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J. S. LE FANU'S
GHOSTLY TALES,
Schalken the Painter (1851)
by
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
CONTENTS
Schalken the Painter
Schalken the Painter
"For he is not a man as I am that we should come together;
neither is there any that might lay his hand upon us both. Let him,
therefore, take his rod away from me, and let not his fear terrify
me."
There exists, at this moment, in good preservation a remarkable work of
Schalken's. The curious management of its lights constitutes, as usual in
his pieces, the chief apparent merit of the picture. I say apparent,
for in its subject, and not in its handling, however exquisite, consists
its real value. The picture represents the interior of what might be a
chamber in some antique religious building; and its foreground is occupied
by a female figure, in a species of white robe, part of which is arranged
so as to form a veil. The dress, however, is not that of any religious
order. In her hand the figure bears a lamp, by which alone her figure and
face are illuminated; and her features wear such an arch smile, as well
becomes a pretty woman when practising some prankish roguery; in the
background, and, excepting where the dim red light of an expiring fire
serves to define the form, in total shadow, stands the figure of a man
dressed in the old Flemish fashion, in an attitude of alarm, his hand
being placed upon the hilt of his sword, which he appears to be in the act
of drawing.
There are some pictures, which impress one, I know not how, with a
conviction that they represent not the mere ideal shapes and combinations
which have floated through the imagination of the artist, but scenes,
faces, and situations which have actually existed. There is in that
strange picture, something that stamps it as the representation of a
reality.
And such in truth it is, for it faithfully records a remarkable and
mysterious occurrence, and perpetuates, in the face of the female figure,
which occupies the most prominent place in the design, an accurate
portrait of Rose Velderkaust, the niece of Gerard Douw, the first, and, I
believe, the only love of Godfrey Schalken. My great grandfather knew the
painter well; and from Schalken himself he learned the fearful story of
the painting, and from him too he ultimately received the picture itself
as a bequest. The story and the picture have become heir-looms in my
family, and having described the latter, I shall, if you please, attempt
to relate the tradition which has descended with the canvas.
There are few forms on which the mantle of romance hangs more
ungracefully than upon that of the uncouth Schalken—the boorish but most
cunning worker in oils, whose pieces delight the critics of our day almost
as much as his manners disgusted the refined of his own; and yet this man,
so rude, so dogged, so slovenly, in the midst of his celebrity, had in his
obscure, but happier days, played the hero in a wild romance of mystery
and passion.
When Schalken studied under the immortal Gerard Douw, he was a very
young man; and in spite of his phlegmatic temperament, he at once fell
over head and ears in love with the beautiful niece of his wealthy master.
Rose Velderkaust was still younger than he, having not yet attained her
seventeenth year, and, if tradition speaks truth, possessed all the soft
and dimpling charms of the fair, light-haired Flemish maidens. The young
painter loved honestly and fervently. His frank adoration was rewarded. He
declared his love, and extracted a faltering confession in return. He was
the happiest and proudest painter in all Christendom. But there was
somewhat to dash his elation; he was poor and undistinguished. He dared
not ask old Gerard for the hand of his sweet ward. He must first win a
reputation and a competence.
There were, therefore, many dread uncertainties and cold days before
him; he had to fight his way against sore odds. But he had won the heart
of dear Rose Velderkaust, and that was half the battle. It is needless to
say his exertions were redoubled, and his lasting celebrity proves that
his industry was not unrewarded by success.
These ardent labours, and worse still, the hopes that elevated and
beguiled them, were however, destined to experience a sudden
interruption—of a character so strange and mysterious as to baffle all
inquiry and to throw over the events themselves a shadow of preternatural
horror.
Schalken had one evening outstayed all his fellow-pupils, and still
pursued his work in the deserted room. As the daylight was fast falling,
he laid aside his colours, and applied himself to the completion of a
sketch on which he had expressed extraordinary pains. It was a religious
composition, and represented the temptations of a pot-bellied Saint
Anthony. The young artist, however destitute of elevation, had,
nevertheless, discernment enough to be dissatisfied with his own work, and
many were the patient erasures and improvements which saint and devil
underwent, yet all in vain. The large, old-fashioned room was silent, and,
with the exception of himself, quite emptied of its usual inmates. An hour
had thus passed away, nearly two, without any improved result. Daylight
had already declined, and twilight was deepening into the darkness of
night. The patience of the young painter was exhausted, and he stood
before his unfinished production, angry and mortified, one hand buried in
the folds of his long hair, and the other holding the piece of charcoal
which had so ill-performed its office, and which he now rubbed, without
much regard to the sable streaks it produced, with irritable pressure upon
his ample Flemish inexpressibles. "Curse the subject!" said the
young man aloud; "curse the picture, the devils, the saint—"
At this moment a short, sudden sniff uttered close beside him made the
artist turn sharply round, and he now, for the first time, became aware
that his labours had been overlooked by a stranger. Within about a yard
and half, and rather behind him, there stood the figure of an elderly man
in a cloak and broad-brimmed, conical hat; in his hand, which was
protected with a heavy gauntlet-shaped glove, he carried a long ebony
walking-stick, surmounted with what appeared, as it glittered dimly in the
twilight, to be a massive head of gold, and upon his breast, through the
folds of the cloak, there shone the links of a rich chain of the same
metal. The room was so obscure that nothing further of the appearance of
the figure could be ascertained, and his hat threw his features into
profound shadow. It would not have been easy to conjecture the age of the
intruder; but a quantity of dark hair escaping from beneath this sombre
hat, as well as his firm and upright carriage served to indicate that his
years could not yet exceed threescore, or thereabouts. There was an air of
gravity and importance about the garb of the person, and something
indescribably odd, I might say awful, in the perfect, stone-like stillness
of the figure, that effectually checked the testy comment which had at
once risen to the lips of the irritated artist. He, therefore, as soon as
he had sufficiently recovered his surprise, asked the stranger, civilly,
to be seated, and desired to know if he had any message to leave for his
master.
"Tell Gerard Douw," said the unknown, without altering his
attitude in the smallest degree, "that Minheer Vanderhausen, of
Rotterdam, desires to speak with him on tomorrow evening at this hour, and
if he please, in this room, upon matters of weight; that is all."
The stranger, having finished this message, turned abruptly, and, with
a quick, but silent step quitted the room, before Schalken had time to say
a word in reply. The young man felt a curiosity to see in what direction
the burgher of Rotterdam would turn, on quitting the studio, and for that
purpose he went directly to the window which commanded the door. A lobby
of considerable extent intervened between the inner door of the painter's
room and the street entrance, so that Schalken occupied the post of
observation before the old man could possibly have reached the street. He
watched in vain, however. There was no other mode of exit. Had the queer
old man vanished, or was he lurking about the recesses of the lobby for
some sinister purpose? This last suggestion filled the mind of Schalken
with a vague uneasiness, which was so unaccountably intense as to make him
alike afraid to remain in the room alone, and reluctant to pass through
the lobby. However, with an effort which appeared very disproportioned to
the occasion, he summoned resolution to leave the room, and, having locked
the door and thrust the key in his pocket, without looking to the right or
left, he traversed the passage which had so recently, perhaps still,
contained the person of his mysterious visitant, scarcely venturing to
breathe till he had arrived in the open street.
"Minheer Vanderhausen!" said Gerard Douw within himself, as
the appointed hour approached, "Minheer Vanderhausen, of Rotterdam! I
never heard of the man till yesterday. What can he want of me? A portrait,
perhaps, to be painted; or a poor relation to be apprenticed; or a
collection to be valued; or—pshaw! there's no one in Rotterdam to leave
me a legacy. Well, whatever the business may be, we shall soon know it
all."
It was now the close of day, and again every easel, except that of
Schalken, was deserted. Gerard Douw was pacing the apartment with the
restless step of impatient expectation, sometimes pausing to glance over
the work of one of his absent pupils, but more frequently placing himself
at the window, from whence he might observe the passengers who threaded
the obscure by-street in which his studio was placed.
"Said you not, Godfrey," exclaimed Douw, after a long and
fruitful gaze from his post of observation, and turning to Schalken,
"that the hour he appointed was about seven by the clock of the
Stadhouse?"
"It had just told seven when I first saw him, sir," answered
the student.
"The hour is close at hand, then," said the master,
consulting a horologe as large and as round as an orange. "Minheer
Vanderhausen from Rotterdam—is it not so?"
"Such was the name."
"And an elderly man, richly clad?" pursued Douw, musingly.
"As well as I might see," replied his pupil; "he could
not be young, nor yet very old, neither; and his dress was rich and grave,
as might become a citizen of wealth and consideration."
At this moment the sonorous boom of the Stadhouse clock told, stroke
after stroke, the hour of seven; the eyes of both master and student were
directed to the door; and it was not until the last peal of the bell had
ceased to vibrate, that Douw exclaimed----
"So, so; we shall have his worship presently, that is, if he means
to keep his hour; if not, you may wait for him, Godfrey, if you court his
acquaintance. But what, after all, if it should prove but a mummery got up
by Vankarp, or some such wag? I wish you had run all risks, and cudgelled
the old burgomaster soundly. I'd wager a dozen of Rhenish, his worship
would have unmasked, and pleaded old acquaintance in a trice."
"Here he comes, sir," said Schalken, in a low monitory tone;
and instantly, upon turning towards the door, Gerard Douw observed the
same figure which had, on the day before, so unexpectedly greeted his
pupil Schalken.
There was something in the air of the figure which at once satisfied
the painter that there was no masquerading in the case, and that he really
stood in the presence of a man of worship; and so, without hesitation, he
doffed his cap, and courteously saluting the stranger, requested him to be
seated. The visitor waved his hand slightly, as if in acknowledgment of
the courtesy, but remained standing.
"I have the honour to see Minheer Vanderhausen of Rotterdam?"
said Gerard Douw.
"The same," was the laconic reply of his visitor.
"I understand your worship desires to speak with me,"
continued Douw, "and I am here by appointment to wait your
commands."
"Is that a man of trust?" said Vanderhausen, turning towards
Schalken, who stood at a little distance behind his master.
"Certainly," replied Gerard.
"Then let him take this box, and get the nearest jeweller or
goldsmith to value its contents, and let him return hither with a
certificate of the valuation."
At the same time, he placed a small case about nine inches square in
the hands of Gerard Douw, who was as much amazed at its weight as at the
strange abruptness with which it was handed to him. In accordance with the
wishes of the stranger, he delivered it into the hands of Schalken, and
repeating his direction, despatched him upon the mission.
Schalken disposed his precious charge securely beneath the folds of his
cloak, and rapidly traversing two or three narrow streets, he stopped at a
corner house, the lower part of which was then occupied by the shop of a
Jewish goldsmith. He entered the shop, and calling the little Hebrew into
the obscurity of its back recesses, he proceeded to lay before him
Vanderhausen's casket. On being examined by the light of a lamp, it
appeared entirely cased with lead, the outer surface of which was much
scraped and soiled, and nearly white with age. This having been partially
removed, there appeared beneath a box of some hard wood; which also they
forced open and after the removal of two or three folds of linen, they
discovered its contents to be a mass of golden ingots, closely packed,
and, as the Jew declared, of the most perfect quality. Every ingot
underwent the scrutiny of the little Jew, who seemed to feel an epicurean
delight in touching and testing these morsels of the glorious metal; and
each one of them was replaced in its berth with the exclamation: "Mein
Gott, how very perfect! not one grain of alloy—beautiful,
beautiful!" The task was at length finished, and the Jew certified
under his hand the value of the ingots submitted to his examination, to
amount to many thousand rix-dollars. With the desired document in his
pocket, and the rich box of gold carefully pressed under his arm, and
concealed by his cloak, he retraced his way, and entering the studio,
found his master and the stranger in close conference. Schalken had no
sooner left the room, in order to execute the commission he had taken in
charge, than Vanderhausen addressed Gerard Douw in the following
terms:----
"I cannot tarry with you to-night more than a few minutes, and so
I shall shortly tell you the matter upon which I come. You visited the
town of Rotterdam some four months ago, and then I saw in the church of
St. Lawrence your niece, Rose Velderkaust. I desire to marry her; and if I
satisfy you that I am wealthier than any husband you can dream of for her,
I expect that you will forward my suit with your authority. If you approve
my proposal, you must close with it here and now, for I cannot wait for
calculations and delays."
Gerard Douw was hugely astonished by the nature of Minheer
Vanderhausen's communication, but he did not venture to express surprise;
for besides the motives supplied by prudence and politeness, the painter
experienced a kind of chill and oppression like that which is said to
intervene when one is placed in unconscious proximity with the object of a
natural antipathy—an undefined but overpowering sensation, while
standing in the presence of the eccentric stranger, which made him very
unwilling to say anything which might reasonably offend him.
"I have no doubt," said Gerard, after two or three prefatory
hems, "that the alliance which you propose would prove alike
advantageous and honourable to my niece; but you must be aware that she
has a will of her own, and may not acquiesce in what we may design
for her advantage."
"Do not seek to deceive me, sir painter," said Vanderhausen;
"you are her guardian—she is your ward—she is mine if you
like to make her so."
The man of Rotterdam moved forward a little as he spoke, and Gerard
Douw, he scarce knew why, inwardly prayed for the speedy return of
Schalken.
"I desire," said the mysterious gentleman, "to place in
your hands at once an evidence of my wealth, and a security for my liberal
dealing with your niece. The lad will return in a minute or two with a sum
in value five times the fortune which she has a right to expect from her
husband. This shall lie in your hands, together with her dowry, and you
may apply the united sum as suits her interest best; it shall be all
exclusively hers while she lives: is that liberal?"
Douw assented, and inwardly acknowledged that fortune had been
extraordinarily kind to his niece; the stranger, he thought, must be both
wealthy and generous, and such an offer was not to be despised, though
made by a humourist, and one of no very prepossessing presence. Rose had
no very high pretensions for she had but a modest dowry, which she owed
entirely to the generosity of her uncle; neither had she any right to
raise exceptions on the score of birth, for her own origin was far from
splendid, and as the other objections, Gerald resolved, and indeed, by the
usages of the time, was warranted in resolving, not to listen to them for
a moment.
"Sir" said he, addressing the stranger, "your offer is
liberal, and whatever hesitation I may feel in closing with it
immediately, arises solely from my not having the honour of knowing
anything of your family or station. Upon these points you can, of course,
satisfy me without difficulty?'
"As to my respectability," said the stranger, drily,
"you must take that for granted at present; pester me with no
inquiries; you can discover nothing more about me than I choose to make
known. You shall have sufficient security for my respectability—my word,
if you are honourable: if you are sordid, my gold."
"A testy old gentleman," thought Douw, "he must have his
own way; but, all things considered, I am not justified to declining his
offer. I will not pledge myself unnecessarily, however."
"You will not pledge yourself unnecessarily," said
Vanderhausen, strangely uttering the very words which had just floated
through the mind of his companion; "but you will do so if it is
necessary, I presume; and I will show you that I consider it
indispensable. If the gold I mean to leave in your hands satisfy you, and
if you don't wish my proposal to be at once withdrawn, you must, before I
leave this room, write your name to this engagement."
Having thus spoken, he placed a paper in the hands of the master, the
contents of which expressed an engagement entered into by Gerard Douw, to
give to Wilken Vanderhausen of Rotterdam, in marriage, Rose Velderkaust,
and so forth, within one week of the date thereof. While the painter was
employed in reading this covenant, by the light of a twinkling oil lamp in
the far wall of the room, Schalken, as we have stated, entered the studio,
and having delivered the box and the valuation of the Jew, into the hands
of the stranger, he was about to retire, when Vanderhausen called to him
to wait; and, presenting the case and the certificate to Gerard Douw, he
paused in silence until he had satisfied himself, by an inspection of
both, respecting the value of the pledge left in his hands. At length he
said----
"Are you content?"
The painter said he would fain have another day to consider.
"Not an hour," said the suitor, apathetically.
"Well then," said Douw, with a sore effort, "I am
content, it is a bargain."
"Then sign at once," said Vanderhausen, "for I am
weary."
At the same time he produced a small case of writing materials, and
Gerard signed the important document.
"Let this youth witness the covenant," said the old man; and
Godfrey Schalken unconsciously attested the instrument which for ever
bereft him of his dear Rose Velderkaust.
The compact being thus completed, the strange visitor folded up the
paper, and stowed it safely in an inner pocket.
"I will visit you to-morrow night at nine o'clock, at your own
house, Gerard Douw, and will see the object of our contract;" and so
saying Wilken Vanderhausen moved stiffly, but rapidly, out of the room.
Schalken, eager to resolve his doubts, had placed himself by the
window, in order to watch the street entrance; but the experiment served
only to support his suspicions, for the old man did not issue from the
door. This was very strange, odd, nay fearful. He and his master
returned together, and talked but little on the way, for each had his own
subjects of reflection, of anxiety, and of hope. Schalken, however, did
not know the ruin which menaced his dearest projects.
Gerard Douw knew nothing of the attachment which had sprung up between
his pupil and his niece; and even if he had, it is doubtful whether he
would have regarded its existence as any serious obstruction to the wishes
of Minheer Vanderhausen. Marriages were then and there matters of traffic
and calculation; and it would have appeared as absurd in the eyes of the
guardian to make a mutual attachment an essential element in a contract of
the sort, as it would have been to draw up his bonds and receipts in the
language of romance.
The painter, however, did not communicate to his niece the important
step which he had taken in her behalf, a forebearance caused not by any
anticipated opposition on her part, but solely by a ludicrous
consciousness that if she were to ask him for a description of her
destined bridegroom, he would be forced to confess that he had not once
seen his face, and if called upon, would find it absolutely impossible to
identify him. Upon the next day, Gerard Douw, after dinner, called his
niece to him and having scanned her person with an air of satisfaction, he
took her hand, and looking upon her pretty innocent face with a smile of
kindness, he said:----
"Rose, my girl, that face of yours will make your fortune."
Rose blushed and smiled. "Such faces and such tempers seldom go
together, and when they do, the compound is a love charm, few heads or
hearts can resist; trust me, you will soon be a bride, girl. But this is
trifling, and I am pressed for time, so make ready the large room by eight
o'clock to-night, and give directions for supper at nine. I expect a
friend; and observe me, child, do you trick yourself out handsomely. I
will not have him think us poor or sluttish."
With these words he left her, and took his way to the room in which his
pupils worked.
When the evening closed in, Gerard called Schalken, who was about to
take his departure to his own obscure and comfortless lodgings, and asked
him to come home and sup with Rose and Vanderhausen. The invitation was,
of course, accepted and Gerard Douw and his pupil soon found themselves in
the handsome and, even then, antique chamber, which had been prepared for
the reception of the stranger. A cheerful wood fire blazed in the hearth,
a little at one side of which an old-fashioned table, which shone in the
fire-light like burnished gold, was awaiting the supper, for which
preparations were going forward; and ranged with exact regularity, stood
the tall-backed chairs, whose ungracefulness was more than compensated by
their comfort. The little party, consisting of Rose, her uncle, and the
artist, awaited the arrival of the expected visitor with considerable
impatience. Nine o'clock at length came, and with it a summons at the
street door, which being speedily answered, was followed by a slow and
emphatic tread upon the staircase; the steps moved heavily across the
lobby, the door of the room in which the party we have described were
assembled slowly opened, and there entered a figure which startled, almost
appalled, the phlegmatic Dutchmen, and nearly made Rose scream with
terror. It was the form, and arrayed in the garb of Minheer Vanderhausen;
the air, the gait, the height were the same, but the features had never
been seen by any of the party before. The stranger stopped at the door of
the room, and displayed his form and face completely. He wore a dark-coloured
cloth cloak, which was short and full, not falling quite to his knees; his
legs were cased in dark purple silk stockings, and his shoes were adorned
with roses of the same colour. The opening of the cloak in front showed
the under-suit to consist of some very dark, perhaps sable material, and
his hands were enclosed in a pair of heavy leather gloves, which ran up
considerably above the wrist, in the manner of a gauntlet. In one hand he
carried his walking-stick and his hat, which he had removed, and the other
hung heavily by his side. A quantity of grizzled hair descended in long
tresses from his head, and rested upon the plaits of a stiff ruff, which
effectually concealed his neck. So far all was well; but the face!--all
the flesh of the face was coloured with the bluish leaden hue, which is
sometimes produced by metallic medicines, administered in excessive
quantities; the eyes showed an undue proportion of muddy white, and had a
certain indefinable character of insanity; the hue of the lips bearing the
usual relation to that of the face, was, consequently, nearly black; and
the entire character of the face was sensual, malignant, and even satanic.
It was remarkable that the worshipful stranger suffered as little as
possible of his flesh to appear, and that during his visit he did not once
remove his gloves. Having stood for some moments at the door, Gerard Douw
at length found breath and collectedness to bid him welcome, and with a
mute inclination of the head, the stranger stepped forward into the room.
There was something indescribably odd, even horrible, about all his
motions, something undefinable, that was unnatural, unhuman; it was as if
the limbs were guided and directed by a spirit unused to the management of
bodily machinery. The stranger spoke hardly at all during his visit, which
did not exceed half an hour; and the host himself could scarcely muster
courage enough to utter the few necessary salutations and courtesies; and,
indeed, such was the nervous terror which the presence of Vanderhausen
inspired, that very little would have made all his entertainers fly in
downright panic from the room. They had not so far lost all
self-possession, however, as to fail to observe two strange peculiarities
of their visitor. During his stay his eyelids did not once close, or,
indeed, move in the slightest degree; and farther, there was a deathlike
stillness in his whole person, owing to the absence of the heaving motion
of the chest, caused by the process of respiration. These two
peculiarities, though when told they may appear trifling, produced a very
striking and unpleasant effect when seen and observed. Vanderhausen at
length relieved the painter of Leyden of his inauspicious presence; and
with no trifling sense of relief the little party heard the street door
close after him.
"Dear uncle," said Rose, "what a frightful man! I would
not see him again for the wealth of the States."
"Tush, foolish girl," said Douw, whose sensations were
anything but comfortable. "A man may be as ugly as the devil, and
yet, if his heart and actions are good, he is worth all the pretty-faced
perfumed puppies that walk the Mall. Rose, my girl, it is very true he has
not thy pretty face, but I know him to be wealthy and liberal; and were he
ten times more ugly, these two virtues would be enough to counter balance
all his deformity, and if not sufficient actually to alter the shape and
hue of his features, at least enough to prevent one thinking them so much
amiss."
"Do you know, uncle," said Rose, "when I saw him
standing at the door, I could not get it out of my head that I saw the old
painted wooden figure that used to frighten me so much in the Church of
St. Laurence at Rotterdam."
Gerard laughed, though he could not help inwardly acknowledging the
justness of the comparison. He was resolved, however, as far as he could,
to check his niece's disposition to dilate upon the ugliness of her
intended bridegroom, although he was not a little pleased, as well as
puzzled, to observe that she appeared totally exempt from that mysterious
dread of the stranger which, he could not disguise it from himself,
considerably affected him, as also his pupil Godfrey Schalken.
Early on the next day there arrived, from various quarters of the town,
rich presents of silks, velvets, jewellery, and so forth, for Rose; and
also a packet directed to Gerard Douw, which on being opened, was found to
contain a contract of marriage, formally drawn up, between Wilken
Vanderhausen of the Boom-quay, in Rotterdam, and Rose Velderkaust
of Leyden, niece to Gerard Douw, master in the art of painting, also of
the same city; and containing engagements on the part of Vanderhausen to
make settlements upon his bride, far more splendid than he had before led
her guardian to believe likely, and which were to be secured to her use in
the most unexceptionable manner possible—the money being placed in the
hand of Gerard Douw himself.
I have no sentimental scenes to describe, no cruelty of guardians, no
magnanimity of wards, no agonies, or transport of lovers. The record I
have to make is one of sordidness, levity, and heartlessness. In less than
a week after the first interview which we have just described, the
contract of marriage was fulfilled, and Schalken saw the prize which he
would have risked existence to secure, carried off in solemn pomp by his
repulsive rival. For two or three days he absented himself from the
school; he then returned and worked, if with less cheerfulness, with far
more dogged resolution than before; the stimulus of love had given place
to that of ambition. Months passed away, and, contrary to his expectation,
and, indeed, to the direct promise of the parties, Gerard Douw heard
nothing of his niece or her worshipful spouse. The interest of the money,
which was to have been demanded in quarterly sums, lay unclaimed in his
hands.
He began to grow extremely uneasy. Minheer Vanderhausen's direction in
Rotterdam he was fully possessed of; after some irresolution he finally
determined to journey thither—a trifling undertaking, and easily
accomplished—and thus to satisfy himself of the safety and comfort of
his ward, for whom he entertained an honest and strong affection. His
search was in vain, however; no one in Rotterdam had ever heard of Minheer
Vanderhausen. Gerard Douw left not a house in the Boom-quay
untried, but all in vain. No one could give him any information whatever
touching the object of his inquiry, and he was obliged to return to Leyden
nothing wiser and far more anxious, than when he had left it.
On his arrival he hastened to the establishment from which Vanderhausen
had hired the lumbering, though, considering the times, most luxurious
vehicle, which the bridal party had employed to convey them to Rotterdam.
From the driver of this machine he learned, that having proceeded by slow
stages, they had late in the evening approached Rotterdam; but that before
they entered the city, and while yet nearly a mile from it, a small party
of men, soberly clad, and after the old fashion, with peaked beards and
moustaches, standing in the centre of the road, obstructed the further
progress of the carriage. The driver reined in his horses, much fearing,
from the obscurity of the hour, and the loneliness, of the road, that some
mischief was intended. His fears were, however, somewhat allayed by his
observing that these strange men carried a large litter, of an antique
shape, and which they immediately set down upon the pavement, whereupon
the bridegroom, having opened the coach-door from within, descended, and
having assisted his bride to do likewise, led her, weeping bitterly, and
wringing her hands, to the litter, which they both entered. It was then
raised by the men who surrounded it, and speedily carried towards the
city, and before it had proceeded very far, the darkness concealed it from
the view of the Dutch coachman. In the inside of the vehicle he found a
purse, whose contents more than thrice paid the hire of the carriage and
man. He saw and could tell nothing more of Minheer Vanderhausen and his
beautiful lady.
This mystery was a source of profound anxiety and even grief to Gerard
Douw. There was evidently fraud in the dealing of Vanderhausen with him,
though for what purpose committed he could not imagine. He greatly doubted
how far it was possible for a man possessing such a countenance to be
anything but a villain, and every day that passed without his hearing from
or of his niece, instead of inducing him to forget his fears, on the
contrary tended more and more to aggravate them. The loss of her cheerful
society tended also to depress his spirits; and in order to dispel the
gloom, which often crept upon his mind after his daily occupations were
over, he was wont frequently to ask Schalken to accompany him home, and
share his otherwise solitary supper.
One evening, the painter and his pupil were sitting by the fire, having
accomplished a comfortable meal, and had yielded to the silent and
delicious melancholy of digestion, when their ruminations were disturbed
by a loud sound at the street door, as if occasioned by some person
rushing and scrambling vehemently against it. A domestic had run without
delay to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and they heard him twice
or thrice interrogate the applicant for admission, but without eliciting
any other answer but a sustained reiteration of the sounds. They heard him
then open the hall-door, and immediately there followed a light and rapid
tread on the staircase. Schalken advanced towards the door. It opened
before he reached it, and Rose rushed into the room. She looked wild,
fierce and haggard with terror and exhaustion, but her dress surprised
them as much as even her unexpected appearance. It consisted of a kind of
white woollen wrapper, made close about the neck, and descending to the
very ground. It was much deranged and travel-soiled. The poor creature had
hardly entered the chamber when she fell senseless on the floor. With some
difficulty they succeeded in reviving her, and on recovering her senses,
she instantly exclaimed, in a tone of terror rather than mere
impatience:----
"Wine! wine! quickly, or I'm lost!"
Astonished and almost scared at the strange agitation in which the call
was made, they at once administered to her wishes, and she drank some wine
with a haste and eagerness which surprised them. She had hardly swallowed
it, when she exclaimed, with the same urgency:
"Food, for God's sake, food, at once, or I perish."
A considerable fragment of a roast joint was upon the table, and
Schalken immediately began to cut some, but he was anticipated, for no
sooner did she see it than she caught it, a more than mortal image of
famine, and with her hands, and even with her teeth, she tore off the
flesh, and swallowed it. When the paroxysm of hunger had been a little
appeased, she appeared on a sudden overcome with shame, or it may have
been that other more agitating thoughts overpowered and scared her, for
she began to weep bitterly and to wring her hands.
"Oh, send for a minister of God," said she; "I am not
safe till he comes; send for him speedily."
Gerard Douw despatched a messenger instantly, and prevailed on his
niece to allow him to surrender his bed chamber to her use. He also
persuaded her to retire to it at once to rest; her consent was extorted
upon the condition that they would not leave her for a moment.
"Oh that the holy man were here," she said; "he can
deliver me: the dead and the living can never be one: God has forbidden
it."
With these mysterious words she surrendered herself to their guidance,
and they proceeded to the chamber which Gerard Douw had assigned to her
use.
"Do not, do not leave me for a moment," said she; "I am
lost for ever if you do."
Gerard Douw's chamber was approached through a spacious apartment,
which they were now about to enter. He and Schalken each carried a candle,
so that a sufficiency of light was cast upon all surrounding objects. They
were now entering the large chamber, which as I have said, communicated
with Douw's apartment, when Rose suddenly stopped, and, in a whisper which
thrilled them both with horror, she said:----
"Oh, God! he is here! he is here! See, see! there he goes!"
She pointed towards the door of the inner room, and Schalken thought he
saw a shadowy and ill-defined form gliding into that apartment. He drew
his sword, and, raising the candle so as to throw its light with increased
distinctness upon the objects in the room, he entered the chamber into
which the shadow had glided. No figure was there—nothing but the
furniture which belonged to the room, and yet he could not be deceived as
to the fact that something had moved before them into the chamber. A
sickening dread came upon him, and the cold perspiration broke out in
heavy drops upon his forehead; nor was he more composed, when he heard the
increased urgency and agony of entreaty, with which Rose implored them not
to leave her for a moment.
"I saw him," said she; "he's here. I cannot be deceived;
I know him; he's by me; he is with me; he's in the room. Then, for God's
sake, as you would save me, do not stir from beside me."
They at length prevailed upon her to lie down upon the bed, where she
continued to urge them to stay by her. She frequently uttered incoherent
sentences, repeating, again and again, "the dead and the living
cannot be one: God has forbidden it." And then again, "Rest to
the wakeful—sleep to the sleep-walkers." These and such mysterious
and broken sentences, she continued to utter until the clergyman arrived.
Gerard Douw began to fear, naturally enough, that terror or ill-treatment,
had unsettled the poor girl's intellect, and he half suspected, by the
suddenness of her appearance, the unseasonableness of the hour, and above
all, from the wildness and terror of her manner, that she had made her
escape from some place of confinement for lunatics, and was in imminent
fear of pursuit. He resolved to summon medical advice as soon as the mind
of his niece had been in some measure set at rest by the offices of the
clergyman whose attendance she had so earnestly desired; and until this
object had been attained, he did not venture to put any questions to her,
which might possibly, by reviving painful or horrible recollections,
increase her agitation. The clergyman soon arrived—a man of ascetic
countenance and venerable age—one whom Gerard Douw respected very much,
forasmuch as he was a veteran polemic, though one perhaps more dreaded as
a combatant than beloved as a Christian—of pure morality, subtle brain,
and frozen heart. He entered the chamber which communicated with that in
which Rose reclined and immediately on his arrival, she requested him to
pray for her, as for one who lay in the hands of Satan, and who could hope
for deliverance only from heaven.
That you may distinctly understand all the circumstances of the event
which I am going to describe, it is necessary to state the relative
position of the parties who were engaged in it. The old clergyman and
Schalken were in the anteroom of which I have already spoken; Rose lay in
the inner chamber, the door of which was open; and by the side of the bed,
at her urgent desire, stood her guardian; a candle burned in the
bedchamber, and three were lighted in the outer apartment. The old man now
cleared his voice as if about to commence, but before he had time to
begin, a sudden gust of air blew out the candle which served to illuminate
the room in which the poor girl lay, and she, with hurried alarm,
exclaimed:----
"Godfrey, bring in another candle; the darkness is unsafe."
Gerard Douw forgetting for the moment her repeated injunctions, in the
immediate impulse, stepped from the bedchamber into the other, in order to
supply what she desired.
"Oh God! do not go, dear uncle," shrieked the unhappy
girl—and at the same time she sprung from the bed, and darted after him,
in order, by her grasp, to detain him. But the warning came too late, for
scarcely had he passed the threshold, and hardly had his niece had time to
utter the startling exclamation, when the door which divided the two rooms
closed violently after him, as if swung by a strong blast of wind.
Schalken and he both rushed to the door, but their united and desperate
efforts could not avail so much as to shake it. Shriek after shriek burst
from the inner chamber, with all the piercing loudness of despairing
terror. Schalken and Douw applied every nerve to force open the door; but
all in vain. There was no sound of struggling from within, but the screams
seemed to increase in loudness, and at the same time they heard the bolts
of the latticed window withdrawn, and the window itself grated upon the
sill as if thrown open. One last shriek, so long and piercing and
agonized as to be scarcely human, swelled from the room, and suddenly
there followed a death-like silence. A light step was heard crossing the
floor, as if from the bed to the window; and almost at the same instant
the door gave way, and, yielding to the pressure of the external
applicants, nearly precipitated them into the room. It was empty. The
window was open, and Schalken sprung to a chair and gazed out upon the
street and canal below. He saw no form, but he saw, or thought he saw, the
waters of the broad canal beneath settling ring after ring in heavy
circles, as if a moment before disturbed by the submission of some
ponderous body.
No trace of Rose was ever after found, nor was anything certain
respecting her mysterious wooer discovered or even suspected—no clue
whereby to trace the intricacies of the labyrinth and to arrive at its
solution, presented itself. But an incident occurred, which, though it
will not be received by our rational readers in lieu of evidence, produced
nevertheless a strong and a lasting impression upon the mind of Schalken.
Many years after the events which we have detailed, Schalken, then
residing far away received an intimation of his father's death, and of his
intended burial upon a fixed day in the church of Rotterdam. It was
necessary that a very considerable journey should be performed by the
funeral procession, which as it will be readily believed, was not very
numerously attended. Schalken with difficulty arrived in Rotterdam late in
the day upon which the funeral was appointed to take place. It had not
then arrived. Evening closed in, and still it did not appear.
Schalken strolled down to the church; he found it open; notice of the
arrival of the funeral had been given, and the vault in which the body was
to be laid had been opened. The sexton, on seeing a well-dressed
gentleman, whose object was to attend the expected obsequies, pacing the
aisle of the church, hospitably invited him to share with him the comforts
of a blazing fire, which, as was his custom in winter time upon such
occasions, he had kindled in the hearth of a chamber in which he was
accustomed to await the arrival of such grisly guests and which
communicated, by a flight of steps, with the vault below. In this chamber,
Schalken and his entertainer seated themselves; and the sexton, after some
fruitless attempts to engage his guest in conversation, was obliged to
apply himself to his tobacco-pipe and can, to solace his solitude. In
spite of his grief and cares, the fatigues of a rapid journey of nearly
forty hours gradually overcame the mind and body of Godfrey Schalken, and
he sank into a deep sleep, from which he awakened by someone's shaking him
gently by the shoulder. He first thought that the old sexton had called
him, but he was no longer in the room. He roused himself, and as
soon as he could clearly see what was around him, he perceived a female
form, clothed in a kind of light robe of white, part of which was so
disposed as to form a veil, and in her hand she carried a lamp. She was
moving rather away from him, in the direction of the flight of steps which
conducted towards the vaults. Schalken felt a vague alarm at the sight of
this figure and at the same time an irresistible impulse to follow its
guidance. He followed it towards the vaults, but when it reached the head
of the stairs, he paused; the figure paused also, and, turning gently
round, displayed, by the light of the lamp it carried, the face and
features of his first love, Rose Velderkaust. There was nothing horrible,
or even sad, in the countenance. On the contrary, it wore the same arch
smile which used to enchant the artist long before in his happy days. A
feeling of awe and interest, too intense to be resisted, prompted him to
follow the spectre, if spectre it were. She descended the stairs—he
followed—and turning to the left, through a narrow passage, she led him,
to his infinite surprise, into what appeared to be an old-fashioned Dutch
apartment, such as the pictures of Gerard Douw have served to immortalize.
Abundance of costly antique furniture was disposed about the room, and in
one corner stood a four-post bed, with heavy black cloth curtains around
it; the figure frequently turned towards him with the same arch smile; and
when she came to the side of the bed, she drew the curtains, and, by the
light of the lamp, which she held towards its contents, she disclosed to
the horror-stricken painter, sitting bolt upright in the bed, the livid
and demoniac form of Vanderhausen. Schalken had hardly seen him, when he
fell senseless upon the floor, where he lay until discovered, on the next
morning, by persons employed in closing the passages into the vaults. He
was lying in a cell of considerable size, which had not been disturbed for
a long time, and he had fallen beside a large coffin, which was supported
upon small pillars, a security against the attacks of vermin.
To his dying day Schalken was satisfied of the reality of the vision
which he had witnessed, and he has left behind him a curious evidence of
the impression which it wrought upon his fancy, in a painting executed
shortly after the event I have narrated, and which is valuable as
exhibiting not only the peculiarities which have made Schalken's pictures
sought after, but even more so as presenting a portrait of his early love,
Rose Velderkaust, whose mysterious fate must always remain matter of
speculation.
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