THE CANTERVILLE GHOST
by Oscar Wild
with an assist
from Bob Copeland
INTRODUCTION
Oscar Wilde was a genius. Not in the class of Shakespeare, who stands alone as the best, but certainly a genius. His plays and other writings made him famous and popular in his time, and are still produced and loved today, after more than a hundred years, and his satire and insights into people’s foibles still bite.
But his stories are not perfect. He was so good he could get away with it, but there are glaring mistakes in many of his works. An Ideal Husband, for example, is a marvelous, complex plot, but it has a deus ex machina, central to the story, that is shattering in its lack of realism. The screenwriter of the latest movie version, with Rupert Everett, apparently gagged trying to swallow it, so he made it more palatable, and the revised story is far better. I should like to think Wilde would have been pleased; though, from what I know of him, it is not likely.
The plot and the theme of Wilde’s short story The Canterville Ghost are excellent, the characterization, dialogue, humor, satire, and other elements are generally excellent, and the imagery is mostly fantastic—but there are serious flaws. You wonder if Wilde dashed the story off in a weekend, without review, and his genius fairly carried it, except for those flaws, when the flow of the story grinds and jars along until it finally picks up again. Examples: For the theme to work, the ghost must be a creature with whom we can sympathize, but he has done so many intentionally evil things they take him out of the power of the redemption he finally receives. The story is funny, but a really evil ghost spoils the humor. Several actions in the plot are not adequately developed or supported by sufficient motivation. Some of the story has nothing at all to do with the theme and is merely pointless distraction. Perhaps, like a lawyer, Wilde was being paid by the word.
The several film adaptations of the story are awful, and they do not follow the original plot. The idea of this adaptation is merely to correct Wilde’s errors. In view of his genius, even that would seem an irreverent and presumptuous undertaking, except that the errors, like the one in An Ideal Husband, are so gross, even puerile, that they seriously damage the story. Even an amateur could do better! On the other hand, the really great writing in this revised story is still Wilde—he deserves the credit, as only a genius could equal it. I have merely tried to fix the weak spots. As you read the story you may wish to see if you can discover the “patches”. If you are really serious, you can compare this story to the original, section by section. I bet that otherwise you can’t find most of the changes, and there are many. If you like, you can take that as a challenge! See if you don’t agree this is the story that ought to have been written by Wilde in the first place.
RC © 2008. vivayo152@aol.com
The Canterville Ghost
Adapted by R C COPELAND
from the story by Oscar Wilde, 1887
I. Everyone agreed Canterville Chase was haunted. And when Mr. Hiram Otis, the retired American, determined to buy the ancient castle, they said he was doing a very foolish thing, indeed. The owner, the present Lord Canterville, was a man of punctilious honor, and felt it his duty to mention the fact to Mr. Otis: ‘We have not cared to live in the place ourselves,’ said he, ‘since my grand-aunt, the old Duchess of Bolton, was frightened into a fit, from which she never really recovered. As she was dressing for dinner, hands were laid on her shoulders from behind—skeletal hands. The ghost has been seen by several members of my family, and we often got very little sleep, with the mysterious noises from the hallways and library.’
‘My Lord,’ answered Mr. Otis, ‘I will take your ghost, along with the furniture! We have everything inAmericamoney can buy; including the best fromEurope, and I reckon if there were such a thing as a ghost inEurope, we’d have it home in one of our museums or in a stage show! I have brought my family toEnglandto experience your old-world culture, and with some new-fangled updates like plumbing and electricity the old place is perfect for us.’
A few weeks later the purchase was completed, and the Otis family moved down to Canterville Chase late in July. Mrs. Otis, who as a young woman had been a celebratedNew Yorkbelle, was now a very handsome, middle-aged woman, with fine eyes and a superb profile. She had wonderful animal spirits. Indeed, in many respects, she was quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact thatEnglandhas everything in common withAmericanowadays, except, of course, language. The eldest son, christenedWashingtonby his parents in a moment of patriotism which he never ceased to regret, was a fair-haired, good-looking young man, well known among the ladies as an excellent dancer.
MissVirginiawas a girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes. She had once raced old Lord Bilton on her pony twice round the park, winning by a length and a half, to the huge delight of the young Duke of Cheshire, who promptly fell in love. He proposed on the spot and was sent back to school that very night, in floods of tears, by his parents. AfterVirginiacame the twins, who were usually called ‘The Stars and Stripes,’ as they were always getting spanked. They weren’t bad boys, just excessively high-spirited.
The family started the seven-mile carriage ride from the train depot to their new home in high spirits. It was a lovely afternoon, and the air was delicate with the scent of the pinewoods. Squirrels peered at them from the beech trees, and rabbits scampered away through the grass, with their white tails in the air. As they entered the avenue of Canterville Chase, however, the sky became suddenly darkened, a stillness seemed to hold the atmosphere, a great flight of black ravens passed silently over their heads, and big drops of cold rain began to fall.
Standing on the steps to receive them was an old woman, neatly dressed in black silk, with a white cap and apron. Mrs. Umney, the housekeeper, made them each a low curtsey as they alighted, and said in a quaint, old-fashioned manner, ‘I bid you welcome to Canterville Chase.’ Following her, they passed through the large, dark hall into the library, a long, low room, paneled in black oak, at the end of which was a large stained-glass window. Here they found tea laid out for them and, after taking off their wraps, they sat down and began to look round, while Mrs. Umney waited on them. Suddenly Mrs. Otis caught sight of a dull red stain on the floor just by the fireplace and, quite unconscious of what it was, cried out, ‘I am afraid something has been spilt there.’
‘Yes, madam,’ replied the old housekeeper in a low voice, ‘blood has been spilt there.’
‘How horrid,’ cried Mrs. Otis; ‘I don’t at all care for bloodstains in a sitting-room. It must be removed at once!’
The old woman smiled sadly, and answered in the same low, mysterious voice, ‘It is the blood of Lady Eleanore de Canterville, who was found dead, stabbed through the heart, on that very spot over 300 years ago. Her husband, Sir Simon, disappeared soon thereafter under mysterious circumstances. His body has never been discovered, but his ghost still haunts the house. The blood-stain has been much admired by tourists. Tradition insists it cannot be removed.’
‘That is nonsense,’ criedWashington; ‘Paragon Stain Remover will clean it up in no time. Here it is in my bag,’ and before the terrified housekeeper could interfere he had fallen upon his knees, and was rapidly scouring the floor. In a few moments no trace of the blood-stain could be seen.
‘I knew Paragon would do it,’ he exclaimed triumphantly, as he looked round at his admiring family; but no sooner had he said these words than a terrible flash of lightning lit up the somber room, a fearful peal of thunder made them all start to their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.
‘What a monstrous climate!’ said Mr. Otis calmly, as he lit a cigar. ‘I guess oldEnglandis so over-populated they haven’t enough decent weather for everybody.’
‘My dear Hiram,’ cried Mrs. Otis, ‘what can we do with a woman who faints?’
‘Charge it to her like breakages,’ snorted Mr. Otis; disdainfully. ‘She won’t faint after that;’ and in a few moments Mrs. Umney came to. She was extremely upset, and sternly warned Mr. Otis to beware of trouble coming to the house: ‘I have seen things with my own eyes, sir,’ she said, ‘that would make any Christian’s hair stand on end, and many and many a night I have not closed my eyes in sleep for the awful things that are done here.’ Mr. Otis, however, and his wife warmly assured the honest old woman that they were not afraid of ghosts. After invoking the blessings ofProvidenceon the new owners, and making arrangements for an increase of salary, the old housekeeper tottered off to her room.
The storm raged all that night, but nothing of particular note occurred. The next morning, however, when they came down to breakfast, they found the terrible stain of blood once again on the floor. ‘I don’t think it can be the fault of the Paragon detergent,’ saidWashington, ‘for I have tried it with everything. It must be the ghost.’ He rubbed out the stain a second time, but the following morning it appeared again. The whole family were now quite interested, and Mr. Otis began to suspect he had been too dogmatic in his denial of the existence of ghosts. That night all doubts about the existence of the ghost of Sir Simon de Canterville were removed forever…
The day had been warm and sunny and in the cool of the evening all went out for a drive before dinner. Ateleven o’clockthey retired, and by half-past all the lights were out. Some time after, Mr. Otis was awakened by a curious noise outside in the hall. It sounded like halting footsteps, accompanied by the drag of heavy metal—and seemed to be coming nearer every moment. It stopped, finally, just outside his door. The doorknob rattled, but the door was locked. Mr. Otis got up, struck a match to a candle, and looked at the time. It wasone o’clock. He was quite calm, and felt his pulse, which was not at all feverish. He snatched up his revolver, which he had bought on a trip out West, and walked over and flung open the door. Right in front of him, face to face in the moonlight, was a tall, thin old man of terrible aspect: Eyes as red burning coals; skin hanging ragged and lifeless on his bones; hair falling over his shoulders in long, grey, unwashed, coils; garments, soiled and ragged and of antique cut; manacles and rusty shackles hanging heavily from his wrists and ankles.
‘My dear sir,’ roared Mr. Otis, ‘this is intolerable! How do you expect anyone to get any sleep around here!’ With that, he slammed the door and stamped straight back to bed, apologizing to his wife for the disturbance, and bidding her go back to sleep.
For a moment, in startled indignation, the Canterville ghost stood motionless; then he clattered back down the hallway, uttering hollow groans and emitting a ghastly green light. As he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures appeared, and pillows flew at his head! To the sound of derisive laughter, the ghost fled into the fourth dimension, vanishing through the wall. On reaching a small secret chamber in the left wing, he leaned up against a moonbeam to recover himself, and tried to understand his position.
Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred years, had he been so grossly insulted! He thought of the Dowager Duchess, whom he had frightened into a fit as she stood before the glass in her lace and diamonds and saw mirrored a hideous, leering skeletal face and felt the bony hands upon her shoulders; of all the housemaids who had gone into hysterics when he merely grinned at them through the curtains; of old Madame de Tremouillac who wakened one morning to see a skeleton calmly seated in an armchair by the fire reading her diary. She had been confined to her bed for six weeks with an attack of brain fever, and on her recovery had become converted to the Church. With the enthusiastic egotism of the true artist, he went over his most celebrated performances, and smiled bitterly to himself. After all this, were some wretched modern Americans to come laugh at him and throw pillows at his head! It was unbearable—no ghost in history had ever been treated in this manner! He determined to have vengeance, and remained till daylight in deep deliberation.
II. The next morning, when the Otis family met at breakfast, they discussed the ghost at length. Was it real? Or simply fertile imagination encouraged by the creaky old castle? Mr. Otis was naturally annoyed: ‘I have no wish,’ he said, ‘to do the ghost any personal injury; and I must say that, considering the length of time he apparently has been in the place, I don’t think it at all polite to throw pillows at him’. A very just remark, but the twins burst into shouts of laughter. ‘On the other hand,’ he continued, ‘if he really declines to oil his chains, we shall have to take them from him. It would be quite impossible to sleep with such a racket going on outside the bedrooms.’
For the rest of the week, however, they were undisturbed, the only thing that excited any attention being the continual renewal of the blood-stain on the library floor. This certainly was very strange, as the door was always locked at night, and the windows kept closely barred. The chameleon-like color of the stain also excited a good deal of comment. Some mornings it was dull red, then it would be vermilion, then a rich purple, and once when they came down for family prayers, it was bright emerald green. These kaleidoscopic changes amused the family very much, and bets on the subject were freely made every evening. The only person who did not enter into the joke was little Virginia who, for some unexplained reason, was always a good deal distressed at the sight of the blood-stain. She very nearly cried the morning it was emerald-green.
The second appearance of the ghost was Sunday night. Shortly after all had gone to bed they were suddenly alarmed by a fearful crash in the entrance hall. Rushing downstairs, they found a large suit of old armor had become detached from its stand, and had fallen on the stone floor. Seated in a highbacked chair was the Canterville ghost, rubbing his knees with an expression of acute agony on his withered old face. The twins, having brought their pea-shooters, at once discharged pellets at him, with an effectiveness attained by long and careful practice on their school teacher, while Mr. Otis covered him with his revolver and called upon him to ‘Put ‘em up!’
The Ghost started up with a shriek of rage and swept through them like a mist, extinguishingWashington’s candle as he passed, and leaving them in darkness. On reaching the top of the staircase he recovered himself sufficiently to give his celebrated peal of demoniacal laughter. It was said to have turned Lord Raker’s wig grey in a single night, and made Lady Canterville’s French governess rush screaming from the house, never to return. He laughed his most horrible laugh, till the old vaulted roof rang and rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door opened and Mrs. Otis came calmly out, lighting the hall, and his grisly countenance, with a candle. ‘Oh, my! I am afraid you seem far from well,’ she said. ‘I have brought you a bottle of Dr. Dobell’s tincture. You will find it a most excellent remedy.’ The ghost glared at her in fury and vanished into the wall, with a deep churchyard groan, just as the twins came rushing up on him.
On reaching his room he became prey to the most violent agitation. The vulgarity of the twins and the gross materialism of Mr. and Mrs. Otis were extremely unnerving, and what really distressed him was that he had been unable to wear the suit of armor. It was his own suit. Yet when he had put it on he had been completely overcome by the weight, and had fallen heavily on the stone pavement. Confronted with these ill-mannered Americans, was he losing his powers, together with his nerve? He shuddered violently. For some days after this he was extremely ill, and hardly stirred out of his secret room, except to keep the blood-stain in proper repair. However, he recovered and resolved to make a third attempt to frighten the family.
He selected Friday, the 13th of August, as appropriate for his appearance, and spent most of that day in looking over his wardrobe, finally deciding in favor of a large slouched hat with a red feather, a winding-sheet frilled at the wrists and neck, and a rusty dagger. Toward evening a violent storm came on and the wind was so high that all the windows and doors in the old house shook and rattled. It was just such weather as he loved! His plan of action was to make his way quietly toWashington’s room, gibber at him from the foot of the bed, and stab himself in the throat to the gurgling sound of a death rattle. He boreWashingtona special grudge, as it was he who was in the habit of removing the famous Canterville blood-stain, by means of Paragon detergent. Having reduced the reckless and foolhardy youth to a condition of abject terror, he would then proceed to the room occupied by Mr. Otis and his wife, and place a clammy, lifeless hand on Mrs. Otis’s forehead while hissing foul oaths into her trembling husband’s ear.
With regard to littleVirginia, he had not quite made up his mind. She had never insulted him in any way, and was pretty and gentle. A few hollow groans from the wardrobe, he thought, would be more than sufficient or, if that failed to wake her, he might grabble at the counterpane with palsy-twitching, skeletal fingers. As for the twins, he was particularly determined to teach them a terrible lesson! The first thing to be done was to sit upon their chests, producing the stifling sensation of nightmare. Then to stand at the foot of their bed in the form of a green, ice-cold corpse, shaking and moaning till they became paralyzed with fear, and, finally, to throw off the winding-sheet and crawl into their bed, with white, bleached bones and one rolling eyeball, a role which on more than one occasion had produced a great effect.
At half-past ten he heard the family going to bed. For some time he was disturbed by shrieks of laughter from the twins, who, with the light-hearted gaiety of schoolboys, were evidently amusing themselves in some occupation before they retired. Finally, just beforeone o’clock, when all was still, he sallied forth. An owl beat against the window panes, a raven croaked from the old yew-tree, and the wind wandered moaning round the house like a lost soul. The Otis family slept, unconscious of their doom, and above the rain and storm he could hear the steady snoring of Mr. Otis. Sir Simon stepped stealthily out through the hallway wall, with an evil smile on his cruel, wrinkled mouth, and the moon hid its face in a cloud as he stole past the great window where his coat of arms were blazoned in azure and gold. On and on he glided, like an evil shadow, the very darkness seeming to loathe him as he passed. Once he thought he heard something call, and stopped; but it was only the baying of a dog, and he crept on, muttering strange ancient curses, and ever and anon brandishing the rusty dagger in themidnightdarkness.
Finally he reached the corner of the passage that led to lucklessWashington’s room. For a moment he paused there, an errant breeze blowing his long grey locks about his head, and twisting into grotesque and fantastic folds the nameless horror of the dead man’s shroud. Then the clock struck the hour, and the time had come. He chuckled to himself, and turned the corner—but fell back with a piteous whine of terror and hid his blanched face in his long, bony hands. Right in front of him was standing a horrible specter, motionless as a carven image and monstrous as a madman’s dream! Never before had he seen another ghost. Its head was bald and burnished; its face round, fat, and yellow; and dreadful laughter seemed to have writhed its features into an eternal grin. From the eyes streamed rays of scarlet light, the mouth was a wide well of fire, and a hideous garment, like to his own, swathed its colossal form in silent snows. On its breast was a placard with strange writing in antique characters—some scroll of shame it seemed, some record of wild sins, some awful calendar of crime—and, in its right hand, it bore aloft a blade of gleaming steel.
He was terribly frightened. After a second hasty glance at the awful phantom, he dropped the dagger and fled back to his hidden room, tripping up in his long winding sheet as he sped down the hallway. Once in the privacy of his own apartment, he flung himself down into his leaden casket, and hid his face under the sheet.
After a time, however, the brave old Canterville spirit reasserted itself, and he determined to go and speak to the phantom, feeling that, after all, two ghosts were better than one, and that with the aid of a new friend he might safely grapple with the twins. But he decided he would wait for daybreak! Accordingly, just as the dawn was touching the hills with silver, he returned to where he had first laid eyes on the grisly apparition. On reaching the spot, however, a terrible sight met his gaze. Something had happened to the ghost, for the light had entirely faded from its hollow eyes, the gleaming blade had fallen from its hand, and it was bowed against the wall in a strained and uncomfortable attitude. He rushed forward and seized it. To his horror, the head slipped off and rolled on the floor, the body drooped into a recumbent posture, and he found himself clasping a white bed-curtain, with a sweeping-brush, a kitchen cleaver, and a large hollow gourd lying at his feet! Unable to understand this curious transformation, he clutched the placard with feverish haste, and there in the grey morning light he read these fearful words:
YE OTIS GHOSTE
Ye Onlie true and Originale Spooke
Beware of ye imitationes!
The whole thing flashed across him. He had been tricked, foiled, outwitted! The old Canterville look came into his eyes; he gnashed his toothless gums and, raising his withered hands high above his head, swore, in the picturesque language of the antique school that, when twice the cock had called the morning, deeds of Blood would be wrought and Murder walk abroad with silent feet. Hardly had he finished this awful oath when, from the red-tiled roof of a distant homestead, a cock crew. He laughed a long, low, bitter laugh, and waited for the second signal. Forever, it seemed, he waited, but the cock did not crow again. Finally, emerging daylight and the bustling of the housemaids made him give up his fearful vigil, and he stalked back to his room, thinking of his vain oath and baffled purpose. He retired to his comfortable lead coffin, intending to stay till evening.
III. The ghost was weak and tired. The terrible excitement of the last four weeks was having its effect. His nerves were shattered, and he started at the slightest noise. For days he kept to his room, and at last made up his mind to give up the point of the blood-stain on the library floor. The Otis family clearly did not deserve it! They were people of a low, material existence, and quite incapable of appreciating the value of sensuous experience! It remained, however, his solemn duty to appear in the upper hallway once a week and to gibber from the large window on Wednesdays, and he did not see how he could honorably escape his obligations. It is quite true that his life had been wicked but, upon the other hand, he was most careful in all things connected with his duty. For the next three Saturdays, accordingly, he traversed the hallway as usual between one andthree o’clock. But he took every possible precaution against being either heard or seen. He removed his boots, trod as lightly as possible on the old worm-eaten boards, wore a large black velvet cloak, and was careful to oil his chains with the Welcher’s 3-in-1 Lubricating Oil left out for him by Mr. Otis.
Still, in spite of everything, he was not left unmolested. Strings were stretched across the hallway, over which he tripped in the dark, and on one occasion he met with a severe fall, through treading on a slide which the twins had fashioned from the entrance of the Tapestry Chamber down the oak staircase. He crashed heavily on the lower landing, shaking the old house. This insult so enraged him that he resolved to make one final effort to assert dignity and social position, and he determined to visit the insolent young school boys the next night in his celebrated character of ‘The Headless Earl.’
He had not appeared in this disguise for more than seventy years; in fact, not since he had so frightened pretty Lady Barbara Modish that she broke off her engagement with the present Lord Canterville’s father, and ran away to Gretna Green with handsome Jack Castleton, declaring that nothing in the world would induce her to marry into a family that allowed such a horrible spectre to stalk the old house in the night time. It was, however, an extremely difficult ‘make-up,’ and it took fully three hours to make preparations. At last everything was ready, and he was pleased with his appearance. The big leather riding-boots that went with the dress were a little too large, and he could only find one of the two horse-pistols. But on the whole he was quite satisfied, and just beforeone o’clockhe glided out through the wall and stole down the corridor.
On reaching the room occupied by the twins, he found the door ajar. Wishing to make an effective entrance he flung it wide open—when a full chamber pot and a sodden towel fell right down upon him, drenching him to the bones and wrapping round his headless torso. Shrieks of laughter came from the bed. The shock to his nervous system was great, and he threw off the towel and fled back to his room as hard as he could go. The next day he was laid up with severe chills, and the only thing to console him in the whole affair was that he had not brought his head with him, for had he done so the consequences might have been serious. He now gave up all hope of ever frightening this rude American family, and contented himself with creeping about the passages in slippers, a thick red muffler round his throat for fear of draughts, and a small shield in case he should be attacked by the twins.
The final blow occurred the middle of September. He had gone downstairs to the great entrance hall, feeling sure that there he would be quite unmolested, and was amusing himself by etching satanic symbols on the large photographs of Mr. Otis and his wife, which had now taken the place of the Canterville family portraits. He was simply but neatly clad in a long shroud, spotted with churchyard mould, had tied up his jaw with a strip of yellow linen so it would not sag, and carried a small lantern. It was afterone o’clockin the morning and, as far as he could ascertain, no one was stirring.
He crept softly toward the library, to see if there were any traces left of the bloodstain. Suddenly there leaped out on him from a dark corner two white figures, who waved their arms wildly above their heads, shrieking ‘Boo!’ in his ear. Seized with panic, he rushed up the staircase, but foundWashingtonbrandishing a broom, shouting “En garde!”, and threatening to sweep him from the landing. Hemmed in by enemies on every side, and driven almost to bay, he vanished into the great iron stove, which, fortunately, was not lit. He had to make his way through the flues and chimneys, arriving at his own room in a terrible state of dirt, disorder, and despair.
His spirit was broken, and he was no longer seen on any night time expeditions. The twins lay in wait for him on several occasions, and strewed the passages with nutshells every night, to the annoyance of their parents and the servants, but it was of no avail. It was assumed the ghost had gone, and Mr. Otis wrote a letter to that effect to Lord Canterville, who, in reply, expressed his great pleasure at the news, and sent his best congratulations.
The Otises, however, were deceived, for the ghost was still in the house. Though now an invalid, his spirits were revived somewhat as guests came to the old house. Among these was Virginia’s sweetheart, the Duke of Cheshire, whose grand-uncle, Lord Francis Stilton, had once bet a hundred guineas that he would play dice with the ghost at midnight, and was found the next morning lying on the floor of the card-room in such a helpless paralytic state that, though he lived on to a great age, he was never again able to say anything but mutter ‘Double Sixes’, and shake as with palsy. The ghost was anxious to show he had not lost his influence over the Stiltons; accordingly, he made arrangements for appearing to the young Duke in his celebrated impersonation of ‘The Vampire Monk’. At the last, however, his terror of the twins, as he imagined a noise while sneaking past their bedchamber door late in the night, sent him cowering to his room. The little Duke, dreaming ofVirginia, slept in peace under the great feathered canopy in the Royal Bedroom.
IV. A few days later, Virginia and her curly-haired Duke went out riding on the meadow, where she tore her riding habit so badly in getting through a hedge, that on their return home she made up her mind to go up by the back staircase so as not to be seen. As she was passing the Tapestry Chamber, the door of which happened to be open, she saw someone inside. Thinking it was her mother’s maid, who sometimes used to bring work there, she looked in to ask her to mend her habit. To her immense surprise, it was the Canterville Ghost himself! He was sitting by the window, watching the ruined gold of the yellowing trees fly through the air and the red leaves dancing madly down the long avenue in the wind. His head was leaning on his hand, and his whole attitude was one of complete dejection. Indeed, so forlorn and so much out of repair did he look that little Virginia was filled with pity, and determined to try to comfort him. So light was her footfall, and so deep his gloom, that he was not aware of her presence till she spoke gently to him:
‘I am so sorry for you, but my brothers go back to school tomorrow, and then, if you behave, no one will annoy you. After all, this is your home, too.’
‘It is absurd asking me to behave,’ he sneered, jerking round in astonishment at the pretty little girl who dared to address him, ‘Quite absurd. I am cursed to walk the night. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and go about in darkness, frightening people. I have no choice—it is my only reason for existing.’
‘It is no reason at all for existing. You know you have been very, very wicked, terrorizing this house for 300 years!”
‘Well, I quite admit it,’ said the Ghost petulantly, ‘but I am forced to continue in this awful state, neither alive, nor yet dead. It is the penance I pay for causing my wife, finally, to kill herself. The man I thought was my best friend planted the worm of suspicion in my brain, and it grew into an insane jealousy. My wife loved me deeply, and finally could endure no more. When her brothers learned of her death they wrestled me into a walled-off corner of the cellar and left me in chains to starve to death.’
‘Starve to death! Oh, Mr. Ghost, I mean Sir Simon, are you hungry?
‘No, I never eat anything now; but it is very kind of you all the same. You are much nicer than the rest of your horrid, vulgar, dishonest family.’
‘Stop!’ criedVirginia, stamping her foot, ‘it is you who are horrid and vulgar, and as for dishonesty, you know you stole the paints out of my box to try and furbish up that ridiculous old blood-stain in the library. First you took all my reds, including the vermilion, and I couldn’t do any more sunsets, then you took the emerald-green and the chrome-yellow, and finally I had nothing left but indigo and white, and could only do moonlight scenes. I never told on you, though I was very much annoyed. It was most ridiculous, the whole thing. Whoever heard of emerald-green blood!’
‘Well, really,’ said the Ghost, rather meekly, ‘what was I to do? Your brother began it all with his Paragon Detergent, so I saw no reason why I should not have your paints. As for color, that is always a matter of taste. The Cantervilles have blue blood, for instance, but I know you Americans don’t care for things of this kind.’
‘You know nothing about it, and the best thing you can do is travel toAmericaand learn for yourself. Though there is ordinarily a heavy tax on imported spirits, there will be no difficulty about the Customs House, as Father says the officers are all Democraps, subject to reasonable payoffs. Their elections are financed largely by donations from abroad. Once inNew Yorkyou are sure to be a great success. I know lots of people there who would give a hundred thousand dollars to have a great-great-grandfather, and much more than that to have a family ghost.’
‘I don’t think I should likeAmerica.’
‘I suppose because we have no ruins and no curiosities,’ saidVirginiasatirically.
‘No ruins! No curiosities!’ answered the Ghost, ‘you have your courts of law, and your political parties.’
‘If you won’t behave, I can ask papa to let the twins stay an extra week’s holiday!’
‘Oh, please don’t, MissVirginia!,’ he cried; ‘I am so lonely and so unhappy, and I really don’t know what to do. I want to go to sleep and I cannot.’
‘That’s quite absurd! You have merely to go to bed and blow out the candle. It is very difficult sometimes to keep awake, especially at church, but there is no difficulty about sleeping. Why, even babies know how to do that, and they are not at all clever.’
‘I have not slept for three hundred years,’ he said sadly—andVirginia’s beautiful blue eyes opened in wonder—’For three hundred years I have not slept, and I am so tired.’
Virginiagrew quite grave, and her little lips trembled like rose-leaves. She came towards him and, kneeling down at his side, looked up into his old withered face.
‘Poor, poor Ghost,’ she murmured, ‘have you no place where you can sleep?
‘Far away beyond the pinewoods,’ he answered, in a low dreamy voice, ‘there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold, crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.’
Virginia’s eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands. ‘You mean theGardenofDeath,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, Death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving overhead, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the door of Death’s house, for Love is always with you, and Love is stronger than Death.’
Virginiatrembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few moments there was silence. She felt as if in a terrible dream. Then the Ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighing of the wind, ‘Have you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?’
‘Oh, often,’ cried the little girl, looking up; ‘I know it quite well. It is painted in curious black letters, but it is difficult to read, and I don’t know what it means’:
When a golden girl can win
Prayer from out the lips of sin;
When the barren almond bears,
And a little child give away its tears,
Then shall all the house be still
And peace shall come to Canterville.
It means,’ he said sadly, ‘that you must weep with me for my sins, because I have no tears, and pray with me for my soul, because I have no faith, and then, if you have no fear, and have always been sweet and good and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me. You will see terrible shapes in the darkness, and wicked voices will whisper in your ear, but they will not harm you, for against the purity of a child the powers of Hell cannot prevail.’
Virginiamade no answer, and the Ghost wrung his hands in wild despair as he looked down at her bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very pale, with a strange light in her eyes. ‘I am not afraid,’ she said firmly, ‘and I will pray the Angel to have mercy on you.’
He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent over it with old-fashioned grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold as ice, and his lips burned like fire, butVirginiadid not falter as he led her across the dusky room. On the faded green tapestry were broidered little huntsmen. They blew their tasseled horns and with their tiny hands waved to her: ‘Go back, littleVirginia!’ they cried, ‘Go back!’ but the Ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her eyes against them. Horrible animals with lizard tails and goggle eyes blinked at her from the carven chimney-piece, and whispered ‘Beware littleVirginia, beware! We may never see you again,’ butVirginiadid not listen, and the Ghost glided on more swiftly.
When they reached the end of the room he stopped, and muttered some words she could not understand. She opened her eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a mist, and a great black cavern in front of her. A bitter cold wind swept round them, and she felt something pulling at her habit. ‘Quick, quick,’ cried the Ghost, ‘or it will be too late,’ and, in a moment, the wall had closed behind them and the Tapestry Chamber was empty.
V. Whensix o’clock struck, andVirginia did not appear, Mrs. Otis sent the boys out to look for her, while she and Mr. Otis, with increasing frenzy, searched every room in the house. They were all soon in the greatest state of excitement, and did not know what to do. Washington and two men were sent to scour the district, and telegrams were despatched to all the police inspectors in the county. The carp pond was dragged, to see if she had drowned, and the whole Chase and its grounds thoroughly gone over, without any result. It seemed that, for that night at any rate,Virginia was lost to them, and it was in a state of the deepest depression that Mr. Otis, the little Duke, and the three boys walked back to the house long after dark.
In the hall they found a group of frightened servants, and lying on a sofa in the library was poor Mrs. Otis, almost out of her mind with terror and anxiety. Mr. Otis at once insisted on her having something to eat, and ordered supper for them all. It was a melancholy meal, as hardly anyone spoke and even the twins were awestruck and subdued. Fearfully, no one mentioned the ghost, though he was uppermost in their minds. When they had finished, Mr. Otis, in spite of the entreaties of the little Duke, ordered them all to bed, saying that nothing more could be done that night.
As they were passing out of the dining-room,midnightbegan to chime, and when the last stroke sounded they heard a sudden shrill cry, a dreadful peal of thunder shook the house, and a strain of unearthly music floated through the air. A panel at the top of the staircase flew back with a crash, and out on the landing, looking pale, and with a little carved box in her hand, steppedVirginia. In a moment they had all rushed up to her. Mrs. Otis clasped her passionately in her arms, the little Duke smothered her with violent kisses, and the twins executed a wild war-dance round the group.
‘Good heavens child, where have you been!’ said Mr. Otis angrily, thinking that she had been playing some foolish trick on them. We have searched all over the country for you, and your mother has been frightened to death. You must never again play these practical jokes.’
‘Except on the Ghost! Except on the Ghost!’ shrieked the twins, as they capered about.
‘My own darling, thank God you are found; you must never leave my side again,’ murmured Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and smoothed the tangled gold of her hair.
‘Papa,’ saidVirginiaquietly, ‘I have been with the Ghost. He is dead, and you must come and see him. He had been very wicked, but at the last he was truly sorry for all he had done. He gave me this box of beautiful jewels before he died.’
The whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, but she was quite grave and serious. Turning round, she led them through the opening in the wall down a narrow secret corridor.Washingtonfollowed with a lighted candle, which he had caught up from the table. Finally, they came to a great oak door, studded with rusty nails. WhenVirginiatouched it, it swung back on heavy hinges and they found themselves in a little low room with a vaulted ceiling and one tiny grated window. Rats scuttled in the dark corners. Embedded in the wall was an iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton, stretched out at full length on the stone floor seemingly trying to grasp, with its long fleshless fingers, an old-fashioned serving dish and flask placed just out of its reach.Virginiaknelt down beside the skeleton and, folding her little hands together, began to pray silently, while the rest of the party looked on in wonder at the terrible tragedy whose secret was now disclosed.
‘Hallo!’ suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, who had been looking out of the window to discover in what wing of the house the room was situated. ‘Hallo! The old withered almond tree has blossomed. I can see the flowers in the moonlight.’
‘God has forgiven him,’ saidVirginiagravely, as she rose to her feet, and a beautiful light seemed to illuminate her face.
‘What an angel you are!’ cried the young Duke, and he put his arm round her neck, and kissed her.
Three days after these curious events, a funeral started from Canterville Chase ateleven o’clockat night. The hearse was drawn by eight black horses, each of which carried on its head a great tuft of ostrich-plumes, and the leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple drapery on which was embroidered in blue and gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By the side of the hearse walked the servants with lighted torches. The whole procession was wonderfully impressive. Old Lord Canterville was chief mourner, having come to attend the funeral of his ancestor, and sat in the first carriage along with littleVirginia. Then Mr. Otis and his wife, then Washington, the little Duke, and the twins, and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It was generally felt that, as she had been frightened by the ghost for more than fifty years of her life, she had a right to see the last of him.
A deep grave had been dug in the corner of the churchyard. There had been a great deal of difficulty about the inscription on old Sir Simon’s tombstone, but finally it had been decided to engrave on it simply the old gentleman’s name and the verse from the library window. When the ceremony was over, the servants, according to an old custom, extinguished their torches. As the coffin was being lowered into the graveVirginiastepped forward and laid on it a large cross made of white and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so the moon came out from behind a cloud and flooded with silent silver the little churchyard, and a nightingale began to sing. She thought of the ghost’s description of theGardenofDeath, and her eyes became dim with tears. She spoke not a word during the drive home.
VI. The next spring,Virginia was married to her paramour, the young Duke of Cheshire. They were both so charming, and loved each other so much, that every one was delighted at the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had tried to catch the Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less than three expensive dinner parties for that purpose.Virginia, as the newest Duchess of Cheshire, was presented at the Queen’s first drawing-room on the occasion of her marriage, and her curious jewels were greatly admired
The Duke and his new Duchess, after the honeymoon, went down to Canterville Chase. On the day after their arrival they walked over in the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pinewoods. The new Duchess had brought with her some lovely roses which she strewed upon the grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they strolled into the old ruined abbey. There the Duchess sat upon a fallen pillar while her husband sat at her feet looking up into her beautiful blue eyes. Suddenly he took hold of her hand, and said to her, ‘Virginia, a wife should have no secrets from her husband’.
‘Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you.’
‘Yes, you have,’ he answered, smiling, ‘You have never told me what happened when you were locked up with the ghost.’
‘I have never told any one, Cecil,’ saidVirginiagravely.
‘I know that, but you might tell me.’
‘Please don’t ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I owe him a great deal. Yes, don’t laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.’
The Duke rose and kissed his wife lovingly. ‘You can have your secret as long as I have your heart,’ he murmured.
‘You always have that, Cecil.’
‘And you will tell our children some day, won’t you?’
The Duchess sighed, and blushed prettily.