The Canterville Ghost E-Book

Oscar Wilde

• Herausgeber: Nonsuch Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Seitenzahl: 206

Beschreibung

Oscar Wilde's story of The Canterville Ghost tells the tale of a malevolent ghost who discovers there is no peace to be found when a rumbustious American family take over his ancestral home. This classic tale by one of the 19th century's most celebrated wits is here reproduced in a stunning little book with stylish illustrations which perfectly capture the atmosphere and imagination of the story. An ideal gift for young readers who enjoy classic stories.

Leseprobe

THE CANTERVILLE GHOST

THE CANTERVILLE GHOST

&OTHER STORIES

Oscar Wilde

NONSUCH

First published in collected form in 1891 This edition 2006

Nonsuch Publishing Limited is an imprint of The History Press

The History Press, The Mill, Brimscombe Port Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5  2QGwww.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2011

All rights reserved Copyright © in this edition 2006 Nonsuch Publishing Limited, 2011

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 7164 8

MOBI ISBN 978 0 7524 7163 1

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

Introduction to the Modern Edition

The Canterville Ghost

Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime

The Sphinx without a Secret

The Model Millionaire

The Portrait of Mr W. H.

INTRODUCTION TO THE MODERN EDITION

Biography lends to death a new terror.

Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde was born at 21 Westland Row, Dublin on 16 October, 1854 into a wealthy Anglo-Irish family. His father, Sir William Wilde, was a surgeon, intellect and renowned philanthropist. Founder of what is now the Dublin Eye and Ear Hospital and highly respected in ophthalmic circles, Sir William was, in addition, a published author of several books in the areas of archaeology and folklore, Assistant Commissioner of the Irish Census, a seasoned explorer and the father of numerous illegitimate children. Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde was, however, not to be counted among that number, but was rather the second son of Sir William’s marriage to Jane Francesca Elgee. Not to be outdone by her husband, Lady Wilde had a successful literary career, notably as a writer for the revolutionary Irish publication The Nation, under the nom-de-plume ‘Speranza’, and later translating Wilhelm Meinhold’s horror novel Sidonia the Sorceress. She was a prominent figure in Dublin society, hosting weekly salons with artists, writers and politicians in the family’s fashionable Merrion Square home.

Young Oscar was the middle child of the family, his brother William two years his senior and Isola Emily three years his junior. Emily, however, died suddenly of a fever in 1867, aged ten, and her death is said to have had a lasting and profound impact upon Oscar, who kept a lock of her hair in an envelope, which was to be found always in his pocket, even until his own death in 1900.

The young Wilde excelled academically, firstly at Portora Royal School in Eniskillen, and then at Trinity College. There he was awarded a foundation scholarship in Classical Studies in 1872, the most prestigious of the college accolades. In 1874 he went on to receive the Berkeley Gold Medal for Greek, resulting in the offer of a further scholarship to attend Magdelen College, Oxford, which he accepted. Wilde studied at Oxford from 1874 to 1878, and here a number of important things happened. He was awarded the Newdigate Prize for his poem ‘Ravenna’, the first marked sign of his artistic promise. Here, too, Wilde first began to read of same-sex love, and is thought to have had a number of male lovers during his time at Oxford. He is considered variously to have been bisexual, homosexual and a pederast of the Greek tradition. Wilde’s sexuality was, of course, to become the subject of much debate, and to have rather serious consequences, but his fascination with ‘the love that dare not speak its name’ was also to act as inspiration for some of his finest work.

Perhaps most significantly, however, was Wilde’s introduction at this time to the Aesthetic Movement, which was to have a profound effect on both his life and work. He was particularly influenced in this regard by the writings of John Ruskin and Victor Cousin, and by the paintings of James Whistler. A philosophy concerned chiefly with the idea of all life as art, the potential for beauty in all things, and the importance of art for its own sake, it preached a doctrine of decadence, splendour and loveliness which Wilde was to embrace in every aspect of his life. Though his long hair, elaborate dress and opulent lifestyle may have earned him a ribbing at Magdelen, fashionable society was to fall in love with the Aesthetic Movement, and with Wilde as its living embodiment. His eminently quotable wit and penchant for the well-formed epigram endeared him to all the right people, and he became one of the most sought-after personalities of his day. In 1879, Wilde began to lecture on aesthetics across London, and was commissioned two years later to begin a lecture tour of America. Here his ideas were poorly received, but Wilde was unperturbed, responding, with characteristic aplomb, that ‘we really have everything in common with America these days, except, of course, language.’

Wilde published a collection of poetry in 1881, which met with rather limited success. Upon his return to Britain, he opted for a time against creative employ, and worked as a reviewer for the Pall Mall Gazette. After admitting defeat in his struggle with Bram Stoker for the heart of Florence Balcome, in 1884 he married Constance Lloyd. Daughter of the barrister Horace Lloyd, Constance was well-educated and well-heeled, and her allowance allowed the pair to live very comfortably. The couple had two sons in the first years of marriage, Cyril in 1885 and Vyvyan in 1886.

Around this time, Wilde started work reforming and editing Woman’s World magazine, a position which he held for a number of years. His first major literary success came with the publication in 1888 of The Happy Prince and Other Tales, a collection of children’s stories. This marked the beginning of a time of intense creativity for Wilde, during which he produced a number of works in quick succession, among them his first and only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray. Originally appearing in 1890 in an American magazine, in 1891 a lengthier version of the story was published in the form of a novel. The implied homosexual themes of the book caused great furore among the Victorians and parallels were unavoidably drawn between the author and his work, to the extent that Dorian Gray was used as evidence against him in later legal trials. This aside, the novel is an example of Wilde’s skill at weaving wit and observational comedy with the more delicate and serious themes of love and social constriction.

Wilde’s talent as social satirist, comedian of manners and commentator on the foibles of the aristocratic classes came fully into its own in his writing for theatre, with plays such as Lady Windemere’s Fan (1892), An Ideal Husband (1895) and, particularly, The Importance of Being Earnest (1895); a master of dialogue, duologue, timing and wordplay, his work excelled on stage, thrilling audiences of the day. Allen Aynsworth, who played Algernon in the first production of The Importance of Being Earnest in 1895, said of it that ‘in fifty-three years of acting, I never remember a greater triumph’. Wilde, in his dramas, perfected the art of balancing serious political or social themes with romance and comedy, notable in An Ideal Husband and the controversial Salome (1892), leading George Bernard Shaw to comment that ‘… Mr Wilde is our only serious playwright. He plays with everything; with wit, with philosophy, with drama, with actors, with audiences, with the whole theatre’.

The five stories gathered here were published separately in various London magazines throughout the late 1880s, and are particularly fascinating when read in the knowledge of what was yet to come from this author. The collection contains five of his most highly-regarded short stories—tales of variant length and theme, but with common elements of mystery and melodrama. Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime and The Canterville Ghost both appeared in serial form in Court and Society Review in 1887, before being released together in a collected form in 1891. Best described as social parody, these tales explore and satirise notions of duty, fate and the supernatural, and do so with the linguistic flair and polish one might expect of Wilde. Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime, which was originally published possessing the subtitle ‘A Study of Cheiromancy,’ toys with the idea of destiny and the dark arts. Similarly, The Canterville Ghost approaches ideas of the supernatural, although, as in all the stories, his treatment of the traditional mystery is playful—his ghost is really quite a nice chap, his sphinx is an open book, and the portrait of the elusive Mr W. H. does not reveal the secret behind Shakespeare’s sonnets with the sort of triumphant certainty that one might have expected. But then, Wilde’s genius lay in farce, for it gave him an excellent medium for his mockery.

Wilde’s life was to take a dramatic turn in 1895, when his affair with Lord Alfred ‘Bosie’ Douglas, which had begun some four years earlier, became known to Bosie’s father, the Marquess of Queensbury. Wilde took the Marquess to court over what he claimed were libellous accusations of sodomy. The Picture of Dorian Gray and the last story of this collection, The Portrait of Mr W. H., were used against him as testament to his homosexual inclinations, and it became quickly apparent that the findings would not be in his favour. Wilde dropped the case, but the ordeal was far from over. The evidence that had been gathered against him led to his arrest on 6 April 1895 on charges of gross indecency. He was sentenced to two years imprisonment, which he served for the most part in Reading Gaol. After his release he was no longer the darling of society’s bright young things, and Wilde left England for Europe, where he lived in a succession of hotels, writing little. On 30 November 1900, in the Hotel d’Alsace in Paris, Oscar Wilde died of cerebral meningitis. He remained to the last an aesthete, and his final perfect words upon his deathbed sum were reportedly ‘either that wallpaper goes or I do’.

The Canterville Ghost

A Hylo-Idealistic Romance

I

WHEN MR HIRAM B. OTIS, the American Minister, bought Canterville Chase, every one told him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no doubt at all that the place was haunted. Indeed, Lord Canterville himself, who was a man of the most punctilious honour, had felt it his duty to mention the fact to Mr Otis when they came to discuss terms.

‘We have not cared to live in the place ourselves,’ said Lord Canterville, ‘since my grandaunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, was frightened into a fit, from which she never really recovered, by two skeleton hands being placed on her shoulders as she was dressing for dinner, and I feel bound to tell you, Mr Otis, that the ghost has been seen by several living members of my family, as well as by the rector of the parish, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, who is a Fellow of King’s College, Cambridge. After the unfortunate accident to the Duchess, none of our younger servants would stay with us, and Lady Canterville often got very little sleep at night, in consequence of the mysterious noises that came from the corridor and the library.’

‘My Lord,’ answered the Minister, ‘I will take the furniture and the ghost at a valuation. I come from a modern country, where we have everything that money can buy; and with all our spry young fellows painting the Old World red, and carrying off your best actresses and prima-donnas, I reckon that if there were such a thing as a ghost in Europe, we’d have it at home in a very short time in one of our public museums, or on the road as a show.’

‘I fear that the ghost exists,’ said Lord Canterville, smiling, ‘though it may have resisted the overtures of your enterprising impresarios. It has been well known for three centuries, since 1584 in fact, and always makes its appearance before the death of any member of our family.’

‘Well, so does the family doctor for that matter, Lord Canterville. But there is no such thing, sir, as a ghost, and I guess the laws of Nature are not going to be suspended for the British aristocracy.’

‘You are certainly very natural in America,’ answered Lord Canterville, who did not quite understand Mr Otis’s last observation, ‘and if you don’t mind a ghost in the house, it is all right. Only you must remember I warned you.’

A few weeks after this, the purchase was completed, and at the close of the season the Minister and his family went down to Canterville Chase. Mrs Otis, who, as Miss Lucretia R. Tappan, of West 53rd Street, had been a celebrated New York belle, was now a very handsome, middle-aged woman, with fine eyes, and a superb profile. Many American ladies on leaving their native land adopt an appearance of chronic ill-health, under the impression that it is a form of European refinement, but Mrs Otis had never fallen into this error. She had a magnificent constitution, and a really wonderful amount of animal spirits. Indeed, in many respects, she was quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact that we have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language. Her eldest son, christened Washington by his parents in a moment of patriotism, which he never ceased to regret, was a fair-haired, rather good-looking young man, who had qualified himself for American diplomacy by leading the German at the Newport Casino for three successive seasons, and even in London was well known as an excellent dancer. Gardenias and the peerage were his only weaknesses. Otherwise he was extremely sensible. Miss Virginia E. Otis was a little girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes. She was a wonderful amazon, and had once raced old Lord Bilton on her pony twice round the park, winning by a length and a half, just in front of the Achilles statue, to the huge delight of the young Duke of Cheshire, who proposed for her on the spot, and was sent back to Eton that very night by his guardians, in floods of tears. After Virginia came the twins, who were usually called ‘The Stars and Stripes,’ as they were always getting swished. They were delightful boys, and with the exception of the worthy Minister the only true republicans of the family.

As Canterville Chase is seven miles from Ascot, the nearest railway station, Mr Otis had telegraphed for a waggonette to meet them, and they started on their drive in high spirits. It was a lovely July evening, and the air was delicate with the scent of the pine-woods. Now and then they heard a wood pigeon brooding over its own sweet voice, or saw, deep in the rustling fern, the burnished breast of the pheasant. Little squirrels peered at them from the beech-trees as they went by, and the rabbits scudded away through the brushwood and over the mossy knolls, with their white tails in the air. As they entered the avenue of Canterville Chase, however, the sky became suddenly overcast with clouds, a curious stillness seemed to hold the atmosphere, a great flight of rooks passed silently over their heads, and, before they reached the house, some big drops of rain had fallen.

Standing on the steps to receive them was an old woman, neatly dressed in black silk, with a white cap and apron. This was Mrs Umney, the housekeeper, whom Mrs Otis, at Lady Canterville’s earnest request, had consented to keep on in her former position. She made them each a low curtsey as they alighted, and said in a quaint, old-fashioned manner, ‘I bid you welcome to Canterville Chase.’ Following her, they passed through the fine Tudor hall into the library, a long, low room, panelled in black oak, at the end of which was a large stained-glass window. Here they found tea laid out for them, and, after taking off their wraps, they sat down and began to look round, while Mrs Umney waited on them.

Suddenly Mrs Otis caught sight of a dull red stain on the floor just by the fireplace and, quite unconscious of what it really signified, said to Mrs Umney, ‘I am afraid something has been spilt there.’

‘Yes, madam,’ replied the old housekeeper in a low voice, ‘blood has been spilt on that spot.’

‘How horrid,’ cried Mrs Otis; ‘I don’t at all care for blood-stains in a sitting-room. It must be removed at once.’

The old woman smiled, and answered in the same low, mysterious voice, ‘It is the blood of Lady Eleanore de Canterville, who was murdered on that very spot by her own husband, Sir Simon de Canterville, in 1575. Sir Simon survived her nine years, and disappeared suddenly under very mysterious circumstances. His body has never been discovered, but his guilty spirit still haunts the Chase. The blood-stain has been much admired by tourists and others, and cannot be removed.’

‘That is all nonsense,’ cried Washington Otis; ‘Pinkerton’s Champion Stain Remover and Paragon Detergent will clean it up in no time,’ and before the terrified housekeeper could interfere he had fallen upon his knees, and was rapidly scouring the floor with a small stick of what looked like a black cosmetic. In a few moments no trace of the blood-stain could be seen.

‘I knew Pinkerton would do it,’ he exclaimed triumphantly, as he looked round at his admiring family; but no sooner had he said these words than a terrible flash of lightning lit up the sombre room, a fearful peal of thunder made them all start to their feet, and Mrs Umney fainted.

‘What a monstrous climate!’ said the American Minister calmly, as he lit a long cheroot. ‘I guess the old country is so overpopulated that they have not enough decent weather for everybody. I have always been of opinion that emigration is the only thing for England.’

‘My dear Hiram,’ cried Mrs Otis, ‘what can we do with a woman who faints?’

‘Charge it to her like breakages,’ answered the Minister; ‘she won’t faint after that’; and in a few moments Mrs Umney certainly came to. There was no doubt, however, that she was extremely upset, and she sternly warned Mr Otis to beware of some trouble coming to the house.

‘I have seen things with my own eyes, sir,’ she said, ‘that would make any Christian’s hair stand on end, and many and many a night I have not closed my eyes in sleep for the awful things that are done here.’ Mr Otis, however, and his wife warmly assured the honest soul that they were not afraid of ghosts, and, after invoking the blessings of Providence on her new master and mistress, and making arrangements for an increase of salary, the old housekeeper tottered off to her own room.

II

The storm raged fiercely all that night, but nothing of particular note occurred. The next morning, however, when they came down to breakfast, they found the terrible stain of blood once again on the floor. ‘I don’t think it can be the fault of the Paragon Detergent,’ said Washington, ‘for I have tried it with everything. It must be the ghost.’ He accordingly rubbed out the stain a second time, but the second morning it appeared again. The third morning also it was there, though the library had been locked up at night by Mr Otis himself, and the key carried upstairs. The whole family were now quite interested; Mr Otis began to suspect that he had been too dogmatic in his denial of the existence of ghosts, Mrs Otis expressed her intention of joining the Psychical Society, and Washington prepared a long letter to Messrs. Myers and Podmore on the subject of the Permanence of Sanguineous Stains when connected with Crime. That night all doubts about the objective existence of phantasmata were removed for ever.

The day had been warm and sunny; and, in the cool of the evening, the whole family went out for a drive. They did not return home till nine o’clock, when they had a light supper. The conversation in no way turned upon ghosts, so there were not even those primary conditions of receptive expectation which so often precede the presentation of psychical phenomena. The subjects discussed, as I have since learned from Mr Otis, were merely such as form the ordinary conversation of cultured Americans of the better class, such as the immense superiority of Miss Fanny Davenport over Sarah Bernhardt as an actress; the difficulty of obtaining green corn, buckwheat cakes, and hominy, even in the best English houses; the importance of Boston in the development of the world-soul; the advantages of the baggage check system in railway travelling; and the sweetness of the New York accent as compared to the London drawl. No mention at all was made of the supernatural, nor was Sir Simon de Canterville alluded to in any way. At eleven o’clock the family retired, and by half-past all the lights were out. Some time after, Mr Otis was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, outside his room. It sounded like the clank of metal, and seemed to be coming nearer every moment. He got up at once, struck a match, and looked at the time. It was exactly one o’clock. He was quite calm, and felt his pulse, which was not at all feverish. The strange noise still continued, and with it he heard distinctly the sound of footsteps. He put on his slippers, took a small oblong phial out of his dressing-case, and opened the door. Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves.

‘My dear sir,’ said Mr Otis, ‘I really must insist on your oiling those chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of the Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious upon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effect on the wrapper from some of our most eminent native divines. I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more should you require it.’ With these words the United States Minister laid the bottle down on a marble table, and, closing his door, retired to rest.

For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor, he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a ghastly green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidently no time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth Dimension of Space as a means of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, and the house became quite quiet.