As one story of the kind produces another, and as all the company
seemed fully engrossed by the topic, and disposed to bring their
relatives and ancestors upon the scene, there is no knowing how
many more ghost adventures we might have heard, had not a
corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept soundly through the
whole, now suddenly awakened, with a loud and long-drawn yawn.
The sound broke the charm; the ghosts took to flight as though it
had been cock-crowing, and there was a universal move for bed.
“And now for the haunted chamber,” said the Irish captain, taking
his candle.
“Aye, who’s to be the hero of the night?” said the gentleman with
the ruined head.
“That we shall see in the morning,” said the old gentleman with
the nose: “whoever looks pale and grizzly will have seen the
ghost.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said the Baronet, “there’s many a true thing
said in jest. In fact, one of you will sleep in a room to-night—”
“What—a haunted room? a haunted room? I claim the adventure—and
I—and I—and I,” cried a dozen guests, talking and laughing at the
same time.
“No—no,” said mine host, “there is a secret about one of my rooms
on which I feel disposed to try an experiment. So, gentlemen,
none of you shall know who has the haunted chamber, until
circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it myself, but will
leave it to chance and the allotment of the housekeeper. At the
same time, if it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe,
for the honor of my paternal mansion, that there’s scarcely a
chamber in it but is well worthy of being haunted.”
We now separated for the night, and each went to his allotted
room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and I could not but
smile at its resemblance in style to those eventful apartments
described in the tales of the supper table. It was spacious and
gloomy, decorated with lamp-black portraits, a bed of ancient
damask, with a tester sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of
state, and a number of massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture.
I drew a great claw-footed arm-chair before the wide fire-place;
stirred up the fire; sat looking into it, and musing upon the odd
stories I had heard; until, partly overcome by the fatigue of the
day’s hunting, and partly by the wine and wassail of mine host, I
fell asleep in my chair.
The uneasiness of my position made my slumber troubled, and laid
me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful dreams; now it
was that my perfidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion
against my peace. I was hag-ridden by a fat saddle of mutton; a
plum pudding weighed like lead upon my conscience; the merry
thought of a capon filled me with horrible suggestions; and a
devilled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical
shapes through my imagination. In short, I had a violent fit of
the nightmare. Some strange indefinite evil seemed hanging over
me that I could not avert; something terrible and loathsome
oppressed me that I could not shake off. I was conscious of being
asleep, and strove to rouse myself, but every effort redoubled
the evil; until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I
suddenly sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke.
The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, and the wick was
divided; there was a great winding sheet made by the dripping
wax, on the side towards me. The disordered taper emitted a broad
flaring flame, and threw a strong light on a painting over the
fire-place, which I had not hitherto observed.
It consisted merely of a head, or rather a face, that appeared to
be staring full upon me, and with an expression that was
startling. It was without a frame, and at the first glance I
could hardly persuade myself that it was not a real face,
thrusting itself out of the dark oaken pannel. I sat in my chair
gazing at it, and the more I gazed the more it disquieted me. I
had never before been affected in the same way by any painting.
The emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. They were
something like what I have heard ascribed to the eyes of the
basilisk; or like that mysterious influence in reptiles termed
fascination. I passed my hand over my eyes several times, as if
seeking instinctively to brush away this allusion—in vain—they
instantly reverted to the picture, and its chilling, creeping
influence over my flesh was redoubled.
I looked around the room on other pictures, either to divert my
attention, or to see whether the same effect would be produced by
them. Some of them were grim enough to produce the effect, if the
mere grimness of the painting produced it—no such thing. My eye
passed over them all with perfect indifference, but the moment it
reverted to this visage over the fire-place, it was as if an
electric shock darted through me. The other pictures were dim and
faded; but this one protruded from a plain black ground in the
strongest relief, and with wonderful truth of coloring. The
expression was that of agony—the agony of intense bodily pain;
but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few sprinklings of
blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it was not all these
characteristics—it was some horror of the mind, some inscrutable
antipathy awakened by this picture, which harrowed up my
feelings.
I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical; that my
brain was confused by the fumes of mine host’s good cheer, and,
in some measure, by the odd stories about paintings which had
been told at supper. I determined to shake off these vapors of
the mind; rose from my chair, and walked about the room; snapped
my fingers; rallied myself; laughed aloud. It was a forced laugh,
and the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon my ear. I
walked to the window; tried to discern the landscape through the
glass. It was pitch darkness, and howling storm without; and as I
heard the wind moan among the trees, I caught a reflection of
this accursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it were
staring through the window at me. Even the reflection of it was
thrilling.
How was this vile nervous fit, for such I now persuaded myself it
was, to be conquered? I determined to force myself not to look at
the painting but to undress quickly and get into bed. I began to
undress, but in spite of every effort I could not keep myself
from stealing a glance every now and then at the picture; and a
glance was now sufficient to distress me. Even when my back was
turned to it, the idea of this strange face behind me, peering
over my shoulder, was insufferable. I threw off my clothes and
hurried into bed; but still this visage gazed upon me. I had a
full view of it from my bed, and for some time could not take my
eyes from it. I had grown nervous to a dismal degree.
I put out the light, and tried to force myself to sleep;—all in
vain! The fire gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light
about the room, leaving, however, the region of the picture in
deep shadow. What, thought I, if this be the chamber about which
mine host spoke as having a mystery reigning over it?—I had taken
his words merely as spoken in jest; might they have a real
import? I looked around. The faintly lighted apartment had all
the qualifications requisite for a haunted chamber. It began in
my infected imagination to assume strange appearances. The old
portraits turned paler and paler, and blacker and blacker; the
streaks of light and shadow thrown among the quaint old articles
of furniture, gave them singular shapes and characters. There was
a huge dark clothes-press of antique form, gorgeous in brass and
lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive to me.
Am I then, thought I, indeed, the hero of the haunted room? Is
there really a spell laid upon me, or is this all some
contrivance of mine host, to raise a laugh at my expense? The
idea of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, and then
bantered on my haggard looks the next day was intolerable; but
the very idea was sufficient to produce the effect, and to render
me still more nervous. Pish, said I, it can be no such thing. How
could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man would be so
worried by a mere picture? It is my own diseased imagination that
torments me. I turned in my bed, and shifted from side to side,
to try to fall asleep; but all in vain. When one cannot get
asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will
effect the purpose. The fire gradually went out and left the room
in darkness. Still I had the idea of this inexplicable
countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me through the
darkness. Nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed to give
it additional power, and to multiply its terrors. It was like
having an unseen enemy hovering about one in the night. Instead
of having one picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I fancied
it in every direction. And there it is, thought I,—and there, and
there,—with its horrible and mysterious expression, still gazing
and gazing on me. No if I must suffer this strange and dismal
influence, it were better face a single foe, than thus be haunted
by a thousand images of it.
Whoever has been in such a state of nervous agitation must know
that the longer it continues, the more uncontrollable it grows;
the very air of the chamber seemed at length infected by the
baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering over me.
I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall approaching my
face,—it seemed breathing upon me. This is not to be borne, said
I, at length, springing out of bed. I can stand this no longer. I
shall only tumble and toss about here all night; make a very
spectre of myself, and become the hero of the haunted chamber in
good earnest. Whatever be the consequence. I’ll quit this cursed
room, and seek a night’s rest elsewhere. They can but laugh at me
at all events, and they’ll be sure to have the laugh upon me if I
pass a sleepless night and show them a haggard and wo-begone
visage in the morning.
All this was half muttered to myself, as I hastily slipped on my
clothes; which having done, I groped my way out of the room, and
down-stairs to the drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over two or
three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach a sofa, and
stretching myself upon it determined to bivouac there for the
night.
The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of that strange
picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its influence
was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to its own
dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive caution,
turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed down,
therefore, into a state of tranquillity; from that into a
drowsiness, and finally into a deep sleep; out of which I did not
awake, until the housemaid, with her besom and her matin song,
came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me stretched
upon the sofa; but I presume circumstances of the kind were not
uncommon after hunting dinners, in her master’s bachelor
establishment; for she went on with her song and her work, and
took no farther heed of me.
I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber; so I
found my way to the butler’s quarters, made my toilet in the best
way circumstances would permit, and was among the first to appear
at the breakfast table. Our breakfast was a substantial
fox-hunter’s repast, and the company were generally assembled at
it. When ample justice had been done to the tea, coffee, cold
meats, and humming ale, for all these were furnished in
abundance, according to the tastes of the different guests, the
conversation began to break out, with all the liveliness and
freshness of morning mirth.
“But who is the hero of the haunted chamber?—Who has seen the
ghost last night?” said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his
lobster eyes about the table.
The question set every tongue in motion; a vast deal of
bantering; criticising of countenances; of mutual accusation and
retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and some were unshaven,
so that there were suspicious faces enough in the assembly. I
alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the joke. I
felt tongue-tied—embarrassed. A recollection of what I had seen
and felt the preceding night still haunted my mind.
It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon
me. I thought also that our host’s eye was turned on me with an
air of curiosity. In short, I was conscious that I was the hero
of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in my looks.
The jokes, however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to
attach to me. I was just congratulating myself on my escape, when
a servant came in, saying, that the gentleman who had slept on
the sofa in the drawing-room, had left his watch under one of the
pillows. My repeater was in his hand.
“What!” said the inquisitive gentleman, “did any gentleman sleep
on the sofa?”
“Soho! soho! a hare—a hare!” cried the old gentleman with the
flexible nose.
I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising in
great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who sat beside me,
exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, “’Sblood, lad! thou’rt
the man as has seen the ghost!”
The attention of the company was immediately turned to me; if my
face had been pale the moment before, it now glowed almost to
burning. I tried to laugh, but could only make a grimace; and
found all the muscles of my face twitching at sixes and sevens,
and totally out of all control.
It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox-hunters.
There was a world of merriment and joking at my expense; and as I
never relished a joke overmuch when it was at my own expense, I
began to feel a little nettled. I tried to look cool and calm and
to restrain my pique; but the coolness and calmness of a man in a
passion are confounded treacherous.
Gentlemen, said I, with a slight cocking of the chin, and a bad
attempt at a smile, this is all very pleasant—ha! ha!—very
pleasant—but I’d have you know I am as little superstitious as
any of you—ha! ha!—and as to anything like timidity—you may
smile, gentlemen—but I trust there is no one here means to
insinuate that.—As to a room’s being haunted, I repeat,
gentlemen—(growing a little warm at seeing a cursed grin breaking
out round me)—as to a room’s being haunted, I have as little
faith in such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the
matter home to me, I will say that I have met with something in
my room strange and inexplicable to me—(a shout of laughter).
Gentlemen, I am serious—I know well what I am saying—I am calm,
gentlemen, (striking my flat upon the table)—by heaven I am calm.
I am neither trifling, nor do I wish to be trifled with—(the
laughter of the company suppressed with ludicrous attempts at
gravity). There is a picture in the room in which I was put last
night, that has had an effect upon me the most singular and
incomprehensible.
“A picture!” said the old gentleman with the haunted head. “A
picture!” cried the narrator with the waggish nose. “A picture! a
picture!” echoed several voices. Here there was an ungovernable
peal of laughter.
I could not contain myself. I started up from my seat—looked
round on the company with fiery indignation—thrust both my hands
into my pockets, and strode up to one of the windows, as though I
would have walked through it. I stopped short; looked out upon
the landscape without distinguishing a feature of it; and felt my
gorge rising almost to suffocation.
Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had maintained an air
of Gravity through the whole of the scene, and now stepped forth
as if to shelter me from the overwhelming merriment of my
companions.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I dislike to spoil sport, but you have had
your laugh, and the joke of the haunted chamber has been enjoyed.
I must now take the part of my guest. I must not only vindicate
him from your pleasantries, but I must reconcile him to himself,
for I suspect he is a little out of humor with his own feelings;
and above all, I must crave his pardon for having made him the
subject of a kind of experiment.
“Yes, gentlemen, there is something strange and peculiar in the
chamber to which our friend was shown last night. There is a
picture which possesses a singular and mysterious influence; and
with which there is connected a very curious story. It is a
picture to which I attach a value from a variety of
circumstances; and though I have often been tempted to destroy it
from the odd and uncomfortable sensations it produces in every
one that beholds it; yet I have never been able to prevail upon
myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to
look upon myself; and which is held in awe by all my servants. I
have, therefore, banished it to a room but rarely used; and
should have had it covered last night, had not the nature of our
conversation, and the whimsical talk about a haunted chamber
tempted me to let it remain, by way of experiment, whether a
stranger, totally unacquainted with its story, would be affected
by it.”
The words of the Baronet had turned every thought into a
different channel: all were anxious to hear the story of the
mysterious picture; and for myself, so strongly were my feelings
interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the experiment which
my host had made upon my nerves, and joined eagerly in the
general entreaty.
As the morning was stormy, and precluded all egress, my host was
glad of any means of entertaining his company; so drawing his
arm-chair beside the fire, he began—