My brother told me afterwards that more than once during the summer
vacation he had seriously considered with himself the propriety of
changing his rooms at Magdalen Hall. He had thought that it might thus
be possible for him to get rid at once of the memory of the apparition,
and of the fear of any reappearance of it. He could either have moved
into another set of rooms in the Hall itself, or else gone into lodgings
in the town--a usual proceeding, I am told, for gentlemen near the end
of their course at Oxford. Would to God that he had indeed done so! but
with the supineness which has, I fear, my dear Edward, been too
frequently a characteristic of our family, he shrank from the trouble
such a course would involve, and the opening of the autumn term found
him still in his old rooms. You will forgive me for entering here on a
very brief description of your father's sitting-room. It is, I think,
necessary for the proper understanding of the incidents that follow. It
was not a large room, though probably the finest in the small buildings
of Magdalen Hall, and panelled from floor to ceiling with oak which
successive generations had obscured by numerous coats of paint. On one
side were two windows having an aspect on to New College Lane, and
fitted with deep cushioned seats in the recesses. Outside these windows
there were boxes of flowers, the brightness of which formed in the
summer term a pretty contrast to the grey and crumbling stone, and
afforded pleasure at once to the inmate and to passers-by. Along nearly
the whole length of the wall opposite to the windows, some tenant in
years long past had had mahogany book-shelves placed, reaching to a
height of perhaps five feet from the floor. They were handsomely made
in the style of the eighteenth century and pleased my brother's taste.
He had always exhibited a partiality for books, and the fine library at
Worth Maltravers had no doubt contributed to foster his tastes in that
direction. At the time of which I write he had formed a small collection
for himself at Oxford, paying particular attention to the bindings, and
acquiring many excellent specimens of that art, principally I think,
from Messrs. Payne & Foss, the celebrated London booksellers.
Towards the end of the autumn term, having occasion one cold day to take
down a volume of Plato from its shelf, he found to his surprise that the
book was quite warm. A closer examination easily explained to him the
reason--namely, that the flue of a chimney, passing behind one end of
the bookcase, sensibly heated not only the wall itself, but also the
books in the shelves. Although he had been in his rooms now near three
years, he had never before observed this fact; partly, no doubt, because
the books in these shelves were seldom handled, being more for show as
specimens of bindings than for practical use. He was somewhat annoyed
at this discovery, fearing lest such a heat, which in moderation is
beneficial to books, might through its excess warp the leather or
otherwise injure the bindings. Mr. Gaskell was sitting with him at the
time of the discovery, and indeed it was for his use that my brother had
taken down the volume of Plato. He strongly advised that the bookcase
should be moved, and suggested that it would be better to place it
across that end of the room where the pianoforte then stood. They
examined it and found that it would easily admit of removal, being, in
fact, only the frame of a bookcase, and showing at the back the painted
panelling of the wall. Mr. Gaskell noted it as curious that all the
shelves were fixed and immovable except one at the end, which had been
fitted with the ordinary arrangement allowing its position to be altered
at will. My brother thought that the change would improve the appearance
of his rooms, besides being advantageous for the books, and gave
instructions to the college upholsterer to have the necessary work
carried out at once.
The two young men had resumed their musical studies, and had often
played the "Areopagita" and other music of Graziani since their return
to Oxford in the Autumn. They remarked, however, that the chair no
longer creaked during the _Gagliarda_--and, in fact, that no unusual
occurrence whatever attended its performance. At times they were almost
tempted to doubt the accuracy of their own remembrances, and to consider
as entirely mythical the mystery which had so much disturbed them in the
summer term. My brother had also pointed out to Mr. Gaskell my discovery
that the coat of arms on the outside of the music-book was identical
with that which his fancy portrayed on the musicians' gallery. He
readily admitted that he must at some time have noticed and afterwards
forgotten the blazon on the book, and that an unconscious reminiscence
of it had no doubt inspired his imagination in this instance. He rebuked
my brother for having agitated me unnecessarily by telling me at all of
so idle a tale; and was pleased to write a few lines to me at Worth
Maltravers, felicitating me on my shrewdness of perception, but speaking
banteringly of the whole matter.
On the evening of the 14th of November my brother and his friend were
sitting talking in the former's room. The position of the bookcase had
been changed on the morning of that day, and Mr. Gaskell had come round
to see how the books looked when placed at the end instead of at the
side of the room. He had applauded the new arrangement, and the young
men sat long over the fire, with a bottle of college port and a dish of
medlars which I had sent my brother from our famous tree in the Upper
Croft at Worth Maltravers. Later on they fell to music, and played a
variety of pieces, performing also the "Areopagita" suite. Mr. Gaskell
before he left complimented John on the improvement which the alteration
in the place of the bookcase had made in his room, saying, "Not only
do the books in their present place very much enhance the general
appearance of the room, but the change seems to me to have affected also
a marked acoustical improvement. The oak panelling now exposed on the
side of the room has given a resonant property to the wall which is
peculiarly responsive to the tones of your violin. While you were
playing the _Gagliarda_ to-night, I could almost have imagined that
someone in an adjacent room was playing the same air with a _sordino_,
so distinct was the echo."
Shortly after this he left.
My brother partly undressed himself in his bedroom, which adjoined, and
then returning to his sitting-room, pulled the large wicker chair in
front of the fire, and sat there looking at the glowing coals, and
thinking perhaps of Miss Constance Temple. The night promised to be very
cold, and the wind whistled down the chimney, increasing the comfortable
sensation of the clear fire. He sat watching the ruddy reflection of the
firelight dancing on the panelled wall, when he noticed that a picture
placed where the end of the bookcase formerly stood was not truly hung,
and needed adjustment. A picture hung askew was particularly offensive
to his eyes, and he got up at once to alter it. He remembered as he went
up to it that at this precise spot four months ago he had lost sight
of the man's figure which he saw rise from the wicker chair, and at
the memory felt an involuntary shudder. This reminiscence probably
influenced his fancy also in another direction; for it seemed to him
that very faintly, as though played far off, and with the _sordino_,
he could hear the air of the _Gagliarda_. He put one hand behind the
picture to steady it, and as he did so his finger struck a very slight
projection in the wall. He pulled the picture a little to one side, and
saw that what he had touched was the back of a small hinge sunk in the
wall, and almost obliterated with many coats of paint. His curiosity
was excited, and he took a candle from the table and examined the wall
carefully. Inspection soon showed him another hinge a little further up,
and by degrees he perceived that one of the panels had been made at some
time in the past to open, and serve probably as the door of a cupboard.
At this point he assured me that a feverish anxiety to re-open this
cupboard door took possession of him, and that the intense excitement
filled his mind which we experience on the eve of a discovery which
we fancy may produce important results. He loosened the paint in the
cracks with a penknife, and attempted to press open the door; but his
instrument was not adequate to such a purpose, and all his efforts
remained ineffective. His excitement had now reached an overmastering
pitch; for he anticipated, though he knew not why, some strange
discovery to be made in this sealed cupboard. He looked round the room
for some weapon with which to force the door, and at length with his
penknife cut away sufficient wood at the joint to enable him to insert
the end of the poker in the hole. The clock in the New College Tower
struck one at the exact moment when with a sharp effort he thus forced
open the door. It appeared never to have had a fastening, but merely to
have been stuck fast by the accumulation of paint. As he bent it slowly
back upon the rusted hinges his heart beat so fast that he could
scarcely catch his breath, though he was conscious all the while of a
ludicrous aspect of his position, knowing that it was most probable
that the cavity within would be found empty. The cupboard was small but
very deep, and in the obscure light seemed at first to contain nothing
except a small heap of dust and cobwebs. His sense of disappointment was
keen as he thrust his hand into it, but changed again in a moment to
breathless interest on feeling something solid in what he had imagined
to be only an accumulation of mould and dirt. He snatched up a candle,
and holding this in one hand, with the other pulled out an object from
the cupboard and put it on the table, covered as it was with the curious
drapery of black and clinging cobwebs which I have seen adhering to
bottles of old wine. It lay there between the dish of medlars and the
decanter, veiled indeed with thick dust as with a mantle, but revealing
beneath it the shape and contour of a violin.