Messotint

Some time ago I believe I had the pleasure of telling you the story of anadventure which happened to a friend of mine by the name of Dennistoun,during his pursuit of objects of art for the museum at Cambridge. He did not publish his experiences very widely upon his return toEngland; but they could not fail to become known to a good many of hisfriends, and among others to the gentleman who at that time presided over anart museum at another University. It was to be expected that the storyshould make a considerable impression on the mind of a man whose vocationlay in lines similar to Dennistoun's, and that he should be eager to catchat any explanation of the matter which tended to make it seem improbablethat he should ever be called upon to deal with so agitating an emergency.It was, indeed, somewhat consoling to him to reflect that he was notexpected to acquire ancient MSS. for his institution; that was the businessof the Shelburnian Library. The authorities of that might, if they pleased,ransack obscure corners of the Continent for such matters. He was glad to beobliged at the moment to confine his attention to enlarging the alreadyunsurpassed collection of English topographical drawings and engravingspossessed by his museum. Yet, as it turned out, even a department so homelyand familiar as this may have its dark corners, and to one of these Mr.Williams was unexpectedly introduced. Those who have taken even the most limited interest in the acquisition oftopographical pictures are aware that there is one Londondealer whose aid isindispensable to their researches. Mr. J.W. Britnell publishes at shortintervals very admirable catalogues of a large and constantly changing stockof engravings, plans, and old sketches of mansions, churches, and towns inEngland and Wales. These catalogues were, of course, the ABC of his subjectto Mr. Williams: but as his museum already contained an enormousaccumulation of topographical pictures, he was a regular, rather than acopious, buyer; and he rather looked to Mr. Britnell to fill up gaps in therank and file of his collection than to supply him with rarities. Now, in February of last year there appeared upon Mr. Williams's desk atthe museum a catalogue from Mr. Britnell's emporium, and accompanying it wasa typewritten communication from the dealer himself. This latter ran asfollows: We beg to call your attention to No. 978 in our accompanying catalogue, which we shall be glad to send on approval. Yours faithfully, P.J.W. BritnellTo turn to No. 978 in the accompanying catalogue was with Mr. Williams (ashe observed to himself) the work of a moment, and in the place indicated hefound the following entry: "978. - Unknown. Interesting mezzotint: View of a manor-house, early partof the century. 15 by 10 inches; black frame. £2 2s. It was not specially exciting, and the price seemed high. However, as Mr.Britnell, who knew his business and his customer, seemed to set store by it,Mr. Williams wrote a postcard asking for the article to be sent on approval,along with some other engravings and sketches which appeared in the samecatalogue. And so he passed without much excitement of anticipation to theordinary labours of the day. A parcel of any kind always arrives a day later than you expect it, andthat of Mr. Britnell proved, as I believe the right phrase goes, noexception to the rule. It was delivered at the museum by the afternoon postof Saturday, after Mr. Williams had left his work, and it was accordinglybrought round to his rooms in college by the attendant, in order that hemight not have to wait over Sunday before looking through it and returningsuch of the contents as he did not propose to keep. And here he found itwhen he came in to tea, with a friend. The only item with which I am concerned was the rather large,black-framed mezzotint of which I have already quoted the short descriptiongiven in Mr. Britnell's catalogue. Some more details of it will have to begiven, though I cannot hope to put before you the look of the picture asclearly as it is present to my own eye. Very nearly the exact duplicate ofit may be seen in a good many old inn parlours, or in the passages ofundisturbed country mansions at the present moment. It was a ratherindifferent mezzotint, and an indifferent mezzotint is, perhaps, the worstform of engraving known. It presented a full-face view of a not very largemanor-house of the last century, with three rows of plain sashed windowswith rusticated masonry about them, a parapet with balls or vases at theangles, and a small portico in the centre. On either side were trees, and infront considerable expanse of lawn. The legend "A.W.F. sculpsit" wasengraved on the narrow margin; and there was no further inscription. Thewhole thing gave the impression that it was the work of an amateur. What inthe world Mr. Britnell could mean by affixing the price of £2 2s. to such anobject was more than Mr. Williams could imagine. He turned it over with agood deal of contempt; upon the back was a paper label, the left-hand halfof which had been torn off. All that remained were the ends of two lines ofwriting: the first had the letters - ngley Hall; the second, - ssex. It would, perhaps, be just worth while to identify the place represented,which he could easily do with the help of a gazetteer, and then he wouldsend it back to Mr. Britnell, with some remarks reflecting upon the judgmentof that gentleman. He lighted the candles, for it was now dark, made the tea, and suppliedthe friend with whom he had been playing golf (for I believe the authoritiesof the University I write of indulge in that pursuit by way of relaxation);and tea was taken to the accompaniment of a discussion which golfing personscan imagine for themselves, but which the conscientious writer has no rightto inflict upon any non-golfing persons. The conclusion arrived at was that certain strokes might have beenbetter, and that in certain emergencies neither player had experienced thatamount of luck which a human being has a right to expect. It was now thatthe friend - let us call him Professor Binks - took up the framed engraving,and said: "What's this place, Williams?" "Just what I am going to try to find out," said Williams, going to theshelf for a gazetteer. "Look at the back. Somethingley Hall, either inSussex or Essex. Half the name'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 think I should buy it if the price was five shillings," saidWilliams; "but for some unearthly reason he wants two guineas for it. Ican't conceive why. It's a wretched engraving, and there aren't even anyfigures to give it life." "It's not worth two guineas, I should think," said Binks; "but I don'tthink it's so badly done. The moonlight seems rather good to me; and Ishould have thought there were figures, or at least a figure just on theedge in front." "Let's look," said Williams. "Well, it's true the light is rathercleverly given. Where's your figure? Oh yes! Just the head, in the veryfront of the picture." And indeed there was - hardly more than a black blot on the extreme edgeof the engraving - the head of a man or woman, a good deal muffled up, theback turned to the spectator, and looking towards the house. Williams had not noticed it before. "Still," he said, "though it's a cleverer thing than I thought, I can'tspend two guineas of museum money on a picture of a place I don't know." Professor Binks had his work to do, and soon went; and very nearly up toHall time Williams was engaged in a vain attempt to identify the subject ofhis picture. "If the vowel before the ng had only been left, it would havebeen easy enough," he thought; "but as it is, the name may be anything fromGuestingley to Langley, and thereare many more names ending like this than Ithought; and this rotten book has no index of terminations." Hall in Mr. Williams's college was at seven. It need not be dwelt upon;the less so as he met there colleagues who had been playing golf during theafternoon, and words with which we have no concern were freely bandiedacross the table - merely golfing words, I would hasten to explain. I suppose an hour or more to have been spent in what is calledcommon-room after dinner. Later in the evening some few retired toWilliams's rooms, and I have little doubt that whist was played and tobaccosmoked. During a lull in these operations Williams picked up the mezzotintfrom the table without looking at it, and handed it to a person mildlyinterested in art, telling him where it had come from, and the otherparticulars which we already know. The gentleman took it carelessly, looked at it, then said, in a tone ofsome interest: "It's really a very good piece of work, Williams; it has quite a feelingof the romantic period. The light is admirably managed, it seems to me, andthe figure, though it's rather too grotesque, is somehow very impressive." "Yes, isn't it?" said Williams, who was just then busy givingwhisky-and-soda to others of the company, and was unable to come across theroom to look at the view again. It was by this time rather late in the evening, and thevisitors were onthe move. After they went Williams was obliged to write a letter or two andclear up some odd bits of work. At last, some time past midnight, he wasdisposed to turn in, and he put out his lamp after lighting his bedroomcandle. The picture lay face upwards on the table where the last man wholooked at it had put it, and it caught his eye as he turned the lamp down.What he saw made him very nearly drop the candle on the floor, and hedeclares now that if he had been left in the dark at that moment he wouldhave had a fit. But, as that did not happen he was able to put down thelight on the table and take a good look at the picture. It was indubitable -rankly impossible, no doubt, but absolutely certain. In the middle of thelawn in front of the unknown house there was a figure where no figure hadbeen at five o'clock that afternoon. It was crawling on all-fours towardsthe house, and it was muffled in a strange black garment with a white crosson the back. I do not know what is the ideal course to pursue in a situation of thiskind. I can only tell you what Mr. Williams did. He took the picture by onecorner and carried it across the passage to a second set of rooms which hepossessed. There he locked it up in a drawer, sported the doors of both setsof rooms, and retired to bed; but first he wrote out and signed an accountof the extraordinary change which the picture had undergone since it hadcome into his possession. Sleep visited him rather late; but it was consoling to reflect that thebehaviour of the picture did not depend upon his own unsupported testimony.Evidently the man who had looked at it the night before had seen somethingof the same kind as he had, otherwise he might have been tempted to thinkthat something gravely wrong was happening either to his eyes or his mind.This possibility being fortunately precluded, two matters awaited him on themorrow. He must take stock of the picture very carefully, and call in awitness for the purpose, and he must make a determined effort to ascertainwhat house it was that was represented. He would therefore ask his neighbourNisbet to breakfast with him, and he would subsequently spend a morning overthe gazetteer. Nisbet was disengaged, and arrived about 9.30. His host was not quitedressed, I am sorry to say, even at this late hour. During breakfast nothingwas said about the mezzotint by Williams, save that he had a picture onwhich he wished for Nisbet's opinion. But those who are familiar withUniversity life can picture for themselves the wide and delightful range ofsubjects over which the conversation of two Fellows of Canterbury College islikely to extend during a Sunday morning breakfast. Hardly a topic was leftunchallenged, from golf to lawn-tennis. Yet I am bound to say that Williamswas rather distraught; for his interest naturally centred in that verystrange picture which was now reposing, face downwards, in the drawer in theroom opposite. The morning pipe was at last lighted, and the moment had arrived forwhich he looked. With very considerable - almost tremulous - excitement, heran across, unlocked the drawer, and, extracting the picture - still facedownwards - ran back, and put it into Nisbet's hands. "Now," he said, "Nisbet, I want you 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 a country-house - English, Ipresume - by moonlight. "Moonlight? You're sure of that?" "Certainly. The moon appears to be on the wane, if you wish for details,and there are clouds in the sky." "All right. Go on. I'll swear," added Williams in an aside, "there was nomoon when I saw it first." "Well, there's not much more to be said," Nisbet continued. "The househas one - two - three rows of windows, five in each row, except at thebottom, where there's a porch instead of the middle one, and - " "But what about figures?" said Williams, with marked interest. "There aren't any," said Nisbet; "but - - " "What! No figure on the grass in front?" "Not a thing." "You'll swear to that?" "Certainly I will. But there'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 got in," said Williams, withgreat excitement; and he hurried to the back of the sofa on which Nisbet wassitting, and, catching the picture from him, verified the matter forhimself. It was quite true. There was no figure, and there was the open window.Williams, after a moment of speechless surprise, went to the writing-tableand scribbled for a short time. Then he brought two papers to Nisbet, andasked him first to sign one - it was his own description of the picture,which you have just heard - and then to read the other 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 three things,now I think of it. I must find out from Garwood" - this was his last night'svisitor - "what he saw, and then I must get the thing photographed before itgoes further, and then I must find out what the place is." "I can do the photographing myself," said Nisbet, "and I will. But, youknow, it looks very much as if we were assisting at the working out of atragedy somewhere. The question is, Has it happened already, or is it goingto come off? You must find out what the place is. Yes," he said, looking atthe picture again, "I expect you're right: he has got in. And if I don'tmistake there'll be the devil to pay in one of the rooms upstairs." "I'll tell you what," said Williams: "I'll take the picture across to oldGreen" (this was the senior Fellow of the College, who had been Bursar formany years). "It's quite likely he'll know it. We have property in Essex andSussex, and he must have been over the two counties a lot in his time." "Quite likely he will," said Nisbet; "but just let me take my photographfirst. But look here, I rather think Green isn't up to-day. He wasn't inHall last night, and I think I heard him say he was going down for theSunday." "That's true, too," said Williams; "I know he's gone to Brighton. Well,if you'll photograph it now, I'll go across to Garwood and get hisstatement, and you keep an eye on it while I'm gone. I'm beginning to thinktwo guineas is not a very exorbitant price for it now." In a short time he had returned, and brought Mr. Garwood with him.Garwood's statement was to the effect that the figure, when he had seen it,was clear of the edge of the picture, but had not got far across the lawn.He remembered a white mark on the back of its drapery, but could not havebeen sure it was a cross. A document to this effect was then drawn up andsigned, and Nisbet proceeded to 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 rather imagine we're meant tosee the whole thing. You see, between the time I saw it last night and thismorning there was time for lots of things to happen, but the creature onlygot into the house. It could easily have got through its business in thetime and gone to its own place again; but the fact of the window being open,I think, must mean that it's in there now. So I feel quite easy aboutleaving it. And, besides, I have a kind of idea that it wouldn't changemuch, if at all, in the daytime. We might go out for a walk this afternoon,and come in to tea, or whenever it gets dark. I shall leave it out on thetable here, and sport the door. My skip can get in, but no one else." The three agreed that this would be a good plan; and, further, that ifthey spent the afternoon together they would be less likely to talk aboutthe business to other people; for any rumour of such a transaction as wasgoing on would bring the whole of the Phasmatological Society about 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 his rooms wasunsported; but in a moment it was remembered that on Sunday the skips camefor orders an hour or so earlier than on week-days. However, a surprise wasawaiting them. The first thing they saw was the picture leaning up against apile of books on the table, as it had been left, and the next thing wasWilliams's skip, seated on a chair opposite, gazing at it with undisguisedhorror. How was this? Mr. Filcher (the name is not my own invention) was aservant of considerable standing, and set the standard of etiquette to allhis own college and to several neighbouring ones, and nothing could be morealien to his practice than to be found sitting on his master's chair, orappearing to take any particular notice of his master's furniture orpictures. Indeed, he seemed to feel this himself. He started violently whenthe three men came into the room, and got up with a marked effort. Then hesaid: "I ask your pardon, sir, for taking such a freedom as to set down." "Not at all, Robert," interposed Mr. Williams. "I was meaning to ask yousome time what you thought of that picture." "Well, sir, of course I don't set up my opinion again yours, but it ain'tthe pictur 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,with pictures not 'alf what that is, and we 'ad to set up with her three orfour nights afterwards, if you'll believe me; and if she was to ketch asight of this skelinton here, or whatever it is, carrying off the pore baby,she would be in a taking. You know 'ow it is with children; 'ow nervish theygit with a little thing and all. But what I should say, it don't seem aright pictur to be laying about, sir, not where anyone that's liable to bestartled could come on it. Should you be wanting anything this evening sir?Thank you, sir." With these words the excellent man went to continue the round of hismasters, and you may be sure the gentlemen whom he left lost no time ingathering round the engraving. There was the house, as before, under thewaning moon and the drifting clouds. The window that had been open was shut,and the figure was once more on the lawn: but not this time crawlingcautiously on hands and knees. Now it was erect and stepping swiftly, withlong strides, towards the front of the picture. The moon was behind it, andthe black drapery hung down over its face so that only hints of that couldbe seen, and what was visible made the spectators profoundly thankful thatthey could see no more than a white dome-like forehead and a few stragglinghairs. The head was bent down, and the arms were tightly clasped over anobject which could be dimly seen and identified as a child, whether dead orliving it was not possible to say. The legs of the appearance alone could beplainly discerned, and they were horribly thin. From five to seven the three companions sat and watched the picture byturns. But it never changed. They agreed at last that it would be safe toleave it, and that they would return after Hall and await furtherdevelopments. When they assembled again, at the earliest possible moment, the engravingwas there, but the figure was gone, and the house was quiet under themoonbeams. There was nothing for it but to spend the evening over gazetteersand guide-books. Williams was the lucky one at last, and perhaps he deservedit. At 11.30 p.m. he read from Murray's Guide to Essex the following lines: 161/2 miles, Anningley. The church has been an interesting building of Norman date, but was extensively classicized in the last century. It contains the tombs of the family of Francis, whose mansion, Anningley Hall, a solid Queen Anne house, stands immediately beyond the churchyard in a park of about 80 acres. The family is now extinct, the last heir having disappeared mysteriously in infancy in the year 1802. The father, Mr. Arthur Francis, was locally known as a talented amateur engraver in mezzotint. After his son's disappearance he lived in complete retirement at the Hall, and was found dead in his studio on the third anniversary of the disaster, having just completed an engraving of the house, impressions of which are of considerable rarity."This looked like business, and, indeed, Mr. Green on his return at onceidentified the house as Anningley Hall. "Is there any kind of explanation of the figure Green?" was the questionwhich Williams naturally asked. "I don't know, I'm sure, Williams. What used to be said in the place whenI first knew it, which was before I came up here, was just this: old Franciswas always very much down on these poaching fellows, and whenever he got achance he used to get a man whom he suspected of it turned off the estate,and by degrees he got rid of them all but one. Squires could do a lot ofthings then that they daren't think of now. Well, this man that was left waswhat you find pretty often in that country - the last remains of a very oldfamily. I believe they were Lords of the Manor at one time. I recollect 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 that belonged to hisancestors, and all that went to sour him a bit; but Francis, they said,could never get at him - he always kept just on the right side of the law -until one night the keepers found him at it in a wood right at the end ofthe estate. I could show you the place now; it marches with some land thatused to belong to an uncle of mine. And you can imagine there was a row; andthis man Gawdy (that was the name, to be sure - Gawdy; I thought I shouldget it - Gawdy), he was unlucky enough, poor chap! to shoot a keeper. Well,that was what Francis wanted, and grand juries - you know what they wouldhave been then - and poor Gawdy was strung up in double-quick time; and I'vebeen shown the place he was buried in, on the north side of the church - youknow the way in that part of the world: anyone that's been hanged or madeaway with themselves, they bury them that side. And the idea was that somefriend of Gawdy's - not a relation, because he had none, poor devil! he wasthe last of his line: kind of spes ultima gentis - must have planned to gethold of Francis's boy and put an end to his line, too. I don't know - it'srather an out-of-the-way thing for an Essex poacher to think of - but, youknow, I should say 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 him to amixed company, of which I was one, and the Sadducean Professor of Ophiologyanother. I am sorry to say that the latter when asked what he thought of it,only remarked: "Oh, those Bridgeford people will say anything" - a sentimentwhich met with the reception it deserved. I have only to add that the picture is now in the Ashleian Museum; thatit has been treated with a view to discovering whether sympathetic ink hasbeen used in it, but without effect; that Mr. Britnell knew nothing of itsave that he was sure it was uncommon; and that, though carefully watched,it has never been known to change again.