Speaker 1: The Mezzo tint by m R James some time ago.
I believe I had the pleasure of telling you the
story of an adventure which happened to a friend of
mine by the name of Deniston, during his pursuit of
objects of art for the museum at Cambridge. He did
not publish his experiences very widely upon his return to England,
but they could not fail to become known to a
good many of his friends, and, among others, to the
gentleman who at that time presided over an art museum
at another university. It was to be expected that the
story should make a considerable impression on the mind of
a man whose vocation lay in lines similar to Deniston's,
and that he should be eager to catch at any
explanation of the matter which tended to make it seem
improbable that 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 not expected to
acquire ancient manuscripts or his institution. That was the business
of the Shelburnian Library. The authorities of that institution might,
if they pleased, ran sack obscure corners of the continent
for such matters. He was glad to be obliged at
the moment to confine his attention to enlarging the already
unsurpassed collection of English topographical drawings and engravings possessed by
his museum. Yet, as it turned out, even a department
so homely and familiar as this may have its dark corners,
and to one of these, mister Williams was unexpectedly introduced.
Those who have taken even the most limited interest in
the acquisition of topographical pictures are aware that there is
one London dealer whose aid is indispensable to their researches.
Mister J. W. Britnell publishes, at short intervals very admirable
catalogs of a large and constantly changing stock of engravings,
plans and old sketches of mansions, churches and towns, and
England and Wales. These catalogs were, of course the abc
of his subject to mister Williams. But as his museum
already contained an enormous accumulation of topographical pictures, he was
a regular rather than a copious buyer, and he rather
looked to mister Britnell to fill up gaps in the
rank and file of his collection, than to supply him
with rarities. Now, in February of last year, there appeared
on mister Williams's desk at the Museum a catalog from
mister Britnell's imporium, and accompanying it was a typewritten communication
from the dealer himself. This latter ran as follows. Dear sir,
we beg to call your attention to number nine hundred
seventy eight in our accompanying catalog, which we shall be
glad to send on approval yours faithfully. J. W. Britnell
to turn to number nine hundred seventy eight in the
accompanying catalog was with mister Williams as he observed to
himself the work of a moment, and in the place
indicated he found the following entry one hundred and seventy
eight unknown interesting mezzo tint view of a manor house
early part of the century, fifteen by ten inches, black frame,
two pounds two shillings. It was not specially exciting and
the price seemed high. However, as mister Britnell, who knew
his business and his customer, seemed to set store by it.
Mister Williams wrote a postcard asking for the article to
be sent on approval, along with some other engravings and
sketches which appeared in the same catalog. And so he
passed without much excitement of anticipation to the ordinary labours
of the day. A parcel of any kind always arrived
a day later than you expected, and that of mister
Britnell proved, as I believe the right phrase goes no
exception to the rule. It was delivered at the museum
by the afternoon post of Saturday, after mister Williams had
left his work, and it was accordingly brought round to
his rooms in Coline by the attendant, in order that
he might not have to wait over Sunday before looking
through it and returning such of the contents as he
did not propose to keep. And here he found it
when he came to tea with a friend. The only
item with which I am concerned was the rather large
black framed metso tint, of which I have already quoted
the short description given in mister Britnell's catalog. Some more
details of it will have to be given, though I
cannot hope to put before you the look of the picture,
as clearly as it is present to my own eye.
Very nearly the exact duplicate of it may be seen
in a good many old inn parlors, or in the
passages of undisturbed country mansions. At the present moment. It
was a rather indifferent metso tint, and an indifferent metso
tint is perhaps the worst form of engraving known. It
presented a full face view of a not very large
manor house of the last century, v rows of plane
sashed windows with rusticated masonry about them, a parapet with
balls or vases at the angles, and a small portico
in the center. On either side were trees, and in
front a considerable expanse of lawn. The legend a w
F sculpts. It was engraved on the narrow margin, and
there was no further inscription. The whole thing gave the
impression that it was the work of an amateur. What
in the world mister Brittle could mean by fixing the
price of two pounds two shillings to such an object
was more than mister Williams could imagine. He turned it
over with a good deal of contempt. Upon the back
was a paper label, the left hand half of which
had been torn off. All that remained with the ends
of two lines of writing. The first had the letters
N G L E Y hall, the second S S
e X. 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 would send
it back to mister Britnell with some remarks reflecting upon
the judgment of that gentleman. He lighted the candles, for
it was now dark, made the tea, and supplied the
friend with whom he had been playing golf, for I
believe the authorities of the university I write of indulged
in that pursuit. By way of laxation and tea was
taken to the accompaniment of a discussion which golfing persons
can imagine for themselves, but which the conscientious writer has
no right to inflict upon any non golfing persons. The
conclusion arrived at was that certain strokes might have been better,
and that in certain emergencies neither player had experienced the
amount of luck which a human being has a right
to expect. It was now that the friend, let us
call him Professor Binks, took up the framed engraving, and
said what's this Williams? Just what I'm going to try
to find out, said Williams, going to the shelf for
a gazeteer. Look at the back Somethingley Hall, either in
Sussex 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 it
for the museum? Well, I think I should buy it
if the price was five shillings, said Williams. But for
some unearthly reason he wants two guineas for it. I
can't conceive why. It's a wretched engraving, and there aren't
even any figures to give it life. It's not worth
two guineas, I should think, said Binks. But I don't
think it's so badly done. The moonlight seems rather good
to me, and I should have thought there were figures,
or at least a figure just on the edge in front.
Let's look, said Williams. Well, it's true the light is
rather cleverly given. Where's your figure? Oh yes, just the
head in the very front of the picture. And indeed
there was hardly more than a black blot on the
extreme edge of the engraving, the head of a man
or woman a good deal muffled up the back, 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't spend 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 to hall time Williams
was engaged in a vain attempt to identify the subject
of his picture. If the vowel before the enngy had
only been left, it would have been easy enough, he thought.
But as it is, the name may be anything from
Guessingly to Langley. And there are many more names ending
like this than I thought. And this rotten book is
no index of terminations. Hall in mister Williams College was
at seven. It need not be dwelt upon the less.
So as he met their colleagues who had been playing
golf during the afternoon, and words with which we have
no concern were freely bounded across the table, merely golfing words.
I would hasten to explain. I suppose an hour or
more to have been spent in what is called common room.
After dinner later in the evening, some few retired to
Williams's room, and I have little doubt that whist was
played and tobacco smoked during the lull in these operations.
Williams picked up the mezzo tint from the table, without
looking at it, and handed it to a person mildly
interested in art, telling him where it had come from
and the other particulars which we already know. The gentleman
took it carelessly, looked at it, and then said, in
a tone of some interest, it's really a very good
piece of work, Williams. It has quite a feeling of
the Romantic period. The light is admirably managed, it seems
to me. In the figure, though it's rather too grotesque,
is somehow very impressive. Yes, isn't it? Said Williams, who
was just then busy giving whiskey and soda to the
others of the company, and was unable to come across
the room to look at the view again. It was
by this time rather late in the evening, and the
visitors were on the move. After they went Williams was
obliged to write a letter or two and clear up
some odd bits of work. At last, some time past midnight,
he was disposed to turn in, and he put out
his lamp after lighting his bedroom candle. The picture lay
face upwards on the table where the last man who
looked 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
he declares, now, if he had been left in the
dark at that moment, he would have had a fit.
But as that did not happen, he was able to
put down the light 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 the lawn,
in front of the unknown house, there was a figure
where no figure had been at five o'clock that afternoon.
It was crawling on all fours towards the house, and
it was muffled in a strange black garment with a
white cross on the back. I do not know what
is the ideal course to pursue in a situation of
this kind. I can only tell you what mister Williams did.
He took the picture by one corner and carried it
across the passage to a second set of rooms, which
he possessed. There he locked it up in a drawer,
sported the doors of both sets of rooms, and retired
to bed. But first he wrote out and signed an
account of the extraordinary change which the picture had undergone
since it had come into his possession. Sleep visited him
rather late, but it was consoling to reflect that the
behavior of the picture did not depend upon his own
unsupported testimony. Evidently, the man who had looked at it
the night before had seen something of the same kind
as he had. Otherwise, he might have been tempted to
think that something gravely wrong was happening, either to his
eyes or his mind, this possibility being fortunately precluded, two
matters awaited him on the morrow. He must take stock
of the picture very carefully and call in a witness
for the purpose. And he must make a determined effort
to ascertain what house it was that was represented. He
would therefore ask his neighbor Nisbit, to breakfast with him,
and he would subsequently spend a morning over the gazetteer.
Nisbit was disengaged and arrived around nine twenty. His host
was not quite dressed, I'm sorry to say, even at
this late hour, during breakfast, nothing was said about the
metzo tint by Williams, save that he had a picture
on which he wished for Nisbit's opinion. But those who
are familiar with university life can picture for themselves the
wide and delightful range of subjects over which the conversation
of two fellows of Canterbury College is likely to extend
during a Sunday morning breakfast. Hardly a topic was left unchallenged,
from golf to lawn tennis. Yet I am bound to
say that Williams was rather distraught, for his interest naturally
centered on that very strange picture, which was now reposing
face down in the drawer in the room opposite. The
morning pipe was at last lighted, and the moment had arrived,
for which he looked with very considerable, almost tremulous excitement.
He ran across, unlocked the drawer, and, extracting the picture,
still face downwards, ran back and put it into Nisbet's hands. Now,
he said, Nisbit, I want you to tell me exactly
what you see in that picture. Describe it, if you
don't mind rather minutely. I'll tell you why afterwards. Well,
said Nesbit, I have here a view of a country
house English. I presume by moonlight. Moonlight. You're sure of that.
Certainly the moon appears to be on the way. And
if you wish for details, and there are clouds in
the sky, all right, go on, I'll swear, added Williams
in an a side. There is no moon when I
saw it first. Well, there's not much more to be
said Nisbit, continued. The house is one two, three rows
of windows, five in each row, except at the bottom,
where there's a instead of a middle one end. But
what about figures, said Williams with marked interest. There aren't any,
said Nisbit. But what no figure on the grass in front?
Not a thing? He'll swear to that, certainly. How well,
But there's just one other thing. What why one of
the windows on the ground floor left of the door
is opened? Is it really so? My goodness, he must
have got in, said Williams with great excitement, and he
hurried to the back of the sofa on which in
his Bit was sitting, and catching the picture from him,
verified the matter for himself. 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
table and scribbled for a short time. Then he brought
two papers to Nisbit and asked him first to sign one,
it was his own description of the picture, which you've
just heard, and then to read the other, which was
William's statement written the night before. What can it all mean,
said Nesbitt, exactly, said Williams. Well, one thing I must do,
or three things, now I think of it. I must
find out from Garwarod, as was his last night's visitor,
what he saw, and then I must get the thing
photographed before it goes further. And then I must find
out what the place is. I can do the photographing myself,
said Nesbit. A. I will, but you know it looks
very much as if we were assisting at the working
out of a tragedy somewhere. The question is has it
happened already or is it going to come off? You
must find out what the place is, yes, he said,
looking at the picture again. I expect you're right. He
has got in, and if I don't mistake, 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 Old Green. This was the senior fellow of
the college who had been Bursty for many years. It's
quite likely he'll know it. We have property in Essex
and Sussex, and he must have been over the two
counties a lot in his time. Quite lightly, he will
said nisbit. But just let me take my photograph first.
But look here, I rather think Green is n up
to day. He wasn't in the hall last night, and
I think I heard him say he was going down
for the Sunday. 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 his statement, and
you keep an eye on it while I'm gone. I'm
beginning to think two guineas is not a very exorbitant
price for it. Now. In a short time he had
returned and brought mister 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 it
not got far across the lawn. He remembered a white
mark on the back of its drapery, but could not
have been sure it was a cross. A document to
this effect was then drawn up and signed, and Nisbet
proceeded to photograph the picture. Now what do you mean
to do, he said? Are you going to sit and
watch it all day? Well? No, I think not, said Williams.
I rather imagine were meant to see the whole thing.
You see, between the time I saw it last night
and this morning, there was time for lots of things
to happen. But the creature only got into the house.
It could easily have got through its business in the
time 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
about leaving it. And besides, I have a kind of
idea that it wouldn't change much, if at all, in
the daytime. We might go out for a walk this
afternoon and come into tea, or whenever it gets dark,
I shall leave it out on the table here and
sport the door or my skip can get him, but
no one else. The three agreed that this would be
a good plan, and further that if they spend the
afternoon together they would be less likely to talk about
their business to other people, for any rumor of such
a transaction as it was going on, would bring the
whole of the phasmatological society about their ears. We may
give them respite until five o'clock. At or near that hour,
the three were entering Williams's staircase. They were at first
slightly annoyed to see that the door of his rooms
was unsported, but in a moment it was remembered that
on Sunday the skips came for orders an hour or
so earlier than on week days. However, surprise was awaiting them.
The first thing they saw was the picture, leaning up
against a pile of books on the table as it
had been left, And the next thing was William's Skip,
seated on a chair opposite, gazing at it with undisguised horror.
How was this? Mister Filcher the name is not my
own invention, was a servant of considerable standing and set
the standard of etiquette to all his own college and
to several neighboring ones. And nothing could be more alien
to his practice than to be found sitting on his
master's chair, or appearing to take any particular notice of
his master's furniture or pictures. Indeed, he seemed to feel
this himself. He started violently when the three men were
in the room, and got up with a marked effort.
Then he said, oh, I ask your pardon, sir, for
taking such freedom as to set down not at all.
Robert interposed, mister Williams, I was meaning to ask you
some time what you thought of that picture. Well, sir,
of course I don't set up my opinion against yours,
But it ain't the picture I would ang where my
little girl could see it, sir, wouldn't you, Robert? Why not? No, sir,
Why the poor child? I recko. Let once you see
a door bible with pictures not half as what this is.
And we'd had to set up with her three or
four nights afterwards, if you'd believe me. And if she
was to catch a sight of this skillet and ear
or whatever it is carrying off the poor baby, she
would be in a taitin. You know how it is
with children, how nervoushly get with a little thing and all.
But what I should say, it don't seem a right
picture to be laying about, sir, not where anyone that's
liable to be startled, 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 his masters, and he may be sure the gentleman
whom he left, lost no time in gathering round the engraving.
There was the house as before, under the waning 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 calling cautiously on hands and knees.
Now it was erect and stepping swiftly with long strides
towards the front of the picture. The moon was behind it,
and the black drapery hung down over its face, so
that only hints of that could be seen, And what
was visible made the spectators profoundly thankful that they could
see no more than a white dome like forehead and
a few straggling hairs. The head was bent down, and
the arms were tightly clasped over an object which could
be dimly seen and identified as a child, Whether dead
or living, it was not possible to say. The legs
of the appearance alone could be plainly discerned, and they
were horribly thin from five to seven. The three companions
sat and watched the picture by turns, but it never changed.
They agreed at last that it would be safe to
leave it, and that they would return after hall and
await further developments. When they assembled again at the earliest
possible moment, the engraving was there, but the figure was gone,
and the house was quiet under the moonbeams. There was
nothing for it but to spend the evening over gazetteers
and guide books. Williams was the lucky one at last,
and perhaps he deserved it. At eleven thirty p m.
He read from Murray's Guide to Essex the following lines
sixteen and a half miles. Anningley the church has been
an interesting building of Norman date, but was extensively classicized
in the last century. It contains the tomb of the
family of Francis, whose mansion, Anningley Hall, a solid Queen
Anne house, stands immediately beyond the churchyard in a park
of about eighty acres. The family is now extinct, the
last heir having disappeared mysteriously in infancy in the year
eighteen hundred and two. The father, mister 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 mister Green, on his return
at once identified the house as Anningley Hall. Is there
any kind of explanation of the figure Green? Was the
question which Williams naturally asked. I don't know. I'm sure, Williams.
What used to be said in the place when I
first knew it, which was before I came up here,
was just this Old Francis was always very much down
on these poaching fellows, and whenever he got a chance
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
of things then that they daren't think of now. Well,
this man that was left was what you find pretty
often in that country, the last remains of a very
old family. I believe they were lords of the manner
at one time I recollect just the same thing in
my own parish. What like the man in Tesso and
d'urberville's Williams put in, Yes, I dare say, is not
a book I could ever read myself. But this fellow
could show a row of tombs in the church there
that belonged to his ancestors, 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 at the end of
the estate. I could show you the place now. It
marches with some land that used to belong to an
uncle of mine. And you can imagine there was a
row and this man Gaudy, that was his name. To
be sure, Gaudy, I thought I should get it. Gaudy
he was unlucky enough, poor Chap to shoot a keeper. Well,
that was what Francis wanted, and grand juries you know
what they would have been then, And poor Gordy was
strung up in double quick time. And I've been shown
the place he was buried in on the north side
of the church. You know the way in that part
of the world. Any one that's been hanged or made
away with themselves, they bury them that side. And the
idea was that some friend of Gordy's not a relation
because he had none. Poor devil, he was the last
of his line. Kind of spaz ultimo. Gentis must have
planned to get hold of Francis's boy and put an
end to his line too. I don't know. It's rather
an out of the way thing for an Essex poacher
to think of, but you know, I should say now
it looks more as if old Gordy had managed the
job himself. Oh, I hate to think of it. Have
some whisky, Williams. The facts were communicated by Williams to Deniston,
and by him to a mixed company of which I
was one and the Seducian professor of Opheology another. I
am sorry to say that the latter, when asked what
he thought of it, only remarked, though those Bridgford people
will say anything, the sentiment, which met with the reception
it deserved. I have only to add that the picture
is now in the Ashley Museum, that it has been
treated with a view to discover whether sympathetic ink has
been used in it. But without a fact that mister
Brittle knew nothing of it, save that he was sure
it was uncommon, and that, though carefully watched, it has
never been known to change again. End of the Mets
tint