idol of society. Poor
Mr. A., on the other hand, had a sour time of it. He had been bitterly
opposed to the Prince of Orange, and naturally found his present
predicament an embarrassing one. He appears to have met with quite an
Iliad of misfortunes and reverses; and a few years after William's
accession he died.
The general opinion was that he had devoted his latter days to religious
exercises. Certain it is, that he was on terms of intimacy with an
eminent divine of the day; indeed, a careful analysis of references
satisfied me that the compiler of the mysterious MS. and this divine
could be no other than one and the same person. And the inference thence
that he had died in the odour of sanctity would have been easy enough,
save for one discordant and sinister circumstance.
This was reserved for the very last paragraph of the narrative, and shed
a peculiar and ill-omened light over all that had gone before. It was
related in the transcriber's own person; and after describing with
some minuteness the last hours of Mr. A., it concluded as follows. I
translate from the original Latin:
"Mr. A. having long lain without motion, breathing hoarsely, and with
his eyes half open, and of a rigid and glazed appearance, as of a man
already dead--all at once raised himself up in bed, with a strength and
deliberation altogether unexpected; and having once or twice passed his
hand over his brow, and coughed slightly in his throat, he said to me:
"'Take your pen, friend, and write. I will now dictate my last will and
testament.'
"It appeared to me that he must be delirious both because he had,
several hours previous, caused his will to be brought to him and read in
his ear (this will bore date before the date of his intended marriage
with Miss B.), and also because his aspect, notwithstanding the
strength of his movements and voice, was more that of a corpse than of a
living man; and he might have been believed, by those who put faith in
such superstitions, to be animated by some unhallowed spirit not his
own.
"But when I showed him that former will, supposing him to have forgotten
it, he bade me put it in the fire; and when this had been done, and the
will consumed, he bade me write thus:
"'I, ---- A., being nowe about to die, yet knowynge well the nature of
this my act, doe herebye bequeathe my ondyinge Hatred to C. and to his
wife (formerly Miss B.), to them and to their Posteritie. And I doe
herebye pray Almighty God that the Revenge which my Soule hath desired
and conceived, be fulfilled to the uttermoste, whether soon or
hereafter: yea, at the perill of my Salvation. Amen!'"
This Satanic composition was duly signed, sealed, and witnessed as A.'s
last will and testament; and the latest earthly act of the wretched man
was the affixing his signature to an instrument which, whatever other
end it might accomplish, could hardly fail of exercising its deadliest
venom against himself.