good grounds, for she managed indirectly to learn that Edward's black
horse had actually been for a day and part of a night in the castle
stables, just at the time of her brother's supposed visit. The horse had
gone and, as she argued, the rider must have departed with it.
This point being so far settled, I felt a little less uncomfortable;
when, being one day alone in my bedroom, I happened to look out from the
window, and, to my unutterable horror, I beheld, peering through an
opposite casement, my cousin Edward's face. Had I seen the evil one
himself in bodily shape, I could not have experienced a more sickening
revulsion.
I was too much appalled to move at once from the window, but I did so
soon enough to avoid his eye. He was looking fixedly into the narrow
quadrangle upon which the window opened. I shrank back unperceived, to
pass the rest of the day in terror and despair. I went to my room early
that night, but I was too miserable to sleep.
At about twelve o'clock, feeling very nervous, I determined to call my
cousin Emily, who slept, you will remember, in the next room, which
communicated with mine by a second door. By this private entrance I
found my way into her chamber, and without difficulty persuaded her to
return to my room and sleep with me. We accordingly lay down together,
she undressed, and I with my clothes on, for I was every moment walking
up and down the room, and felt too nervous and miserable to think of
rest or comfort.
Emily was soon fast asleep, and I lay awake, fervently longing for the
first pale gleam of morning; reckoning every stroke of the old clock
with an impatience which made every hour appear like six.
It must have been about one o'clock when I thought I heard a slight
noise at the partition-door between Emily's room and mine, as if caused
by somebody turning the key in the lock. I held my breath, and the same
sound was repeated at the second door of my room--that which opened upon
the lobby--the sound was here distinctly caused by the revolution of the
bolt in the lock, and it was followed by a slight pressure upon the door
itself, as if to ascertain the security of the lock.
The person, whoever it might be, was probably satisfied, for I heard the
old boards of the lobby creak and strain, as if under the weight of
somebody moving cautiously over them. My sense of hearing became
unnaturally, almost painfully acute. I suppose my imagination added
distinctness to sounds vague in themselves. I thought that I could
actually hear the breathing of the person who was slowly returning down
the lobby. At the head of the staircase there appeared to occur a pause;
and I could distinctly hear two or three sentences hastily whispered;
the steps then descended the stairs with apparently less caution. I now
ventured to walk quickly and lightly to the lobby door, and attempted to
open it; it was indeed fast locked upon the outside, as was also the
other.
I now felt that the dreadful hour was come; but one desperate expedient
remained--it was to awaken Emily, and by our united strength to attempt
to force the partition-door, which was slighter than the other, and
through this to pass to the lower part of the house, whence it might be
possible to escape to the grounds, and forth to the village.
I returned to the bedside and shook Emily, but in vain. Nothing that
I could do availed to produce from her more than a few incoherent
words--it was a deathlike sleep. She had certainly drunk of some
narcotic, as had I probably also, spite of all the caution with which
I had examined everything presented to us to eat or drink.
I now attempted, with as little noise as possible, to force first one
door, then the other; but all in vain. I believe no strength could have
effected my object, for both doors opened inwards. I therefore collected
whatever movables I could carry thither, and piled them against the
doors, so as to assist me in whatever attempts I should make to
resist the entrance of those without. I then returned to the bed and
endeavoured again, but fruitlessly, to awaken my cousin. It was not
sleep, it was torpor, lethargy, death. I knelt down and prayed with an
agony of earnestness; and then seating myself upon the bed, I awaited my
fate with a kind of terrible tranquillity.
I heard a faint clanking sound from the narrow court which I have
already mentioned, as if caused by the scraping of some iron instrument
against stones or rubbish. I at first determined not to disturb the
calmness which I now felt by uselessly watching the proceedings of those
who sought my life; but as the sounds continued, the horrible curiosity
which I felt overcame every other emotion, and I determined, at all
hazards, to gratify it. I therefore crawled upon my knees to the window,
so as to let the smallest portion of my head appear above the sill.
The moon was shining with an uncertain radiance upon the antique grey
buildings, and obliquely upon the narrow court beneath, one side of
which was therefore clearly illuminated, while the other was lost in
obscurity; the sharp outlines of the old gables, with their nodding
clusters of ivy, being at first alone visible.
Whoever or whatever occasioned the noise which had excited my curiosity,
was concealed under the shadow of the dark side of the quadrangle. I
placed my hand over my eyes to shade them from the moonlight, which was
so bright as to be almost dazzling, and, peering into the darkness, I
first dimly, but afterwards gradually almost with full distinctness,
beheld the form of a man engaged in digging what appeared to be a rude
hole close under the wall. Some implements, probably a shovel and
pickaxe, lay beside him, and to these he every now and then applied
himself as the nature of the ground required. He pursued his task
rapidly, and with as little noise as possible.
"So," thought I, as, shovelful after shovelful, the dislodged rubbish
mounted into a heap, "they are digging the grave in which, before two
hours pass, I must lie, a cold, mangled corpse. I am _theirs_--I cannot
escape."
I felt as if my reason was leaving me. I started to my feet, and in mere
despair I applied myself again to each of the two doors alternately. I
strained every nerve and sinew, but I might as well have attempted, with
my single strength, to force the building itself from its foundation. I
threw myself madly upon the ground, and clasped my hands over my eyes as
if to shut out the horrible images which crowded upon me.
The paroxysm passed away. I prayed once more, with the bitter, agonized
fervour of one who feels that the hour of death is present and
inevitable. When I arose, I went once more to the window and looked out,
just in time to see a shadowy figure glide stealthily along the wall.
The task was finished. The catastrophe of the tragedy must soon be
accomplished.
I determined now to defend my life to the last; and that I might be able
to do so with some effect, I searched the room for something which might
serve as a weapon; but either through accident, or from an anticipation
of such a possibility, everything which might have been made available
for such a purpose had been carefully removed. I must then die tamely,
and without an effort to defend myself.
A thought suddenly struck me--might it not be possible to escape through
the door, which the assassin must open in order to enter the room? I
resolved to make the attempt. I felt assured that the door through which
ingress to the room would be effected was that which opened upon the
lobby. It was the more direct way, besides being, for obvious reasons,
less liable to interruption than the other. I resolved, then, to place
myself behind a projection of the wall, whose shadow would serve fully
to conceal me, and when the door should be opened, and before they
should have discovered the identity of the occupant of the bed, to
creep noiselessly from the room, and then to trust to Providence for
escape.
In order to facilitate this scheme, I removed all the lumber which I had
heaped against the door; and I had nearly completed my arrangements,
when I perceived the room suddenly darkened by the close approach of
some shadowy object to the window. On turning my eyes in that direction,
I observed at the top of the casement, as if suspended from above, first
the feet, then the legs, then the body, and at length the whole figure
of a man present himself. It was Edward T----n.
He appeared to be guiding his descent so as to bring his feet upon the
centre of the stone block which occupied the lower part of the window;
and, having secured his footing upon this, he kneeled down and began to
gaze into the room. As the moon was gleaming into the chamber, and the
bed-curtains were drawn, he was able to distinguish the bed itself and
its contents. He appeared satisfied with his scrutiny, for he looked up
and made a sign with his hand, upon which the rope by which his descent
had been effected was slackened from above, and he proceeded to
disengage it from his waist; this accomplished, he applied his hands to
the window-frame, which must have been ingeniously contrived for the
purpose, for, with apparently no resistance, the whole frame, containing
casement and all, slipped from its position in the wall, and was by him
lowered into the room.
The cold night wind waved the bed-curtains, and he paused for a moment;
all was still again, and he stepped in upon the floor of the room.
He held in his hand what appeared to be a steel instrument, shaped
something like a hammer, but larger and sharper at the extremities. This
he held rather behind him, while, with three long, tip-toe strides, he
brought himself to the bedside.
I felt that the discovery must now be made, and held my breath in
momentary expectation of the execration in which he would vent his
surprise and disappointment. I closed my eyes--there was a pause, but it
was a short one. I heard two dull blows, given in rapid succession: a
quivering sigh, and the long-drawn, heavy breathing of the sleeper was
for ever suspended. I unclosed my eyes, and saw the murderer fling the
quilt across the head of his victim: he then, with the instrument of
death still in his hand, proceeded to the lobby door, upon which he
tapped sharply twice or thrice. A quick step was then heard approaching,
and a voice whispered something from without. Edward answered, with a
kind of chuckle, "Her ladyship is past complaining; unlock the door, in
the devil's name, unless you're afraid to come in, and help me to lift
the body out of the window."
The key was turned in the lock--the door opened, and my uncle entered
the room.
I have told you already that I had placed myself under the shade of a
projection of the wall, close to the door. I had instinctively shrunk
down, cowering towards the ground, on the entrance of Edward through the
window. When my uncle entered the room, he and his son both stood so
very close to me that his hand was every moment upon the point of
touching my face. I held my breath, and remained motionless as death.
"You had no interruption from the next room?" said my uncle.
"No," was the brief reply.
"Secure the jewels, Ned; the French harpy must not lay her claws upon
them. You're a steady hand, by G----! not much blood--eh?"
"Not twenty drops," replied his son, "and those on the quilt."
"I'm glad it's over," whispered my uncle again. "We must lift the--the
_thing_ through the window and lay the rubbish over it."
They then turned to the bedside, and, winding the bed-clothes round the
body, carried it between them slowly to the window, and, exchanging
a few brief words with some one below, they shoved it over the
window-sill, and I heard it fall heavily on the ground underneath.
"I'll take the jewels," said my uncle; "there are two caskets in the
lower drawer."
He proceeded, with an accuracy which, had I been more at ease, would
have furnished me with matter of astonishment, to lay his hand upon the
very spot where my jewels lay; and having possessed himself of them, he
called to his son:
"Is the rope made fast above?"
"I'm not a fool--to be sure it is," replied he.
They then lowered themselves from the window. I now rose lightly and
cautiously, scarcely daring to breathe, from my place of concealment,
and was creeping towards the door, when I heard my cousin's voice, in
a sharp whisper, exclaim: "Scramble up again! G--d d----n you, you've
forgot to lock the room-door!" and I perceived, by the straining of the
rope which hung from above, that the mandate was instantly obeyed.
Not a second was to be lost. I passed through the door, which was only
closed, and moved as rapidly as I could, consistently with stillness,
along the lobby. Before I had gone many yards, I heard the door through
which I had just passed double-locked on the inside. I glided down the
stairs in terror, lest, at every corner, I should meet the murderer or
one of his accomplices.
I reached the hall, and listened for a moment, to ascertain whether all
was silent around; no sound was audible. The parlour windows opened on
the park, and through one of them I might, I thought, easily effect my
escape. Accordingly, I hastily entered; but, to my consternation, a
candle was burning in the room, and by its light I saw a figure seated
at the dinner-table, upon which lay glasses, bottles, and the other
accompaniments of a drinking-party. Two or three chairs were placed
about the table irregularly, as if hastily abandoned by their occupants.
A single glance satisfied me that the figure was that of my French
attendant. She was fast asleep, having probably drunk deeply. There was
something malignant and ghastly in the calmness of this bad woman's
features, dimly illuminated as they were by the flickering blaze of the
candle. A knife lay upon the table, and the terrible thought, struck
me--"Should I kill this sleeping accomplice, and thus secure my
retreat?"
Nothing could be easier--it was but to draw the blade across her
throat--the work of a second. An instant's pause, however, corrected me.
"No," thought I, "the God who has conducted me thus far through the
valley of the shadow of death, will not abandon me now. I will fall into
their hands, or I will escape hence, but it shall be free from the stain
of blood. His will be done!"
I felt a confidence arising from this reflection, an assurance of
protection which I cannot describe. There was no other means of escape,
so I advanced, with a firm step and collected mind, to the window. I
noiselessly withdrew the bars and unclosed the shutters--I pushed open
the casement, and, without waiting to look behind me, I ran with my
utmost speed, scarcely feeling the ground under me, down the avenue,
taking care to keep upon the grass which bordered it.
I did not for a moment slacken my speed, and I had now gained the centre
point between the park-gate and the mansion-house. Here the avenue made
a wider circuit, and in order to avoid delay, I directed my way across
the smooth sward round which the pathway wound, intending, at the
opposite side of the flat, at a point which I distinguished by a group
of old birch-trees, to enter again upon the beaten track, which was from
thence tolerably direct to the gate.
I had, with my utmost speed, got about half way across this broad flat,
when the rapid treading of a horse's hoofs struck upon my ear. My heart
swelled in my bosom as though I would smother. The clattering of
galloping hoofs approached--I was pursued--they were now upon the sward
on which I was running--there was not a bush or a bramble to shelter
me--and, as if to render escape altogether desperate, the moon, which
had hitherto been obscured, at this moment shone forth with a broad
clear light, which made every object distinctly visible.
The sounds were now close behind me. I felt my knees bending under me,
with the sensation which torments one in dreams. I reeled--I stumbled--I
fell--and at the same instant the cause of my alarm wheeled past me at
full gallop. It was one of the young fillies which pastured loose about
the park, whose frolics had thus all but maddened me with terror. I
scrambled to my feet, and rushed on with weak but rapid steps, my
sportive companion still galloping round and round me with many a frisk
and fling, until, at length, more dead than alive, I reached the
avenue-gate, and crossed the stile, I scarce knew how.
I ran through the village, in which all was silent as the grave, until
my progress was arrested by the hoarse voice of a sentinel, who cried,
"Who goes there?" I felt that I was now safe. I turned in the direction
of the voice, and fell fainting at the soldier's feet. When I came to
myself, I was sitting in a miserable hovel, surrounded by strange faces,
all bespeaking curiosity and compassion.
Many soldiers were in it also: indeed, as I afterwards found, it was
employed as a guard-room by a detachment of troops quartered for that
night in the town. In a few words I informed their officer of the
circumstances which had occurred, describing also the appearance of the
persons engaged in the murder; and he, without loss of time, proceeded
to the mansion-house of Carrickleigh, taking with him a party of his
men. But the villains had discovered their mistake, and had effected
their escape before the arrival of the military.
The Frenchwoman was, however, arrested in the neighbourhood upon the
next day. She was tried and condemned upon the ensuing assizes; and
previous to her execution, confessed that "_she had a hand in making
Hugh Tisdall's bed_." She had been a housekeeper in the castle at the
time, and a kind of _chère amie_ of my uncle's. She was, in reality,
able to speak English like a native, but had exclusively used the French
language, I suppose, to facilitate her disguise. She died the same
hardened wretch she had lived, confessing her crimes only, as she
alleged, that her doing so might involve Sir Arthur T----n, the great
author of her guilt and misery, and whom she now regarded with
unmitigated detestation.
With the particulars of Sir Arthur's and his son's escape, as far as
they are known, you are acquainted. You are also in possession of their
after fate--the terrible, the tremendous retribution which, after long
delays of many years, finally overtook and crushed them. Wonderful and
inscrutable are the dealings of God with His creatures.
Deep and fervent as must always be my gratitude to Heaven for my
deliverance, effected by a chain of providential occurrences, the
failing of a single link of which must have ensured my destruction, I
was long before I could look back upon it with other feelings than those
of bitterness, almost of agony. The only being that had ever really
loved me, my nearest and dearest friend, ever ready to sympathize, to
counsel, and to assist--the gayest, the gentlest, the warmest heart; the
only creature on earth that cared for me--_her_ life had been the price
of my deliverance; and I then uttered the wish, which no event of my
long and sorrowful life has taught me to recall, that she had been
spared, and that, in her stead, _I_ were mouldering in the grave,
forgotten and at rest.
[Illustration]
Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter.
You will no doubt be surprised, my dear friend, at the subject of the
following narrative. What had I to do with Schalken, or Schalken with
me? He had returned to his native land, and was probably dead and buried
before I was born; I never visited Holland, nor spoke with a native of
that country. So much I believe you already know. I must, then, give you
my authority, and state to you frankly the ground upon which rests the
credibility of the strange story which I am about to lay before you.
I was acquainted, in my early days, with a Captain Vandael, whose father
had served King William in the Low Countries, and also in my own unhappy
land during the Irish campaigns. I know not how it happened that I
liked this man's society, spite of his politics and religion: but so it
was; and it was by means of the free intercourse to which our intimacy
gave rise that I became possessed of the curious tale which you are
about to hear.
I had often been struck, while visiting Vandael, by a remarkable
picture, in which, though no _connoisseur_ myself, I could not fail to
discern some very strong peculiarities, particularly in the distribution
of light and shade, as also a certain oddity in the design itself, which
interested my curiosity. It represented the interior of what might be a
chamber in some antique religious building--the foreground was occupied
by a female figure, arrayed in a species of white robe, part of which
was arranged so as to form a veil. The dress, however, was not strictly
that of any religious order. In its hand the figure bore a lamp, by
whose light alone the form and face were illuminated; the features were
marked by an arch smile, such as pretty women wear when engaged in
successfully practising some roguish trick; in the background, and
(excepting where the dim red light of an expiring fire serves to define
the form) totally in the shade, stood the figure of a man equipped in
the old fashion, with doublet and so forth, in an attitude of alarm, his
hand being placed upon the hilt of his sword, which he appeared to be in
the act of drawing.
"There are some pictures," said I to my friend, "which impress one, I
know not how, with a conviction that they represent not the mere ideal
shapes and combinations which have floated through the imagination of
the artist, but scenes, faces, and situations which have actually
existed. When I look upon that picture, something assures me that I
behold the representation of a reality."
Vandael smiled, and, fixing his eyes upon the painting musingly, he
said,--
"Your fancy has not deceived you, my good friend, for that picture is
the record, and I believe a faithful one, of a remarkable and mysterious
occurrence. It was painted by Schalken, and contains, in the face of the
female figure which occupies the most prominent place in the design, an
accurate portrait of Rose Velderkaust, the niece of Gerard Douw, the
first and, I believe, the only love of Godfrey Schalken. My father knew
the painter well, and from Schalken himself he learned the story of the
mysterious drama, one scene of which the picture has embodied. This
painting, which is accounted a fine specimen of Schalken's style, was
bequeathed to my father by the artist's will, and, as you have observed,
is a very striking and interesting production."
I had only to request Vandael to tell the story of the painting in order
to be gratified; and thus it is that I am enabled to submit to you a
faithful recital of what I heard myself, leaving you to reject or to
allow the evidence upon which the truth of the tradition depends--with
this one assurance, that Schalken was an honest, blunt Dutchman, and, I
believe, wholly incapable of committing a flight of imagination; and
further, that Vandael, from whom I heard the story, appeared firmly
convinced of its truth.
There are few forms upon which the mantle of mystery and romance could
seem to hang more ungracefully than upon that of the uncouth and
clownish Schalken--the Dutch boor--the rude and dogged, but most cunning
worker in oils, whose pieces delight the initiated of the present day
almost as much as his manners disgusted the refined of his own; and yet
this man, so rude, so dogged, so slovenly, I had almost said so savage
in mien and manner, during his after successes, had been selected by the
capricious goddess, in his early life, to figure as the hero of a
romance by no means devoid of interest or of mystery.
Who can tell how meet he may have been in his young days to play the
part of the lover or of the hero? who can say that in early life he had
been the same harsh, unlicked, and rugged boor that, in his maturer age,
he proved? or how far the neglected rudeness which afterwards marked his
air, and garb, and manners, may not have been the growth of that
reckless apathy not unfrequently produced by bitter misfortunes and
disappointments in early life?
These questions can never now be answered.
We must content ourselves, then, with a plain statement of facts,
leaving matters of speculation to those who like them.