been taking a long ride, and being tired, had fallen asleep the moment I
lay down, but in the middle of the night I was suddenly awakened--I
cannot tell by what, for the step over our heads we had become so used
to that it no longer disturbed us. Well, I awoke; I had been lying with
my face towards my mother, who was asleep beside me, and, as one usually
does on awaking, I turned to the other side, where, the weather being
warm, the curtain of the bed was undrawn, as it was also at the foot,
and I saw standing by a chest of drawers, which were betwixt me and the
window, a thin, tall figure, in a loose powdering gown, one arm resting
on the drawers, and the face turned towards me. I saw it quite
distinctly by the night-light, which burnt clearly; it was a long, thin,
pale, young face, with oh! such a melancholy expression as can never be
effaced from my memory! I was, certainly, very much frightened; but my
great horror was lest my mother should awake and see the figure. I
turned my head gently towards her, and heard her breathing high in a
sound sleep. Just then the clock on the stairs struck four. I daresay it
was nearly an hour before I ventured to look again; and when I did take
courage to turn my eyes towards the drawers there was nothing, yet I had
not heard the slightest sound, though I had been listening with the
greatest intensity.
As you may suppose, I never closed my eyes again; and glad I was when
Creswell knocked at the door, as she did every morning, for we always
locked it, and it was my business to get out of bed and let her in. But
on this occasion, instead of doing so, I called out, "Come in, the door
is not fastened"; upon which she answered that it was, and I was obliged
to get out of bed and admit her as usual.
When I told my mother what had happened she was very grateful to me for
not waking her, and commended me much for my resolution; but as she was
always my first object, that was not to be wondered at. She, however,
resolved not to risk another night in the house, and we got out of it
that very day, after instituting, with the aid of the servants, a
thorough search, with a view to ascertain whether there was any possible
means of getting into the rooms except by the usual modes of ingress;
but our search was vain; none could be discovered.
Considering the number of people that were in the house, the
fearlessness of the family, and their disinclination to believe in what
is called the _supernatural_, together with the great interest the owner
of this large and handsome house must have had in discovering the trick,
if there had been one, I think it is difficult to find any other
explanation of this strange story than that the sad and disappointed
spirit of this poor injured, and probably murdered boy, had never been
disengaged from its earthly relations, to which regret for its
frustrated hopes and violated rights still held it attached.
XXXI
THE GHOST OF ROSEWARNE
From HUNT'S "Romances of the West of England"
"Ezekiel Grosse, gent., attorney-at-law," bought the lands of Rosewarne
from one of the De Rosewarnes, who had become involved in debt by
endeavouring, without sufficient means, to support the dignity of his
family. There is reason for believing that Ezekiel was the legal adviser
of this unfortunate Rosewarne, and that he was not over-honest in his
transactions with his client. However this may be, Ezekiel Grosse had
scarcely made Rosewarne his dwelling-place, before he was alarmed by
noises, at first of an unearthly character, and subsequently, one very
dark night, by the appearance of the ghost himself in the form of a worn
and aged man. The first appearance was in the park, but he subsequently
repeated his visits in the house, but always after dark. Ezekiel Grosse
was not a man to be terrified at trifles, and for some time he paid but
slight attention to his nocturnal visitor. Howbeit the repetition of
visits, and certain mysterious indications on the part of the ghost,
became annoying to Ezekiel. One night, when seated in his office
examining some deeds, and being rather irritable, having lost an
important suit, his visitor approached him, making some strange
indications which the lawyer could not understand. Ezekiel suddenly
exclaimed, "In the name of God, what wantest thou?"
"To show thee, Ezekiel Grosse, where the gold for which thou longest
lies buried."
No one ever lived upon whom the greed of gold was stronger than on
Ezekiel, yet he hesitated now that his spectral friend had spoken so
plainly, and trembled in every limb as the ghost slowly delivered
himself in sepulchral tones of this telling speech.
The lawyer looked fixedly on the spectre; but he dared not utter a word.
He longed to obtain possession of the secret, yet he feared to ask him
where he was to find this treasure. The spectre looked as fixedly at the
poor trembling lawyer, as if enjoying the sight of his terror. At
length, lifting his finger, he beckoned Ezekiel to follow him, turning
at the same time to leave the room. Ezekiel was glued to his seat; he
could not exert strength enough to move, although he desired to do so.
"Come!" said the ghost, in a hollow voice. The lawyer was powerless to
come.
"Gold!" exclaimed the old man, in a whining tone, though in a louder
key.
"Where?" gasped Ezekiel.
"Follow me, and I will show thee," said the ghost. Ezekiel endeavoured
to rise; but it was in vain.
"I command thee, come!" almost shrieked the ghost. Ezekiel felt that he
was compelled to follow his friend; and by some supernatural power
rather than his own, he followed the spectre out of the room, and
through the hall, into the park.
They passed onward through the night--the ghost gliding before the
lawyer, and guiding him by a peculiar phosphorescent light, which
appeared to glow from every part of the form, until they arrived at a
little dell, and had reached a small cairn formed of granite boulders.
By this the spectre rested; and when Ezekiel had approached it, and was
standing on the other side of the cairn, still trembling, the aged man,
looking fixedly in his face, said, in low tones, "Ezekiel Grosse, thou
longest for gold, as I did. I won the glittering prize, but I could not
enjoy it. Heaps of treasure are buried beneath those stones; it is
thine, if thou diggest for it. Win the gold, Ezekiel. Glitter with the
wicked ones of the world; and when thou art the most joyous, I will look
in upon thy happiness." The ghost then disappeared, and as soon as
Grosse could recover himself from the extreme trepidation,--the result
of mixed feelings,--he looked about him, and finding himself alone, he
exclaimed, "Ghost or devil, I will soon prove whether or not thou
liest!" Ezekiel is said to have heard a laugh, echoing between the
hills, as he said those words.
The lawyer noted well the spot; returned to his house; pondered on all
the circumstances of his case; and eventually resolved to seize the
earliest opportunity, when he might do so unobserved, of removing the
stones, and examining the ground beneath them.
A few nights after this, Ezekiel went to the little cairn, and by the
aid of a crowbar, he soon overturned the stones, and laid the ground
bare. He then commenced digging, and had not proceeded far when his
spade struck against some other metal. He carefully cleared away the
earth, and he then felt--for he could not see, having no light with
him--that he had uncovered a metallic urn of some kind. He found it
quite impossible to lift it, and he was therefore compelled to cover it
up again, and to replace the stones sufficiently to hide it from the
observation of any chance wanderer.
The next night Ezekiel found that this urn, which was of bronze,
contained gold coins of a very ancient date. He loaded himself with his
treasure, and returned home. From time to time, at night, as Ezekiel
found he could do so without exciting the suspicions of his servants, he
visited the urn, and thus by degrees removed all the treasure to
Rosewarne House. There was nothing in the series of circumstances which
had surrounded Ezekiel which he could less understand than the fact,
that the ghost of the old man had left off troubling him from the moment
when he had disclosed to him the hiding-place of this treasure.
The neighbouring gentry could not but observe the rapid improvements
which Ezekiel Grosse made in his mansion, his grounds, in his personal
appearance, and indeed in everything by which he was surrounded. In a
short time he abandoned the law, and led in every respect the life of a
country gentleman. He ostentatiously paraded his power to procure all
earthly enjoyments, and, in spite of his notoriously bad character, he
succeeded in drawing many of the landed proprietors around him.
Things went well with Ezekiel. The man who could in those days visit
London in his own carriage and four was not without a large circle of
flatterers. The lawyer who had struggled hard, in the outset of life, to
secure wealth, and who did not always employ the most honest means for
doing so, now found himself the centre of a circle to whom he could
preach honesty, and receive from them expressions of the admiration in
which the world holds the possessor of gold. His old tricks were
forgotten, and he was put in places of honour. This state of things
continued for some time; indeed, Grosse's entertainments became more and
more splendid, and his revels more and more seductive to those he
admitted to share them with him. The Lord of Rosewarne was the Lord of
the West. To him everyone bowed the knee: he walked the earth as the
proud possessor of a large share of the planet.
It was Christmas Eve, and a large gathering there was at Rosewarne. In
the hall the ladies and gentlemen were in the full enjoyment of the
dance, and in the kitchen all the tenantry and the servants were
emulating their superiors. Everything went joyously; but when the mirth
was in full swing, and Ezekiel felt to the full the influence of wealth,
it appeared as if all in a moment the chill of death had fallen over
everyone. The dancers paused, and looked one at another, each one struck
with the other's paleness; and there, in the middle of the hall,
everyone saw a strange old man looking angrily, but in silence, at
Ezekiel Grosse, who was fixed in terror, blank as a statue.
No one had seen this old man enter the hall, yet there he was in the
midst of them. It was but for a minute, and he was gone. Ezekiel, as if
a frozen torrent of water had thawed in an instant, recovered himself,
and roared at them.
"What do you think of that for a Christmas play? Ha, ha, ha! How
frightened you all look! Butler, hand round the spiced wines! On with
the dancing, my friends! It was only a trick, ay, and a clever one,
which I have put upon you. On with your dancing, my friends!"
But with all his boisterous attempts to restore the spirit of the
evening, Ezekiel could not succeed. There was an influence stronger than
any he could command; and one by one, framing sundry excuses, his guests
took their departure, every one of them satisfied that all was not right
at Rosewarne.
From that Christmas Eve Grosse was a changed man. He tried to be his
former self; but it was in vain. Again and again he called his gay
companions around him; but at every feast there appeared one more than
was desired. An aged man--weird beyond measure--took his place at the
table in the middle of the feast; and although he spoke not, he exerted
a miraculous power over all. No one dared to move; no one ventured to
speak. Occasionally Ezekiel assumed an appearance of courage, which he
felt not; rallied his guests, and made sundry excuses for the presence
of his aged friend, whom he represented as having a mental infirmity,
as being deaf and dumb. On all such occasions the old man rose from the
table, and looking at the host, laughed a demoniac laugh of joy, and
departed as quietly as he came.
The natural consequence of this was that Ezekiel Grosse's friends fell
away from him, and he became a lonely man, amidst his vast
possessions--his only companion being his faithful clerk, John Call.
The persecuting presence of the spectre became more and more constant;
and wherever the poor lawyer went, there was the aged man at his side.
From being one of the finest men in the county, he became a miserably
attenuated and bowed old man. Misery was stamped on every
feature--terror was indicated in every movement. At length he appears to
have besought his ghostly attendant to free him of his presence. It was
long before the ghost would listen to any terms; but when Ezekiel at
length agreed to surrender the whole of his wealth to anyone whom the
spectre might indicate, he obtained a promise that upon this being
carried out, in a perfectly legal manner, in favour of John Call, that
he should no longer be haunted.
This was, after numerous struggles on the part of Ezekiel to retain his
property, or at least some portion of it, legally settled, and John Call
became possessor of Rosewarne and the adjoining lands. Grosse was then
informed that this evil spirit was one of the ancestors of the
Rosewarne, from whom by his fraudulent dealings he obtained the place,
and that he was allowed to visit the earth again for the purpose of
inflicting the most condign punishment on the avaricious lawyer. His
avarice had been gratified, his pride had been pampered to the highest;
and then he was made a pitiful spectacle, at whom all men pointed, and
no one pitied. He lived on in misery, but it was for a short time. He
was found dead; and the country people ever said that his death was a
violent one; they spoke of marks on his body, and some even asserted
that the spectre of De Rosewarne was seen rejoicing amidst a crowd of
devils, as they bore the spirit of Ezekiel over Carn Brea.
XXXII
THE IRON CHEST OF DURLEY
By JOSEPH GLANVIL[12]
Mr _John Bourne_, for his Skill, Care and Honesty, was made by his
Neighbour _John Mallet_, Esq., of _Enmore_, the chief of his Trustees,
for his Son _John Mallet_ (Father to Elizabeth, now Countess Dowager of
_Rochester_) and the rest of his Children in Minority. He had the
reputation of a worthy good Man, and was commonly taken notice of for an
habitual Saying, by way of Interjection almost to anything, viz. _You
say true, you say true, you are in the right._ This Mr Bourne fell sick
at his House at Durley, in the year 1654, and Dr _Raymond of Oak_ was
sent for to him, who after some time, gave the said Mr Bourne over. And
he had not now spoken in twenty-four Hours, when the said Dr Raymond,
and Mrs _Carlisle_ (Mr Bourne's Nephew's Wife, whose Husband he had made
one of his Heirs) sitting by his bedside, the Doctor opened the
Bed-curtains at the Bed's-feet, to give him air; when on a sudden, to
the Horror and Amazement of Dr Raymond, and Mrs Carlisle, the great Iron
Chest by the Window, at his Bed's-feet, with three Locks to it (in which
were all the Writings and Evidences of the said Mr Mallet's Estate),
began to open, first one Lock, and then another, then the third;
afterwards the Lid of the Chest, lifted up of itself, and stood wide
open. Then the patient, Mr Bourne, who had not spoke in 24 Hours, lifted
himself up also, and looking upon the Chest, cry'd: _You say true, you
say true, you are in the right, I'll be with you by and by._ So the
Patient lay down, and spake no more. Then the Chest fell again of
itself, and lock'd itself, one Lock after another, as the 3 Locks
opened; and they tried to knock it open, and could not, and Mr Bourne
died within an Hour after.
_N.B._--This Narrative was sent in a Letter to J.C., directed for Dr H.
More from Mr Thomas Alcock, of Shear-Hampton; of which in a Letter to
the said Doctor, he gives this Account. I am, said he, very confident of
the truth of the Story; for I had it from a very good Lady, the eldest
daughter of the said John Mallet (whose Trustee Mr Bourne was) and only
Aunt to the Countess of Rochester, who knew all the parties; and I have
heard Dr Raymond, and Mr Carlisle, relate it often with amazement, being
both Persons of Credit.
The curious may be inquisitive what the meaning of the opening of the
Chest may be, and of Mr Bourne his saying _You say true, etc., I'll be
with you by and by_. As for the former, it is noted by Paracelsus
especially, and by others, that there are signs often given of the
Departure of sick Men lying on their death beds, of which this opening
of the Iron Coffer or Chest, and closing again, is more than ordinary
significant, especially if we recall to mind that of Virgil:
"Olli dura quies oculos & _ferreus_ urget
Somnus----"
Though this quaintness is more than is requisite in these Prodigies
presaging the sick Man's Death. As for the latter, it seems to be
nothing else but the saying _Amen_ to the Presage, uttered in his
accustomary form of Speech, as if he should say, you of the invisible
Kingdom of Spirits, have given the Token of my sudden Departure, and you
say true, I shall be with you by and by. Which he was enabled so
assuredly to assent to, upon the advantage of the relaxation of his Soul
now departing from the Body: Which Diodorus Siculus, lib. 18, notes to
be the Opinion of Pythagoras and his followers, that it is the privilege
of the Soul near her Departure, to exercise a fatidical Faculty, and to
pronounce truly touching things future.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 12: _Sadducismus Triumphatus._]
XXXIII
THE STRANGE CASE OF M. BEZUEL
From CHRISTMAS' "Phantom World"
"In 1695," said M. Bezuel, "being a schoolboy of about fifteen years of
age, I became acquainted with the two children of M. Abaquene, attorney,
schoolboys like myself. The eldest was of my own age, the second was
eighteen months younger; he was named Desfontaines; we took all our
walks and all our parties of pleasure together, and whether it was that
Desfontaines had more affection for me, or that he was more gay,
obliging, and clever than his brother, I loved him the best.
"In 1696, we were walking both of us in the cloister of the Capuchins.
He told me that he had lately read a story of two friends who had
promised each other that the first of them who died should come and
bring news of his condition to the one still living; that the one who
died came back to earth, and told his friend surprising things. Upon
that, Desfontaines told me that he had a favour to ask me; that he
begged me to grant it instantly; it was to make him a similar promise,
and on his part he would do the same. I told him that I would not. For
several months he talked to me of it, often and seriously; I always
resisted his wish. At last, towards the month of August 1696, as he was
to leave to go and study at Caen, he pressed me so much with tears in
his eyes, that I consented to it. He drew out at that moment two little
papers which he had ready written; one was signed with his blood, in
which he promised me that in case of his death he would come and bring
me news of his condition; in the other, I promised him the same thing. I
pricked my finger; a drop of blood came with which I signed my name. He
was delighted to have my billet, and embracing me, thanked me a thousand
times.
"Some time after, he set off with his tutor. Our separation caused us
much grief, but we wrote to each other now and then, and it was but six
weeks since I had had a letter from him, when what I am going to relate
to you happened to me.
"The 31st of July, 1697, one Thursday,--I shall remember it all my
life,--the late M. Sorteville, with whom I lodged, and who had been very
kind to me, begged of me to go to a meadow near the Cordeliers, and help
his people, who were making hay, and to make haste. I had not been there
a quarter of an hour, when, about half-past two, I all of a sudden felt
giddy and weak. In vain I lent upon my hay-fork; I was obliged to place
myself on a little hay, where I was nearly half an hour recovering my
senses. That passed off; but as nothing of the kind had ever occurred to
me before, I was surprised at it, and I feared it might be the
commencement of an illness. Nevertheless, it did not make much
impression upon me during the remainder of the day. It is true, I did
not sleep that night so well as usual.
"The next day, at the same hour, as I was conducting to the meadow M. de
St Simon, the grandson of M. de Sorteville, who was then ten years old,
I felt myself seized on the way with a similar faintness, and I sat down
on a stone in the shade. That passed off, and we continued our way;
nothing more happened to me that day, and at night I had hardly any
sleep.
"At last, on the morrow, the second day of August, being in the loft
where they laid up the hay they brought from the meadow, I was taken
with a similar giddiness and a similar faintness, but still more violent
than the other. I fainted away completely; one of the men perceived it.
I have been told that I was asked what was the matter with me, and that
I replied, 'I have seen what I never should have believed'; but I have
no recollection of either the question or the answer. That, however,
accords with what I do remember to have seen just then; as it were
someone naked to the middle, but whom, however, I did not recognise.
They helped me down from the ladder. The faintness seized me again; my
head swam as I was between two rounds of the ladder, and again I
fainted. They took me down and placed me on a beam which served for a
seat in the large square of the Capuchins. I sat down on it, and then I
no longer saw M. de Sorteville nor his domestics, although present; but
perceiving Desfontaines near the foot of the ladder, who made me a sign
to come to him, I moved on my seat as if to make room for him; and those
who saw me and whom I did not see, although my eyes were open, remarked
this movement.
"As he did not come, I rose to go to him. He advanced towards me, took
my left arm with his right arm, and led me about thirty paces from
thence into a retired street, holding me still under the arm. The
domestics, supposing that my giddiness had passed off, and that I had
purposely retired, went everyone to their work, except a little servant
who went and told M. de Sorteville that I was talking all alone. M. de
Sorteville thought I was tipsy; he drew near, and heard me ask some
questions, and make some answers, which he has told me since.
"I was there nearly three-quarters of an hour, conversing with
Desfontaines. 'I promised you,' said he to me, 'that if I died before
you I would come and tell you of it. I was drowned the day before
yesterday in the river of Caen, at nearly this same hour. I was out
walking with such and such a one. It was very warm, and we had a wish to
bathe; a faintness seized me in the water, and I fell to the bottom.
The Abbé de Menil-Jean, my comrade, dived to bring me up. I seized hold
of his foot; but whether he was afraid it might be a salmon, because I
held him so fast, or that he wished to remount promptly to the surface
of the water, he shook his legs so roughly, that he gave me a violent
kick on the breast, which sent me to the bottom of the river, which is
there very deep.'
"Desfontaines related to me afterwards all that had occurred to them in
their walk, and the subjects they had conversed upon. It was in vain for
me to ask him questions--whether he was saved, whether he was damned, if
he was in purgatory, if I was in a state of grace, and if I should soon
follow him; he continued to discourse as if he had not heard me, and as
if he would not hear me.
"I approached him several times to embrace him, but it seemed to me that
I embraced nothing, and yet I felt very sensibly that he held me tightly
by the arm, and that when I tried to turn away my head that I might not
see him, because I could not look at him without feeling afflicted, he
shook my arm as if to oblige me to look at and listen to him.
"He always appeared to me taller than I had seen him, and taller even
than he was at the time of his death, although he had grown during the
eighteen months in which we had not met. I beheld him always naked to
the middle of his body, his head uncovered, with his fine hair, and a
white scroll twisted in his hair over his forehead, on which there was
some writing, but I could only make out the word _In_....