Ghost Stories of an Antiquary by Montague Rhodes James (large screen ebook reader txt) 📕

afternoon of the 23rd, an English traveller, examining the front of St

Wulfram’s Church at Abbeville, then under extensive repair, was struck on

the head and instantly killed by a stone falling from the scaffold

erected round the north-western tower, there being, as was clearly

proved, no workman on the scaffold at that moment: and the traveller’s

papers identified him as Mr Karswell.

Only one detail shall be added. At Karswell’s sale a set of Bewick, sold

with all faults, was acquired by Harrington. The page with the woodcut of

the traveller and the demon was, as he had expected, mutilated. Also,

after a judicious interval, Harrington repeated to Dunning something of

what he had heard his brother say in his sleep: but it was not long

before Dunning stopped him.

This matter began, as far as I am concerned, with the reading of a notice

in the obituary section of the Gentleman’s Magazine for an early year

in the nineteenth century:

On February 26th, at his residence in the Cathedral Close of

Barchester, the Venerable John Benwell Haynes, D.D., aged 57,

Archdeacon of Sowerbridge and Rector of Pickhill and Candley. He was

of –- College, Cambridge, and where, by talent and assiduity, he

commanded the esteem of his seniors; when, at the usual time, he took

his first degree, his name stood high in the list of wranglers.

These academical honours procured for him within a short time a

Fellowship of his College. In the year 1783 he received Holy Orders,

and was shortly afterwards presented to the perpetual Curacy of

Ranxton-sub-Ashe by his friend and patron the late truly venerable

Bishop of Lichfield…. His speedy preferments, first to a Prebend,

and subsequently to the dignity of Precentor in the Cathedral of

Barchester, form an eloquent testimony to the respect in which he was

held and to his eminent qualifications. He succeeded to the

Archdeaconry upon the sudden decease of Archdeacon Pulteney in 1810.

His sermons, ever conformable to the principles of the religion and

Church which he adorned, displayed in no ordinary degree, without the

least trace of enthusiasm, the refinement of the scholar united with

the graces of the Christian. Free from sectarian violence, and

informed by the spirit of the truest charity, they will long dwell in

the memories of his hearers. [Here a further omission.] The

productions of his pen include an able defence of Episcopacy, which,

though often perused by the author of this tribute to his memory,

affords but one additional instance of the want of liberality and

enterprise which is a too common characteristic of the publishers of

our generation. His published works are, indeed, confined to a

spirited and elegant version of the Argonautica of Valerius Flacus,

a volume of _Discourses upon the Several Events in the Life of

Joshua_, delivered in his Cathedral, and a number of the charges

which he pronounced at various visitations to the clergy of his

Archdeaconry. These are distinguished by etc., etc. The urbanity and

hospitality of the subject of these lines will not readily be

forgotten by those who enjoyed his acquaintance. His interest in the

venerable and awful pile under whose hoary vault he was so punctual

an attendant, and particularly in the musical portion of its rites,

might be termed filial, and formed a strong and delightful contrast

to the polite indifference displayed by too many of our Cathedral

dignitaries at the present time.

The final paragraph, after informing us that Dr Haynes died a bachelor,

says:

It might have been augured that an existence so placid and benevolent

would have been terminated in a ripe old age by a dissolution equally

gradual and calm. But how unsearchable are the workings of

Providence! The peaceful and retired seclusion amid which the

honoured evening of Dr Haynes’ life was mellowing to its close was

destined to be disturbed, nay, shattered, by a tragedy as appalling

as it was unexpected. The morning of the 26th of February—

But perhaps I shall do better to keep back the remainder of the narrative

until I have told the circumstances which led up to it. These, as far as

they are now accessible, I have derived from another source.

I had read the obituary notice which I have been quoting, quite by

chance, along with a great many others of the same period. It had excited

some little speculation in my mind, but, beyond thinking that, if I ever

had an opportunity of examining the local records of the period

indicated, I would try to remember Dr Haynes, I made no effort to pursue

his case.

Quite lately I was cataloguing the manuscripts in the library of the

college to which he belonged. I had reached the end of the numbered

volumes on the shelves, and I proceeded to ask the librarian whether

there were any more books which he thought I ought to include in my

description. ‘I don’t think there are,’ he said, ‘but we had better come

and look at the manuscript class and make sure. Have you time to do that

now?’ I had time. We went to the library, checked off the manuscripts,

and, at the end of our survey, arrived at a shelf of which I had seen

nothing. Its contents consisted for the most part of sermons, bundles of

fragmentary papers, college exercises, Cyrus, an epic poem in several

cantos, the product of a country clergyman’s leisure, mathematical tracts

by a deceased professor, and other similar material of a kind with which

I am only too familiar. I took brief notes of these. Lastly, there was a

tin box, which was pulled out and dusted. Its label, much faded, was thus

inscribed: ‘Papers of the Ven. Archdeacon Haynes. Bequeathed in 1834 by

his sister, Miss Letitia Haynes.’

I knew at once that the name was one which I had somewhere encountered,

and could very soon locate it. ‘That must be the Archdeacon Haynes who

came to a very odd end at Barchester. I’ve read his obituary in the

Gentleman’s Magazine. May I take the box home? Do you know if there is

anything interesting in it?’

The librarian was very willing that I should take the box and examine it

at leisure. ‘I never looked inside it myself,’ he said, ‘but I’ve always

been meaning to. I am pretty sure that is the box which our old Master

once said ought never to have been accepted by the college. He said that

to Martin years ago; and he said also that as long as he had control over

the library it should never be opened. Martin told me about it, and said

that he wanted terribly to know what was in it; but the Master was

librarian, and always kept the box in the lodge, so there was no getting

at it in his time, and when he died it was taken away by mistake by his

heirs, and only returned a few years ago. I can’t think why I haven’t

opened it; but, as I have to go away from Cambridge this afternoon, you

had better have first go at it. I think I can trust you not to publish

anything undesirable in our catalogue.’

I took the box home and examined its contents, and thereafter consulted

the librarian as to what should be done about publication, and, since I

have his leave to make a story out of it, provided I disguised the

identity of the people concerned, I will try what can be done.

The materials are, of course, mainly journals and letters. How much I

shall quote and how much epitomize must be determined by considerations

of space. The proper understanding of the situation has necessitated a

little—not very arduous—research, which has been greatly facilitated by

the excellent illustrations and text of the Barchester volume in Bell’s

Cathedral Series.

When you enter the choir of Barchester Cathedral now, you pass through a

screen of metal and coloured marbles, designed by Sir Gilbert Scott, and

find yourself in what I must call a very bare and odiously furnished

place. The stalls are modern, without canopies. The places of the

dignitaries and the names of the prebends have fortunately been allowed

to survive, and are inscribed on small brass plates affixed to the

stalls. The organ is in the triforium, and what is seen of the case is

Gothic. The reredos and its surroundings are like every other.

Careful engravings of a hundred years ago show a very different state of

things. The organ is on a massive classical screen. The stalls are also

classical and very massive. There is a baldacchino of wood over the

altar, with urns upon its corners. Farther east is a solid altar screen,

classical in design, of wood, with a pediment, in which is a triangle

surrounded by rays, enclosing certain Hebrew letters in gold. Cherubs

contemplate these. There is a pulpit with a great sounding-board at the

eastern end of the stalls on the north side, and there is a black and

white marble pavement. Two ladies and a gentleman are admiring the

general effect. From other sources I gather that the archdeacon’s stall

then, as now, was next to the bishop’s throne at the south-eastern end of

the stalls. His house almost faces the west front of the church, and is a

fine red-brick building of William the Third’s time.

Here Dr Haynes, already a mature man, took up his abode with his sister

in the year 1810. The dignity had long been the object of his wishes, but

his predecessor refused to depart until he had attained the age of

ninety-two. About a week after he had held a modest festival in

celebration of that ninety-second birthday, there came a morning, late in

the year, when Dr Haynes, hurrying cheerfully into his breakfast-room,

rubbing his hands and humming a tune, was greeted, and checked in his

genial flow of spirits, by the sight of his sister, seated, indeed, in

her usual place behind the tea-urn, but bowed forward and sobbing

unrestrainedly into her handkerchief. ‘What—what is the matter? What bad

news?’ he began. ‘Oh, Johnny, you’ve not heard? The poor dear

archdeacon!’ ‘The archdeacon, yes? What is it—ill, is he?’ ‘No, no; they

found him on the staircase this morning; it is so shocking.’ ‘Is it

possible! Dear, dear, poor Pulteney! Had there been any seizure?’ ‘They

don’t think so, and that is almost the worst thing about it. It seems to

have been all the fault of that stupid maid of theirs, Jane.’ Dr Haynes

paused. ‘I don’t quite understand, Letitia. How was the maid at fault?’

‘Why, as far as I can make out, there was a stair-rod missing, and she

never mentioned it, and the poor archdeacon set his foot quite on the

edge of the step—you know how slippery that oak is—and it seems he must

have fallen almost the whole flight and broken his neck. It is so sad

for poor Miss Pulteney. Of course, they will get rid of the girl at once.

I never liked her.’ Miss Haynes’s grief resumed its sway, but eventually

relaxed so far as to permit of her taking some breakfast. Not so her

brother, who, after standing in silence before the window for some

minutes, left the room, and did not appear again that morning.

I need only add that the careless maid-servant was dismissed forthwith,

but that the missing stair-rod was very shortly afterwards found under

the stair-carpet—an additional proof, if any were needed, of extreme

stupidity and carelessness on her part.

For a good many years Dr Haynes had been marked out by his ability, which

seems to have been really considerable,