Messotint

Some time ago Ibelieve I had the pleasure of telling you the story ofanadventure which happened to a friend of mine by the name ofDennistoun,during his pursuit of objects of art for the museum atCambridge. He did not publish his experiences very widely uponhis return toEngland; but they could not fail to become known toa good many of hisfriends, and among others to the gentleman whoat that time presided over anart museum at another University. Itwas to be expected that the storyshould make a considerableimpression on the mind of a man whose vocationlay in linessimilar to Dennistoun's, and that he should be eager to catchatany explanation of the matter which tended to make it seemimprobablethat he should ever be called upon to deal with soagitating an emergency.It was, indeed, somewhat consoling to himto reflect that he was notexpected to acquire ancient MSS. forhis institution; that was the businessof the Shelburnian Library.The authorities of that might, if they pleased,ransack obscurecorners of the Continent for such matters. He was glad tobeobliged at the moment to confine his attention to enlarging thealreadyunsurpassed collection of English topographical drawingsand engravingspossessed by his museum. Yet, as it turned out,even a department so homelyand familiar as this may have its darkcorners, and to one of these Mr.Williams was unexpectedlyintroduced. Those who have taken even the most limited interestin the acquisition oftopographical pictures are aware that thereis one Londondealer whose aid isindispensable to their researches.Mr. J.W. Britnell publishes at shortintervals very admirablecatalogues of a large and constantly changing stockof engravings,plans, and old sketches of mansions, churches, and townsinEngland and Wales. These catalogues were, of course, the ABC ofhis subjectto Mr. Williams: but as his museum already containedan enormousaccumulation of topographical pictures, he was aregular, rather than acopious, buyer; and he rather looked to Mr.Britnell to fill up gaps in therank and file of his collectionthan to supply him with rarities. Now, in February of last yearthere appeared upon Mr. Williams's desk atthe museum a cataloguefrom Mr. Britnell's emporium, and accompanying it wasatypewritten communication from the dealer himself. This latterran asfollows: We beg to call your attention to No. 978 in ouraccompanying catalogue, which we shall be glad to send onapproval. Yours faithfully, P.J.W. BritnellTo turn to No. 978 inthe accompanying catalogue was with Mr. Williams (ashe observedto himself) the work of a moment, and in the place indicatedhefound the following entry: "978. - Unknown. Interestingmezzotint: View of a manor-house, early partof the century. 15 by10 inches; black frame. £2 2s. It was not specially exciting,and the price seemed high. However, as Mr.Britnell, who knew hisbusiness and his customer, seemed to set store by it,Mr. Williamswrote a postcard asking for the article to be sent onapproval,along with some other engravings and sketches whichappeared in the samecatalogue. And so he passed without muchexcitement of anticipation to theordinary labours of the day. Aparcel of any kind always arrives a day later than you expect it,andthat of Mr. Britnell proved, as I believe the right phrasegoes, noexception to the rule. It was delivered at the museum bythe afternoon postof Saturday, after Mr. Williams had left hiswork, and it was accordinglybrought round to his rooms in collegeby the attendant, in order that hemight not have to wait overSunday before looking through it and returningsuch of thecontents as he did not propose to keep. And here he found itwhenhe came in to tea, with a friend. The only item with which I amconcerned was the rather large,black-framed mezzotint of which Ihave already quoted the short descriptiongiven in Mr. Britnell'scatalogue. Some more details of it will have to begiven, though Icannot hope to put before you the look of the picture asclearlyas it is present to my own eye. Very nearly the exact duplicateofit may be seen in a good many old inn parlours, or in thepassages ofundisturbed country mansions at the present moment. Itwas a ratherindifferent mezzotint, and an indifferent mezzotintis, perhaps, the worstform of engraving known. It presented afull-face view of a not very largemanor-house of the lastcentury, with three rows of plain sashed windowswith rusticatedmasonry about them, a parapet with balls or vases at theangles,and a small portico in the centre. On either side were trees, andinfront considerable expanse of lawn. The legend "A.W.F.sculpsit" wasengraved on the narrow margin; and there was nofurther inscription. Thewhole thing gave the impression that itwas the work of an amateur. What inthe world Mr. Britnell couldmean by affixing the price of £2 2s. to such anobject was morethan Mr. Williams could imagine. He turned it over with agooddeal of contempt; upon the back was a paper label, the left-handhalfof which had been torn off. All that remained were the endsof two lines ofwriting: the first had the letters - ngley Hall;the second, - ssex. It would, perhaps, be just worth while toidentify the place represented,which he could easily do with thehelp of a gazetteer, and then he wouldsend it back to Mr.Britnell, with some remarks reflecting upon the judgmentof thatgentleman. He lighted the candles, for it was now dark, made thetea, and suppliedthe friend with whom he had been playing golf (forI believe the authoritiesof the University I write of indulge inthat pursuit by way of relaxation);and tea was taken to theaccompaniment of a discussion which golfing personscan imaginefor themselves, but which the conscientious writer has no righttoinflict upon any non-golfing persons. The conclusion arrived atwas that certain strokes might have beenbetter, and that incertain emergencies neither player had experienced thatamount ofluck which a human being has a right to expect. It was nowthatthe friend - let us call him Professor Binks - took up theframed engraving,and said: "What's this place, Williams?""Just what I am going to try to find out," saidWilliams, going to theshelf for a gazetteer. "Look at theback. Somethingley Hall, either inSussex or Essex. Half thename's gone, you see. You don't happen to know it,I suppose?""It's from that man Britnell, I suppose, isn't it?"said Binks. "Is itfor the museum?" "Well, I thinkI should buy it if the price was five shillings,"saidWilliams; "but for some unearthly reason he wants twoguineas for it. Ican't conceive why. It's a wretched engraving,and there aren't even anyfigures to give it life." "It'snot worth two guineas, I should think," said Binks; "butI don'tthink it's so badly done. The moonlight seems rather goodto me; and Ishould have thought there were figures, or at least afigure just on theedge in front." "Let's look,"said Williams. "Well, it's true the light is rathercleverlygiven. Where's your figure? Oh yes! Just the head, in theveryfront of the picture." And indeed there was - hardlymore than a black blot on the extreme edgeof the engraving - thehead of a man or woman, a good deal muffled up, theback turned tothe spectator, and looking towards the house. Williams had notnoticed it before. "Still," he said, "though it'sa cleverer thing than I thought, I can'tspend two guineas ofmuseum money on a picture of a place I don't know."Professor Binks had his work to do, and soon went; and verynearly up toHall time Williams was engaged in a vain attempt toidentify the subject ofhis picture. "If the vowel before theng had only been left, it would havebeen easy enough," hethought; "but as it is, the name may be anythingfromGuestingley to Langley, and thereare many more names endinglike this than Ithought; and this rotten book has no index ofterminations." Hall in Mr. Williams's college was at seven.It need not be dwelt upon;the less so as he met there colleagueswho had been playing golf during theafternoon, and words withwhich we have no concern were freely bandiedacross the table -merely golfing words, I would hasten to explain. I suppose anhour or more to have been spent in what is calledcommon-roomafter dinner. Later in the evening some few retired toWilliams'srooms, and I have little doubt that whist was played andtobaccosmoked. During a lull in these operations Williams pickedup the mezzotintfrom the table without looking at it, and handedit to a person mildlyinterested in art, telling him where it hadcome from, and the otherparticulars which we already know. Thegentleman took it carelessly, looked at it, then said, in a toneofsome interest: "It's really a very good piece of work,Williams; it has quite a feelingof the romantic period. The lightis admirably managed, it seems to me, andthe figure, though it'srather too grotesque, is somehow very impressive." "Yes,isn't it?" said Williams, who was just then busygivingwhisky-and-soda to others of the company, and was unable tocome across theroom to look at the view again. It was by thistime rather late in the evening, and thevisitors were onthe move.After they went Williams was obliged to write a letter or twoandclear up some odd bits of work. At last, some time pastmidnight, he wasdisposed to turn in, and he put out his lampafter lighting his bedroomcandle. The picture lay face upwards onthe table where the last man wholooked at it had put it, and itcaught his eye as he turned the lamp down.What he saw made himvery nearly drop the candle on the floor, and hedeclares now thatif he had been left in the dark at that moment he wouldhave had afit. But, as that did not happen he was able to put down thelighton the table and take a good look at the picture. It wasindubitable -rankly impossible, no doubt, but absolutely certain.In the middle of thelawn in front of the unknown house there wasa figure where no figure hadbeen at five o'clock that afternoon.It was crawling on all-fours towardsthe house, and it was muffledin a strange black garment with a white crosson the back. I donot know what is the ideal course to pursue in a situation ofthiskind. I can only tell you what Mr. Williams did. He took thepicture by onecorner and carried it across the passage to asecond set of rooms which hepossessed. There he locked it up in adrawer, sported the doors of both setsof rooms, and retired tobed; but first he wrote out and signed an accountof theextraordinary change which the picture had undergone since ithadcome into his possession. Sleep visited him rather late; butit was consoling to reflect that thebehaviour of the picture didnot depend upon his own unsupported testimony.Evidently the manwho had looked at it the night before had seen somethingof thesame kind as he had, otherwise he might have been tempted tothinkthat something gravely wrong was happening either to hiseyes or his mind.This possibility being fortunately precluded,two matters awaited him on themorrow. He must take stock of thepicture very carefully, and call in awitness for the purpose, andhe must make a determined effort to ascertainwhat house it wasthat was represented. He would therefore ask his neighbourNisbetto breakfast with him, and he would subsequently spend a morningoverthe gazetteer. Nisbet was disengaged, and arrived about 9.30.His host was not quitedressed, I am sorry to say, even at thislate hour. During breakfast nothingwas said about the mezzotintby Williams, save that he had a picture onwhich he wished forNisbet's opinion. But those who are familiar withUniversity lifecan picture for themselves the wide and delightful rangeofsubjects over which the conversation of two Fellows ofCanterbury College islikely to extend during a Sunday morningbreakfast. Hardly a topic was leftunchallenged, from golf to lawn-tennis.Yet I am bound to say that Williamswas rather distraught; for hisinterest naturally centred in that verystrange picture which wasnow reposing, face downwards, in the drawer in theroom opposite.The morning pipe was at last lighted, and the moment had arrivedforwhich he looked. With very considerable - almost tremulous -excitement, heran across, unlocked the drawer, and, extractingthe picture - still facedownwards - ran back, and put it intoNisbet's hands. "Now," he said, "Nisbet, I wantyou to tell me exactly what you see inthat picture. Describe it,if you don't mind, rather minutely. I'll tell youwhy afterwards.""Well," said Nisbet, "I have here a view of acountry-house - English, Ipresume - by moonlight. "Moonlight?You're sure of that?" "Certainly. The moon appears tobe on the wane, if you wish for details,and there are clouds inthe sky." "All right. Go on. I'll swear," addedWilliams in an aside, "there was nomoon when I saw it first.""Well, there's not much more to be said," Nisbetcontinued. "The househas one - two - three rows of windows,five in each row, except at thebottom, where there's a porchinstead of the middle one, and - " "But what aboutfigures?" said Williams, with marked interest. "Therearen't any," said Nisbet; "but - - " "What!No figure on the grass in front?" "Not a thing.""You'll swear to that?" "Certainly I will. Butthere's just one other thing." "What?" "Why,one of the windows on the ground-floor - left of the door -isopen." "Is it really? My goodness! he must have gotin," said Williams, withgreat excitement; and he hurried tothe back of the sofa on which Nisbet wassitting, and, catchingthe picture from him, verified the matter forhimself. It wasquite true. There was no figure, and there was the open window.Williams,after a moment of speechless surprise, went to the writing-tableandscribbled for a short time. Then he brought two papers to Nisbet,andasked him first to sign one - it was his own description ofthe picture,which you have just heard - and then to read theother which was Williams'sstatement written the night before."What can it all mean?" said Nisbet. "Exactly,"said Williams. "Well, one thing I must do - or threethings,now I think of it. I must find out from Garwood" -this was his last night'svisitor - "what he saw, and then Imust get the thing photographed before itgoes further, and then Imust find out what the place is." "I can do thephotographing myself," said Nisbet, "and I will. But,youknow, it looks very much as if we were assisting at theworking out of atragedy somewhere. The question is, Has ithappened already, or is it goingto come off? You must find outwhat the place is. Yes," he said, looking atthe pictureagain, "I expect you're right: he has got in. And if Idon'tmistake there'll be the devil to pay in one of the roomsupstairs." "I'll tell you what," said Williams:"I'll take the picture across to oldGreen" (this wasthe senior Fellow of the College, who had been Bursar formanyyears). "It's quite likely he'll know it. We have propertyin Essex andSussex, and he must have been over the two counties alot in his time." "Quite likely he will," saidNisbet; "but just let me take my photographfirst. But lookhere, I rather think Green isn't up to-day. He wasn't inHall lastnight, and I think I heard him say he was going down fortheSunday." "That's true, too," said Williams;"I know he's gone to Brighton. Well,if you'll photograph itnow, I'll go across to Garwood and get hisstatement, and you keepan eye on it while I'm gone. I'm beginning to thinktwo guineas isnot a very exorbitant price for it now." In a short time hehad returned, and brought Mr. Garwood with him.Garwood'sstatement was to the effect that the figure, when he had seenit,was clear of the edge of the picture, but had not got faracross the lawn.He remembered a white mark on the back of itsdrapery, but could not havebeen sure it was a cross. A documentto this effect was then drawn up andsigned, and Nisbet proceededto photograph the picture. "Now what do you mean to do?"he said. "Are you going to sit and watch itall day?""Well, no, I think not," said Williams. "I ratherimagine we're meant tosee the whole thing. You see, between thetime I saw it last night and thismorning there was time for lotsof things to happen, but the creature onlygot into the house. Itcould easily have got through its business in thetime and gone toits own place again; but the fact of the window being open,Ithink, must mean that it's in there now. So I feel quite easyaboutleaving it. And, besides, I have a kind of idea that itwouldn't changemuch, if at all, in the daytime. We might go outfor a walk this afternoon,and come in to tea, or whenever it getsdark. I shall leave it out on thetable here, and sport the door.My skip can get in, but no one else." The three agreed thatthis would be a good plan; and, further, that ifthey spent theafternoon together they would be less likely to talk aboutthebusiness to other people; for any rumour of such a transaction aswasgoing on would bring the whole of the Phasmatological Societyabout theirears. We may give them a respite until five o'clock.At or near that hour the three were entering Williams's staircase.Theywere at first slightly annoyed to see that the door of hisrooms wasunsported; but in a moment it was remembered that onSunday the skips camefor orders an hour or so earlier than onweek-days. However, a surprise wasawaiting them. The first thingthey saw was the picture leaning up against apile of books on thetable, as it had been left, and the next thing wasWilliams'sskip, seated on a chair opposite, gazing at it withundisguisedhorror. How was this? Mr. Filcher (the name is not myown invention) was aservant of considerable standing, and set thestandard of etiquette to allhis own college and to severalneighbouring ones, and nothing could be morealien to his practicethan to be found sitting on his master's chair, orappearing totake any particular notice of his master's furniture orpictures.Indeed, he seemed to feel this himself. He started violentlywhenthe three men came into the room, and got up with a markedeffort. Then hesaid: "I ask your pardon, sir, for takingsuch a freedom as to set down." "Not at all, Robert,"interposed Mr. Williams. "I was meaning to ask yousome timewhat you thought of that picture." "Well, sir, ofcourse I don't set up my opinion again yours, but it ain'tthepictur I should 'ang where my little girl could see it, sir.""Wouldn't you, Robert? Why not?" "No, sir. Why,the pore child, I recollect once she see a Door Bible,withpictures not 'alf what that is, and we 'ad to set up with herthree orfour nights afterwards, if you'll believe me; and if shewas to ketch asight of this skelinton here, or whatever it is,carrying off the pore baby,she would be in a taking. You know 'owit is with children; 'ow nervish theygit with a little thing andall. But what I should say, it don't seem aright pictur to belaying about, sir, not where anyone that's liable to bestartledcould come on it. Should you be wanting anything this eveningsir?Thank you, sir." With these words the excellent man wentto continue the round of hismasters, and you may be sure thegentlemen whom he left lost no time ingathering round theengraving. There was the house, as before, under thewaning moonand the drifting clouds. The window that had been open wasshut,and the figure was once more on the lawn: but not this timecrawlingcautiously on hands and knees. Now it was erect andstepping swiftly, withlong strides, towards the front of thepicture. The moon was behind it, andthe black drapery hung downover its face so that only hints of that couldbe seen, and whatwas visible made the spectators profoundly thankful thattheycould see no more than a white dome-like forehead and a fewstragglinghairs. The head was bent down, and the arms weretightly clasped over anobject which could be dimly seen andidentified as a child, whether dead orliving it was not possibleto say. The legs of the appearance alone could beplainlydiscerned, and they were horribly thin. From five to seven thethree companions sat and watched the picture byturns. But itnever changed. They agreed at last that it would be safe toleaveit, and that they would return after Hall and awaitfurtherdevelopments. When they assembled again, at the earliestpossible moment, the engravingwas there, but the figure was gone,and the house was quiet under themoonbeams. There was nothing forit but to spend the evening over gazetteersand guide-books.Williams was the lucky one at last, and perhaps he deservedit. At11.30 p.m. he read from Murray's Guide to Essex the followinglines: 161/2 miles, Anningley. The church has been an interestingbuilding of Norman date, but was extensively classicized in thelast century. It contains the tombs of the family of Francis,whose mansion, Anningley Hall, a solid Queen Anne house, standsimmediately beyond the churchyard in a park of about 80 acres.The family is now extinct, the last heir having disappearedmysteriously in infancy in the year 1802. The father, Mr. ArthurFrancis, was locally known as a talented amateur engraver inmezzotint. After his son's disappearance he lived in completeretirement at the Hall, and was found dead in his studio on thethird anniversary of the disaster, having just completed anengraving of the house, impressions of which are of considerablerarity."This looked like business, and, indeed, Mr. Green onhis return at onceidentified the house as Anningley Hall. "Isthere any kind of explanation of the figure Green?" was thequestionwhich Williams naturally asked. "I don't know, I'msure, Williams. What used to be said in the place whenI firstknew it, which was before I came up here, was just this: oldFranciswas always very much down on these poaching fellows, andwhenever he got achance he used to get a man whom he suspected ofit turned off the estate,and by degrees he got rid of them allbut one. Squires could do a lot ofthings then that they daren'tthink of now. Well, this man that was left waswhat you findpretty often in that country - the last remains of a veryoldfamily. I believe they were Lords of the Manor at one time. Irecollect justthe same thing in my own parish." "What,like the man in Tess of the D'Urbervilles?" Williams put in."Yes, I dare say; it's not a book I could ever read myself.But thisfellow could show a row of tombs in the church there thatbelonged to hisancestors, and all that went to sour him a bit;but Francis, they said,could never get at him - he always keptjust on the right side of the law -until one night the keepersfound him at it in a wood right at the end ofthe estate. I couldshow you the place now; it marches with some land thatused tobelong to an uncle of mine. And you can imagine there was a row;andthis man Gawdy (that was the name, to be sure - Gawdy; Ithought I shouldget it - Gawdy), he was unlucky enough, poor chap!to shoot a keeper. Well,that was what Francis wanted, and grandjuries - you know what they wouldhave been then - and poor Gawdywas strung up in double-quick time; and I'vebeen shown the placehe was buried in, on the north side of the church - youknow theway in that part of the world: anyone that's been hanged ormadeaway with themselves, they bury them that side. And the ideawas that somefriend of Gawdy's - not a relation, because he hadnone, poor devil! he wasthe last of his line: kind of spes ultimagentis - must have planned to gethold of Francis's boy and put anend to his line, too. I don't know - it'srather an out-of-the-waything for an Essex poacher to think of - but, youknow, I shouldsay now it looks more as if old Gawdy had managed the jobhimself.Booh! I hate to think of it! have some whisky, Williams!"The facts were communicated by Williams to Dennistoun, and by himto amixed company, of which I was one, and the SadduceanProfessor of Ophiologyanother. I am sorry to say that the latterwhen asked what he thought of it,only remarked: "Oh, thoseBridgeford people will say anything" - a sentimentwhich metwith the reception it deserved. I have only to add that thepicture is now in the Ashleian Museum; thatit has been treatedwith a view to discovering whether sympathetic ink hasbeen usedin it, but without effect; that Mr. Britnell knew nothing ofitsave that he was sure it was uncommon; and that, thoughcarefully watched,it has never been known to change again.