/Mr-", 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 arV1436 
 
 The lost stradivarlus. 
 
 3 1924 031 220 118 
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Cornell University 
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 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031220118 
 
appletons' 
 
 Uown anb Country 
 
 aLibrari? 
 
 No. 185 
 
 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS 
 
THE 
 
 LOST STRADIVARIUS 
 
 BY 
 
 J. MEADE FALKNER 
 
 'A tale out of season is as music in mourning" 
 EccLESiASTicus xxii, 6 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 ' 1896 
 
COPYBIOHT, 1895, 
 
 bt d. appleton and company. 
 
LETTER from Miss Sophia Maltbavers to 
 her Nephew, Sir Edward Maltravbrs, 
 then a Student at Christ Church, Oxford. 
 
 IS Pauncefort Buildings, Bath, 
 Oct. SI, 1867. 
 
 Mr DEAR Edward, 
 
 It was your late father'' s dying 
 request that certain events which occurred in his 
 last years sliould ie communicated to you on your 
 coming of age. I have reduced them to writing 
 partly from my own recollection, which is, alas ! 
 still too vivid, and partly with the aid of notes 
 taken at the time of my br,other''s death. As you 
 are now of full age, I submit the narrative to you. 
 Much of it has necessarily been exceedingly painful 
 to me to write, but at the same time T feel it is 
 better that you should hear the truth from me 
 than garbled stories from others who did not love 
 your father as I did. 
 
 Your loving Aunt, 
 
 Sophia Maltbavers. 
 
 To Sir Edward Maliravers, Bart. 
 
THE LOST STKADIVARIUS. 
 
 MISS SOPHIA MALTKAYEES' STOEY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 TouE father, Jolin Maltravers, was bom in 
 1820 at "Worth, and succeeded his father and 
 mine, who died when we were still young chil- 
 dren. John was sent to Eton in due course, and 
 in 1839, when he was nineteen years of age, it 
 was determined that he should go to Oxford. It 
 was intended at first to enter him at Christ 
 Church; but Dr. Sarsdell, who visited us at 
 "Worth in the summer of 1839, persuaded Mr. 
 Thoresby, our guardian, to send him instead to 
 Magdalen Hall. Dr. Sarsdell was himself Prin- 
 cipal of that institution, and represented that 
 John, who then exliibited some symptoms of 
 delicacy, would meet with more personal atten- 
 tion under his care than he could hope to do in 
 so large a college as Christ Church. Mr. Thores- 
 
2 THE LOST STRADIVARIUa 
 
 by, ever solicitious for his ward's welfare, readily 
 waived other considerations in favour of an ar- 
 rangement which he considered conducive to 
 John's health, and he was accordingly matricu- 
 lated at Magdalen Hall in the autumn of 1839. 
 
 Dr. Sarsdell had not been immindful of his 
 promise to look after my brother, and had secured 
 him an excellent first-floor sitting-room, with a 
 bedroom adjoining, having an aspect towards New 
 College Lane. 
 
 I shall pass over the first two years of my 
 brother's residence at Oxford, because they have 
 nothing to do with the present story. They were 
 spent, no doubt, in the ordinary routine of work 
 and recreation common in Oxford at that period. 
 
 From his earliest boyhood he had been pas- 
 sionately devoted to music, and had attained a 
 considerable proficiency on the violin. In the 
 autumn term of 184:1 he made the acquaintance 
 of Mr. William Gaskell, a very talented student 
 at New College, and also a more than tolerable 
 musician. The practice of music was then very 
 much less common at Oxford than it has since 
 become, and there were none of those societies 
 existing which now do so much to promote its 
 study among undergraduates. It was therefore a 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 3 
 
 cause of much gratification to the two young men, 
 and it afterwards became a strong bond of friend- 
 ship, to discover that one was as devoted to the 
 pianoforte as was the other to the violin. Mr. 
 Gaskell, though in easy circumstances, had not a 
 pianoforte in his rooms, and was pleased to use a 
 fine instrument by D'Ahnaine that John had 
 that term received as a birthday present from his 
 guardian. 
 
 From that time the two students were thrown 
 much together, and in the autumn term of 1841 
 and Easter term of 1842 practised a variety of 
 music in John's rooms, he taking the viohn part 
 and Mr. Gaskell that for the pianoforte. 
 
 It was, I think, in March, 1842, that John 
 purchased for his rooms a piece of furniture 
 which was destined afterwards to play no unim- 
 portant part in the story I am narrating. This 
 was a very large and low wicker chair of a form 
 then coming into fashion in Oxford, and since, I 
 am told, become a famihar object of most college 
 rooms. It was cushioned with a gaudy pattern of 
 chintz, and bought for new of an upholsterer at 
 the bottom of the High Street. 
 
 Mr. Gaskell was taken by his uncle to spend 
 Easter in Eome, and obtaining special leave from 
 
4 THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 
 
 his college to prolong his travels, did not return 
 to Oxford till three weeks of the summer term 
 were passed and May was well advanced. So im- 
 patient was he to see his friend that he would not 
 let even the first evening of his return pass with- 
 out coming round to John's rooms. The two 
 young men sat without lights until the night was 
 late ; and Mr. Gaskell had much to narrate of his 
 travels, and spoke specially of the beautiful music 
 which he had heard at Easter in the Eoman 
 churches. He had also had lessons on the piano 
 from a celebrated professor of the Italian style, 
 but seemed to have been particularly delighted 
 with the music of the seventeenth-century com- 
 posers, of whose works he had brought back some 
 specimens set for piano and violin. 
 
 It was past eleven o'clock when Mr. Gaskell 
 left to return to New College ; but the night was 
 unusually warm, with a moon near the full, and 
 John sat for some time ia a cushioned window- 
 seat before the open sash thinking over what he 
 had heard about the music of Italy. Feeling still 
 disinclined for sleep, he lit a single candle and 
 began to turn over some of the musical works 
 which Mr. Gaskell had left on the table. His 
 attention was especially attracted to an oblong 
 
THE LOST STRADIVABIUS. 5 
 
 book, bound in soiled vellum, witb a coat of arms 
 stamped in gilt upon the side. It was a manu- 
 script copy of some early suites by Graziani for 
 violin and harpsichord, and was apparently written 
 at ^tfaples in the year 1744, many years after the 
 death of that composer. Though the ink was 
 yeUow and faded, the transcript had been accu- 
 rately made, and could be read with tolerable 
 comfort by an advanced musician in spite of the 
 antiquated notation. 
 
 Perhaps by accident, or perhaps by some 
 mysterious direction which our minds are inca- 
 pable of appreciating, his eye was arrested by a 
 suite of four movements with a hasso contmuo, or 
 figured bass, for the harpsichord. The other 
 suites in the book were only distinguished by 
 numbers, but this one the composer had dignified 
 with the name of " I'Areopagita." Almost me- 
 chanically John put the book on his music-stand, 
 took his violin from its case, and after a moment's 
 tuning stood up and played the first movement, a 
 lively Cordnto. The hght of the single candle 
 burning on the table was scarcely sufficient to 
 illumine the page; the shadows hung in the 
 creases of the leaves, which had grown into those 
 wavy folds sometimes observable in books made 
 
6 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 of thick paper and remaining long shut ; and it 
 was with difficulty that he could read what he 
 was playing. But he felt the strange impulse of 
 the old-world music urging him forward, and did 
 not even pause to light the candles which stood 
 ready in their sconces on either side of the desk. 
 The Coranto was followed by a Sarahomda, and 
 the Sa/rabanda by a GagUarda. My brother 
 stood playing, with his face turned to the window, 
 with the room and the large wicker chair of which 
 I have spoken behind him. The Gaglia/rda be- 
 gan with a bold and lively air, and ae he played 
 the opening bars, he heard behind him a creaking 
 of the wicker chair. The sound was a perfectly 
 famihar one — as of some person placing a hand 
 on either arm of the chair preparatory to lowering 
 himself into it, followed by another as of the same 
 person being leisurely seated. But for the tones 
 of the violin, all was silent, and the creaking of 
 the chair was strangely distinct. The illusion was 
 so complete that my brother stopped playing sud- 
 denly, and turned round expecting that some late 
 friend of his had slipped in unawares, being attracted 
 by the sound of the violin, or that Mr. Gaskell him- 
 self had returned. With the cessation of the music 
 an absolute stillness fell upon all ; the light of the 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. T 
 
 single candle scarcely reached tlie darker comers 
 of tlie room, but fell directly on the wicker chair 
 and showed it to be perfectly empty. Half 
 amuBed, half vexed with himself at having with- 
 out reason interrupted his music, my brother re- 
 turned to the Gaglia/rda ; but some impulse in- 
 duced him to light the candles in the sconces, 
 which gave an illumination more adequate to the 
 occasion. The GagUarda and the last movement, 
 a Minuetto, were finished, and John closed the 
 book, intending, as it was now late, to seek his 
 bed. As he shut the pages a creaking of the 
 wicker chair again, attracted his attention, and he 
 heard distinctly sounds such as would be made by 
 a person raising himself from a sitting posture. 
 Tliis time, being less surprised, he could more 
 aptly consider the probable causes of such a cir- 
 cumstance, and easily arrived at the conclusion 
 that there must be in the wicker chair osiers re- 
 sponsive to certain notes of the viohn, as panes of 
 glass in church windows are observed to vibrate 
 in sympathy with certain tones of the organ. 
 But while this argument approved itself to his 
 reason, his imagination was but half convinced ; 
 and he could not but be impressed with the fact 
 that the second creaking of the chair had been 
 
8 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 coincident with his shutting the music-book ; and, 
 uncoasciously, pictured to himself some strange 
 visitor waiting until the termination of the music, 
 and then taking his departure. 
 
 His conjectures did not, however, either rob 
 him of sleep or even disturb it with dreams, 
 and he woke the next morning with a cooler 
 mind and one less inclined to fantastic imagi- 
 nation. If the strange episode of the previous 
 evening had not entirely vanished from his mind, 
 it seemed at least fully accounted for by the 
 acoustic explanation to which I have alluded 
 above. Although he saw Mr. Gaskell in the 
 course of the morning, he did not think it neces- 
 sary to mention to him so trivial a circumstance, 
 but made with him an appointment to sup to- 
 gether in his own rooms that evening, and to 
 amuse themselves afterwards by essaying some of 
 the Italian music. 
 
 It was shortly after nine that night when, 
 supper being finished, Mr. Gaskell seated himself 
 at the piano and John tuned his violin. The 
 evening was closing in; there had been heavy 
 thunder-rain in the afternoon, and the moist air 
 hung now heavy and steaming, while across it 
 there throbbed the distant vibrations of the tenor 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 9 
 
 bell at Christ Churcli. It was tolling tlie custom- 
 ary 101 strokes, wHeh. are rung every night in 
 term-time as a signal for closing the college gates. 
 The two young men enjoyed themselves for some 
 while, playing first a suite by Cesti, and then two 
 early sonatas by Buononcini. Both of them were 
 suificiently expert musicians to make reading at 
 sight a pleasure rather than an effort ; and Mr. 
 GaskeH especially was well versed in the theory of 
 music, and in the correct rendering of the iasso 
 eontinuo. After the Buononcini Mr. Gaskell 
 took up the oblong copy of Graziani, and turning 
 over its leaves, proposed that they should play 
 the same suite which John had performed by 
 himself the previous evening. His selection was 
 apparently perfectly fortuitous, as my brother 
 had purposely refrained from directing his atten- 
 tion in any way to that piece of mumc. They 
 played the Coranto and the Sarabanda, and ia 
 the singular fascination of the music John had 
 entirely forgotten the episode of the previous 
 evening, when, as the bold air of the GagUarda 
 commenced, he suddenly became aware of the 
 same strange creaking of the wicker chair that he 
 had noticed on the first occasion. The sound 
 was identical, and so exact was its resemblance to 
 
10 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 that of a person sitting down that he stared at the 
 chair, almost wondering that it still appeared 
 empty. Beyond turning his head sharply for a 
 moment to look round, Mr. Gaskell took no no- 
 tice of the sound ; and ray brother, ashamed to 
 betray any foolish interest or excitement, con- 
 tinued the Oagliarda, with its repeat. At its 
 conclusion Mr. Gaskell stopped before proceeding 
 to the minuet, and turning the stool on which he 
 was sitting round towards the room, observed, 
 " How very strange, Johnnie," — ^f or these young 
 men were on terms of sufficient intimacy to ad- 
 dress each other in a familiar style — " How very 
 strange ! I thought I heard some one sit down 
 in that chair when we began the Gagliarda. I 
 looked round quite expecting to see some one had 
 come in. Did you hear nothing ? " 
 
 " It was only the chair creaking," my brother 
 answered, feigning an indifference which he 
 scarcely felt. " Certain parts of the wicker-work 
 seem to be in accord with musical notes and re- 
 spond to them ; let us continue with the Minu- 
 ettor 
 
 Thus they finished the suite, Mr. Gaskell de- 
 manding a repetition of the Oagliarda, with the 
 air of which he was much pleased. As the clocks 
 
THE LOST STBADIVARIUS. H 
 
 had already struck eleven, they determined not to 
 play more that night ; and Mr. Gaskell rose, blew 
 out the sconces, shut the piano, and put the music 
 aside. My brother has often assured me that he 
 was quite prepared for what foUowed. and had 
 been almost expecting it ; for as the books were 
 put away, a creaking of the wicker chair was 
 audible, exactly similar to that which he had 
 heard when he stopped playing on the previous 
 night. There was a moment's silence ; the young 
 men looked involuntarily at one another, and then 
 Mr. GaskeU said, " I cannot understand the creak- 
 ing of that chair; it has never done so before, 
 with all the music we have played. I am perhaps 
 imaginative and excited with the fine airs we have 
 heard to-night, but I have an impression, that I 
 cannot dispel that something has been sitting lis- 
 tening to us all this time, and that now when the 
 concert is ended it has got up and gone." There 
 was a spirit of raillery in his words, but his tone 
 was not so light as it would ordinarily have been, 
 and he was evidently ill at ease. 
 
 "Let us try the Gaglia/rda again," said my 
 brother ; " it is the vibration of the opening notes 
 which affects the wicker-work, and we shall see if 
 the noise is repeated." But Mr. Gaskell excused 
 
12 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 himself from trying the experiment, and after 
 some desultory conversation, to wliicli it was evi- 
 dent that neither was giving any serions atten- 
 tion, he took his leave and returned to New 
 College. 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 I SHALL not weary you, my dear Edward, by 
 recounting similar experiences which occurred on 
 nearly every occasion that the young men met in 
 the evenings for music. The repetition of the 
 phenomenon had accustomed them to expect it. 
 Both professed to be quite satisfied that it was to 
 be attributed to acoustical affinities of vibration, 
 between the wicker-work and certain of the piano 
 wires, and indeed this seemed the only explana- 
 tion possible. But, at the same time, the resem- 
 blance of the noises to those caused by a person 
 sitting down in or rising from a chair was so 
 marked, that even their frequent recurrence never 
 failed to make a strong impression on them. 
 They felt a reluctance to mention the matter to 
 their friends, partly from a fear of being them- 
 selves laughed at, and partly to spare from ridi- 
 cule a circumstance to which each perhaps, in 
 spite of himself, attached some degree of impor- 
 
 13 
 
14 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 tance. Experience soon convinced them that the 
 first noise as of one sitting down never occurred 
 unless the Gagliarda of the "Areopagita" was 
 played, and that this first noise being once heard, 
 the second only followed it when they ceased 
 playing for the eveniag. They met every night, 
 sitting later with the lengthening summer even- 
 ings, and every night, as by some tacit under- 
 standing, played the "Areopagita" suite before 
 parting. At the opening bars of the Oaglia/rda 
 the creaking of the chair occurred spontaneously 
 with the utmost regularity. They seldom spoke 
 even to one another of the subject; but one 
 night, when John was putting away his violin 
 after a long evening's music without having 
 played the "Areopagita," Mr. Gaskell, who had 
 risen from the pianoforte, sat dovm again as by a 
 sudden impulse and said — 
 
 "Johnnie, do not put away your violin yet. 
 It is near twelve o'clock and I shall get shut out, 
 but I cannot stop to-night without playing the 
 GagUa/rda. Suppose that all our theories of vi- 
 bration and affinity are wrong, suppose that there 
 really comes here night by night some strange 
 visitant to hear us, some poor creature whose 
 heart is bound up in that tune ; would it not be 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 15 
 
 unkind to send him away without the hearing of 
 that piece which he seems most to relish ? Let us 
 not be ill-mannered, but humour his whim ; let us 
 play the GagUarda." 
 
 They played it with more vigour and preci- 
 sion than usual, and the now customary sound of 
 one taking his seat at once ensued. It was that 
 night that my brother, looking steadfastly at the 
 chair, saw, or thought he saw, there some slight- 
 obscuration, some penumbra, mist, or subtle va- 
 pour which, as he gazed, seemed to struggle to 
 take human form. He ceased playing for a mo- 
 ment and rubbed his eyes, but as -he did so all 
 dimness vanished and he saw the chair perfectly 
 empty. The pianist stopped also at the cessation 
 of the vioUn, and asked what ailed him. 
 
 " It is only that my eyes were dim," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " We have had enough for to-night," said Mr. 
 Gaskell; "let us stop. I shall be locked out." 
 He shut the piano, and as he did so the clock in 
 New CoUege tower struck twelve. He left the 
 room running, but was late enough at his college 
 door to be reported, admonished with a fine 
 against such late hours, and confined for a week 
 to college ; for being out after midnight was con- 
 
16 THE LOST STKADIVAEIUS. 
 
 eidered, at that time at least, a somewhat serious 
 offence. 
 
 Thus for some days the musical practice was 
 compulsorily intermitted, but resumed on the jGlrst 
 evening after Mr. Gaskell's term of confinement 
 was expired. After they had performed several 
 suites of Graziani, and finished as usual with the 
 " Areopagita," Mr. Gaskell sat for a time silent 
 at the instrument, as though thinking with him- 
 self, and then said — 
 
 "I cannot say how deeply this old-fashioned 
 music affects me. Some would try to persuade us 
 that these suites, of which the airs bear the names 
 of different dances, were always written rather 
 as a musical essay and for purposes of perform- 
 ance than for persons to dance to, as their names 
 would more naturally imply. But I think these 
 critics are wrong at least in some instances. It is 
 to me impossible to believe that such a melody, 
 for instance, as the Oiga of CorelH which we have 
 played, was not written for actual purposes of 
 dancing. One can almost hear the beat of feet 
 upon the floor, and I imagine that in the time of 
 Corelli the practice of dancing, while not a whit 
 inferior in grace, had more of the tripudistic or 
 beating character than is now esteemed consistent 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 17 
 
 with a correct ball-room performance. The 
 OagUcurda too, which we play now so constant- 
 ly, possesses a singular power of assisting the im- 
 agination to picture or reproduce such scenes 
 as those which it no doubt formerly enlivened. 
 I know not why, but it is constantly identified 
 in my mind with some revel which I have per- 
 haps seen in a picture, where several couples are 
 dancing a licentious measure in a long room lit by 
 a number of silver sconces of the debased model 
 common at the end of the seventeenth century. 
 It is probably a reminiscence of my late ex- 
 cursion that gives to these dancers in my fancy 
 the ohve skin, dark hair, and bright eyes of the 
 Italian type; and they wear dresses of exceed- 
 ingly rich fabric and elaborate design. Imagina- 
 tion is whimsical enough to paint for me the 
 character of the room itself, as having an arcade 
 of arches running down one side alone, of the 
 fantastic and paganised Gothic of the Renais- 
 sance. At the end is a gallery or balcony for 
 the musicians, which on its coved front has a 
 florid coat of arms of foreign heraldry. The 
 shield bears, on a field or, a cherub's head 
 blowing on three lilies — a blazon I have no doubt 
 seen somewhere in my travels, though I cannot 
 
18 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 recollect where. This scene, I say, is so nearly 
 connected in my brain with the Gaglia/rda, that 
 scarcely are its first notes sounded ere it presents 
 itself to my eyes with a vividness which increases 
 every day. The couples advance, set, and recede, 
 using free and licentious gestures which my im- 
 agination should be ashamed to recall. Amongst 
 so many foreigners, fancy pictures, I know not in 
 the least why, the presence of a young man of an 
 English type of face, whose features, however, 
 always elude my mind's attempt to fix them. I 
 think that the opening subject of this Gagliarda 
 is a superior composition to the rest of it, for it is 
 only during the first sixteen bars that the vision 
 of bygone revelry presents itself to me. With 
 the last note of the sixteenth bar a veil is sud- 
 denly drawn across the scene, and with a sense 
 almost of some catastrophe it vanishes. This I 
 attribute to the fact that the second subject must 
 be inferior in conception to the first, and by some 
 sense of incongruity destroys the fabric which the 
 fascination of the preceding one built up." 
 
 My brother, though he had listened with in- 
 terest to what Mr. Gaskell had said, did not reply, 
 and the subject was allowed to drop. 
 
CHAPTEE ni. 
 
 It was in the same summer of 1842, and near 
 the middle of June, that my brother John wrote 
 inviting me to come to Oxford for the Com- 
 memoration festivities. I had been spending 
 some weeks with Mrs. Temple, a distant cousin of 
 ours, at their house of Eoyston in Derbyshire, and 
 John was desirous that Mrs. Temple should come 
 up to Oxford and chaperone her daughter Con- 
 stance and myseK at the balls and various other 
 entertainments which take place at the close of 
 the summer term. Owing to Koyston being 
 some two hundred miles from Worth Maltravers, 
 our families had hitherto seen little of one an- 
 other, but during my present visit I had learned 
 to love Mrs. Temple, a lady of singular sweetness 
 of disposition, and had contracted a devoted at- 
 tachment to her daughter Constance. Constance 
 Temple was then eighteen years of age, and to 
 great beauty united such mental graces and ex- 
 
 18 
 
20 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 cellent traits of character as must ever appear to 
 reasoning persons more enduringly valuable than 
 even the highest personal attraxjtions. She was 
 well read and witty, and had been trained in 
 those principles of true religion which she after- 
 wards followed with devoted consistency in the 
 self-sacrifice and resigned piety of her too short 
 life. In person, I may remind you, my dear 
 Edward, since death removed her ere you were of 
 years to appreciate either her appearance or her 
 qualities, she was tall, with a somewhat long and 
 oval face, with brown hair and eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Temple readily accepted Sir John 
 Maltravers' invitation. She had never seen 
 Oxford herself, and was pleased to afford 
 ns the pleasure of so delightful an excur- 
 sion. John had secured convenient rooms for 
 us above the shop of a well-known printseller 
 in High Street, and we arrived in Oxford in. Fri- 
 day evening, June 18, 1842. I shall not dilate to 
 you on the various Commemoration festivities, 
 which have probably altered little since those 
 days, and with which you are familiar. Suffice it 
 to say that my brother had secured us admission 
 to every entertainment, and that we enjoyed our 
 visit as only youth with its keen sensibilities and 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 21 
 
 uncloyed pleasures can. I could not help observ- 
 ing that John was very much struck by the at- 
 tractions of Miss Constance Temple, and that she 
 for her part, while exhibiting no unbecoming for- 
 wardness, certainly betrayed no aversion to him. 
 I was greatly pleased both with my own powers 
 of observation which had enabled me to discover 
 so important a fact, and also with the circum- 
 stance itseH. To a romantic girl of nineteen it 
 appeared high time that a brother of twenty-two 
 should be at least preparing some matrimonial 
 project ; and my friend was so good and beauti- 
 ful that it seemed impossible that I should ever 
 obtain a more lovable sister or my brother a 
 better wife. Mrs. Temple could not refuse her 
 sanction to such a scheme ; for while their mental 
 qualities seemed eminently compatible, John was 
 in his own right master of Worth Maltravers, 
 and her daughter sole heiress of the Koyston 
 estates. 
 
 The Commemoration festivities terminated on 
 "Wednesday night with a grand ball at the Music- 
 Koom in HolyweU Street. This was given by a 
 Lodge of University Freemasons, and John was 
 there with Mr. Gaskell — whose acquaintance we 
 had made with much gratification — both wearing 
 
22 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 blue silk scarves and small white aprons. They 
 introduced us to many other of their friends simi- 
 larly adorned, and these important and mysterious 
 insignia sat not amiss with their youthful figures 
 and boyish faces. After a long and pleasurable 
 programme, it was decided that we should pro- 
 long our visit till the next evening, leaving Ox- 
 ford at half -past ten o'clock at night and driving 
 to Didcot, there to join the mail for the west. 
 "We rose late the next morning and spent the day 
 rambling among the old colleges and gardens of 
 the most beautiful of English cities. At seven 
 o'clock we dined together for the last time at our 
 lodgings in High Street, and my brother proposed 
 that before parting we should enjoy the fine 
 evening in the gardens of St. John's College. 
 This was at once agreed to, and we proceeded 
 thither, John walking on in front with Constance 
 and Mrs. Temple, and I following with Mr. Gas- 
 kell. My companion explained that these gardens 
 were esteemed the most beautiful in the Univer- 
 sity, but that under ordinary circumstances it was 
 not permitted to strangers to walk there of an 
 evening. Here he quoted some Latin about 
 " aurum per medios ire satellites," which I smil- 
 ingly made as if I understood, and did indeed 
 
THE LOST STKADIVARIUS. 23 
 
 gather from it that John had bribed the porter to 
 admit us. It was a warm and very still night, 
 without a moon, but with enough of fading light 
 to show the outhnes of the garden front. This 
 long low line of buildings built in Charles I.'s 
 reign looked so exquisitely beautiful that I shall 
 never forget it, though I have not since seen its 
 oriel windows and creeper-covered walls. There 
 was a very heavy dew on the broad lawn, and we 
 walked at first only on the paths. No one spoke, 
 for we were oppressed by the very beauty of the 
 scene, and by the sadness which an imminent 
 parting from friends and from so sweet a place 
 combined to cause. John had been silent and 
 depressed the whole day, nor did Mr. Gaskell 
 himseK seem inclined to conversation. Constance 
 and my brother fell a little way behind, and Mr. 
 Gaskell asked me to cross the lawn if I was not 
 afraid of the dew, that I might see the garden 
 front to better advantage from the comer. Mrs. 
 Temple waited for us on the path, not wishing to 
 wet her feet. Mr. Gaskell pointed out the 
 beauties of the perspective as seen from his van- 
 tage-point, and we were fortunate in hearing the 
 sweet descant of nightingales for which this gar- 
 den has ever been famous. As we stood silent 
 
24 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 and listening, a candle was lit in a small oriel at 
 the end, and the light showing the tracery of the 
 window added to the picturesqueness of the 
 scene. 
 
 Within an hour we were in a landau driving 
 through the still warm lanes to Didcot. I had 
 seen that Constance's parting with my brother had 
 been tender, and I am not sure that she was not 
 in tears during some part at least of our drive ; 
 but I did not observe her closely, having my 
 thoughts elsewhere. 
 
 Though we were thus being carried every 
 moment further from the sleeping city, where I 
 believe that both our hearts were busy, I feel as 
 if I had been a personal witness of the incidents 
 I am about to narrate, so often have I heard them 
 from my brother's Hps. The two young men, 
 after parting with us in the High Street, returned 
 to their respective colleges. John reached his 
 rooms shortly before eleven o'clock. He was at 
 once sad and happy — sad at our departure, but 
 happy in a new-found world of delight which his 
 admiration for Constance Temple opened to him. 
 He was, in fact, deeply in love vnth her, and the 
 full flood of a hitherto unknown passion filled 
 him with an emotion so overwhelming that his 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARICS, 25 
 
 ordinary life seemed transfigured. He moved, as 
 it were, in an ether superior to our mortal atmos- 
 phere, and a new region of high resolves and 
 noble possibilities spread itseK before his eyes. 
 He slammed his heavy outside door (called an 
 "oak") to prevent any one entering and flung 
 himself into the window-seat. Here he sat for a 
 long time, the sash thrown up and his head out- 
 side, for he was excited and feverish. His mental 
 exaltation was so great and his thoughts of so 
 absorbing an interest that he took no notice of 
 time, and only remembered afterwards that the 
 scent of a syringa-bush was borne up to him from 
 a little garden-patch opposite, and that a bat had 
 circled slowly up and down the lane, until he 
 heard the clocks striking three. At the same 
 time the faint light of dawn made itself felt al- 
 most imperceptibly ; the classic statues on the 
 roof of the schools began to stand out against the 
 white sky, and a faiat ghmmer to penetrate the 
 darkened room. It ghstened on the varnished 
 top of his violin-case lying on the table, and on a 
 jug of toast-and-water placed there by his college 
 servant or scout every night before he left. He 
 drank a glass of this mixture, and was moving 
 towards his bedroom door when a sudden thought 
 
26 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 struck him. He turned back, took the violin 
 from its case, tuned it, and began to play the 
 "Areopagita" suite. He was conscious of that 
 mental clearness and vigour which not imfre- 
 quently comes with the dawn to those who have 
 sat watching or reading through the night : and 
 his thoughts were exalted by the effect which the 
 first consciousness of a deep passion causes in im- 
 aginative minds. He had never played the suite 
 with more power ; and the airs, even without the 
 piano part, seemed fraught with a meaning hither- 
 to unreahsed. As he began the OagUa/rda he 
 heard the wicker chair creak ; but he had his 
 back towards it, and the sound was now too fa- 
 miliar to him to cause him even to look round. 
 It was not till he was playing the repeat that he 
 became aware of a new and overpowering sensa- 
 tion. At first it was a vague feeling, so often ex- 
 perienced by us all, of not being alone. He did 
 not stop playing, and in a few seconds the im- 
 pression of a presence in the room other than his 
 own became so strong that he was actually afraid 
 to look round. But ia another moment he felt 
 that at all hazards he must see what or who this 
 presence was. Without stopping he partly 
 turned and partly looked over his shoulder. The 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 27 
 
 silver light of early morning was filling the room, 
 maldng the various objects appear of less bright 
 colour than usual, and giving to everything a 
 pearl-grey neutral tint. In this cold but clear 
 light he saw seated in the wicker chair the figure 
 of a man. 
 
 In the first violent shock of so terrifying a 
 discovery, he could not appreciate such details as 
 those of features, dress, or appearance. He was 
 merely conscious that vnth him, in a locked room 
 of which he knew himself to be the only human 
 inmate, there sat something which bore a human 
 form. He looked at it for a moment with a hope, 
 which he felt to be vain, that it might vanish and 
 prove a phantom of his excited imagination, but 
 still it sat there. Then my brother put down his 
 viohn, and he used to assure me that a horror 
 overwhelmed him of an intensity which he had 
 previously believed impossible. Whether* the 
 image which he saw was subjective or objective, 
 I cannot pretend to say : you will be in a position 
 to judge for yourself when you have finished this 
 narrative. Our limited experience would lead us 
 to believe that it was a phantom conjured up by 
 some unusual condition of his own brain ; but we 
 are fain to confess that there certainly do exist in 
 
28 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 nature phenomena such as baffle human reason ; 
 and it is possible that, for some hidden piirposes 
 of Providence, permission may occasionally be 
 granted to those who have passed from this life to 
 assume again for a time the form of their earthly 
 tabernacle. "We must, I say, be content to sus- 
 pend our judgment on such matters ; but in this 
 instance the subsequent course of events is very 
 difficult to explain, except on the supposition that 
 there was then presented to my brother's view 
 the actual bodily form of one long deceased. The 
 dread which took possession of him was due, he 
 has more than once told me when analysing his 
 feelings long afterwards, to two predominant 
 causes. Firstly, he felt that mental dislocation 
 which accompanies the sudden subversion of pre- 
 conceived theories, the sudden alteration of long 
 habit, or even the occurrence of any circumstance 
 beyond the walk of our daily experience. This I 
 have observed myself in the perturbing effect 
 which a sudden death, a grievous accident, or in 
 recent years the declaration of war, has exercised 
 upon all except the most lethargic or the most 
 determined minds. Secondly, he experienced the 
 profound self-abasement or mental annihilation 
 caused by the near conception of a being of a 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIDS. 29 
 
 Buperior order. In the presence of an existence 
 wearing, indeed, the human form, but of attributes 
 widely different and superior to his own, he felt 
 the combined reverence and re^^llsion which even 
 the noblest wild animals exhibit when brought for 
 the fii'st time face to face with man. The shock 
 was so great that I feel persuaded it exerted an 
 effect on him from which he never wholly re- 
 covered. 
 
 After an interval which seemed to him inter- 
 minable, though it was only of a second's duration, 
 he turned his eyes again to the occupant of the 
 wicker chair. His faculties had so far recovered 
 from the first shock as to enable him to see that 
 the figure was that of a man perhaps thirty-five 
 years of age and stUl youthful in appearance. 
 The face was long and oval, the hair brown, and 
 brushed straight off an exceptionally high fore- 
 head. His complexion was very pale or bloodless. 
 He was clean shaven, and his finely cut mouth, 
 with compressed hps, wore something of a sneer- 
 ing smile. His general expression was unpleasing, 
 and from the first my brother felt as by intuition 
 that there was present some malign and wicked 
 influence. His eyes were not visible, as he kept 
 them cast down, resting his head on his hand in 
 
30 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 the attitude of one listening. His face and even 
 his dress were impressed so vividly upon John's 
 mind, that he never had any difficulty in recalling 
 them to his imagination ; and he and 1 had after- 
 wards an opportunity of verifying them in a re- 
 markable manner. He wore a long cut-away 
 coat of green cloth with an edge of gold em- 
 broidery, and a white satin waistcoat figured with 
 rose-sprigs, a full cravat of rich lace, knee- 
 breeches of buff silk, and stockings of the same. 
 His shoes were of polished black leather with 
 heavy silver buckles, and his costume in general 
 recalled that worn a century ago. ,As my brother 
 gazed at him, he got up, putting his hands on the 
 arms of the chair to raise himseK, and causing the 
 creaking so often heard before. The hands forced 
 themselves on my brother's notice: they were 
 very white, with the long delicate fingers of a 
 musician. He showed a considerable height ; and 
 still keeping his eyes on the floor, walked with an 
 ordinary gait towards the end of the bookcase at 
 the side of the room farthest from the window. 
 He reached the bookcase, and then John suddenly 
 lost sight of him. The figure did not fade gradu- 
 ally, but went out, as it were, like the flame of 
 a suddenly extinguished candle. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 31 
 
 The room was now filled with the clear light 
 of the summer morning: the whole vision had 
 lasted but a few seconds, but my brother knew 
 that there was no possibility of his having been 
 mistaken, that the mystery of the creaking chair 
 was solved, that he had seen the man who had 
 come evening by evening for a month past to 
 listen to the rhythm of the Gagliarda. Terribly 
 disturbed, he sat for some time haK dreading and 
 half expecting a return of the figure ; but all re- 
 mained xmchanged; he saw nothing, nor did he 
 dare to challenge its reappearance by playing 
 again the Gagliarda, which seemed to have so 
 strange an attraction for it. At last, in the full 
 sunlight of a late June morning at Oxford, he 
 heard the steps of early pedestrians on the pave- 
 ment below his windows, the cry of a milkman, 
 and other sounds which showed the world was 
 awake. It was after six o'clock, and going to his 
 bedroom he flung himself on the outside of the 
 bed for an hour's troubled slumber. 
 
OHAPTEE IV. 
 
 "When his servant called him abont eight 
 o'clock my brother sent a note to Mr. Gaakell at 
 New College, begging him to come round to 
 Magdalen HaU as soon as might be in the course 
 of the morning. His summons was at once 
 obeyed, and Mr. GaskeU was with him before he 
 had finished breakfast. My brother was still 
 much agitated, and at once told him what had 
 happened the night before, detailing the various 
 circumstances with minuteness, and not even con- 
 cealing from him the sentiments which he enter- 
 tained towards Miss Constance Temple. In nar- 
 rating the appearance which he had seen in the 
 chair, his agitation was still so excessive that he 
 had difficulty in controlling his voice. 
 
 Mr. Gaskell heard him with much attention, 
 and did not at once reply when John had finished 
 his narration. At length he said, " I suppose many 
 friends would think it right to affect, even if they 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARILTS, 33 
 
 did not feel, an incredulity as to what you have 
 just told me. They might consider it more pru- 
 dent to attempt to allay your distress by persuad- 
 ing you that what you have seen has no objective 
 reality, but is merely the phantasm of an excited 
 imagination; that if you had not been in love, 
 had not sat up all night, and had not thus over- 
 taxed your physical powers, you would have seen 
 no vision. I shall not argue thus, for I am as 
 certainly convinced as of the fact that we sit 
 here, that on aU the nights when we have played 
 this suite called the " Areopagita," there has been 
 some one listening to us, and that you have at 
 length been fortunate or unfortunate enough to 
 see him." 
 
 " Do not say fortunate," said my brother ; 
 " for I feel as though I shall never recover from 
 last night's shock." 
 
 " That is likely enough," Mr. Gaskell an- 
 swered, coolly ; " for as in the history of the race 
 or individual, increased culture and a finer mental 
 susceptibility necessarily impair the brute courage 
 and powers of endurance which we note in sav- 
 ages, so any supernatural vision such as you have 
 seen must be purchased at the cost of physical 
 reaction. From the first evening that we played 
 
34: THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 this music, and heard the noises mimicking so 
 closely the sitting down and rising up of some 
 person, I have felt convinced that causes other 
 than those which we usually call natural were 
 at work, and that we were very near the manifes- 
 tation of some extraordinary phenomenon." 
 " I do not quite apprehend your meaning." 
 " I mean this," he continued, " that this man 
 or spirit of a man has been sitting here night 
 after night, and that we have not been able to see 
 him, because our minds are dull and obtuse. 
 Last night the elevating force of a strong passion, 
 such as that which you have confided to me, com- 
 bined with the power of fine music, so exalted 
 your mind that you became endowed, as it were, 
 with a sixth sense, and suddenly were enabled to 
 see that which had previously been invisible. To 
 this sixth sense music gives, I believe, the key. 
 We are at present only on the threshold of such a 
 knowledge of that art as will enable us to use it 
 eventually as the greatest of all humanising and 
 educational agents. Music wLQ prove a ladder to 
 the loftier regions of thought ; indeed 1 have long 
 found for myself that I cannot attain to the high- 
 est range of my intellectual power except when 
 hearing good music. All poets, and most writers 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 35 
 
 of prose, will say that their thought is never so 
 exalted, their sense of beauty and proportion 
 never so just, as when they are listening either to 
 the artificial music made by man, or to some of 
 the grander tones of nature, such as the roar of a 
 western ocean, or the sighing of wind in a clump 
 of firs. Though I have often felt on such occa- 
 sions on the very verge of some high mental dis- 
 covery, and though a hand has been stretched for- 
 ward as it were to rend the veil, yet it has never 
 been vouchsafed me to see behind it. This you 
 no doubt were allowed in a measure to do last 
 night. You probably played the music with a 
 deeper intuition than usual, and this, combined 
 with the excitement under which you were already 
 labouring, raised you for a moment to the re- 
 quired pitch of mental exaltation." 
 
 "It is true," John said, "that I never felt 
 the melody so deeply as when I played it last 
 night." 
 
 " Just so," answered his friend ; " and there is 
 probably some link between this air and the his- 
 tory of the man whom you saw last night ; some 
 fatal power in it which enables it to exert an 
 attraction on him even after death. For we must 
 remember that the influence of music, though 
 
36 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 always powerful, is not always for good. We can 
 scarcely doubt that as certain forms of music tend 
 to raise us above tHe sensuality of the animal, or 
 the more degrading passion of material gain, and 
 to transport us into the ether of higher thought, 
 so other forms are directly calculated to awaken 
 in us luxurious emotions, and to whet those sen- 
 sual appetites which it is the business of a phi- 
 losopher not indeed to annihilate or to be ashamed 
 of, but to keep rigidly in check. This possibility 
 of music to effect evil as well as good I have 
 seen recognised, and very aptly expressed in 
 some beautiful verses by Mr. Keble which I have 
 just read : — 
 
 " ' Cease, stranger, cease those witching notes, 
 The art of syren choirs ; 
 Hush the seductive voice that floats 
 Across the trembling wires. 
 
 Music's ethereal power was given 
 
 Not to dissolve our clay, 
 But draw Promethean beams from heaven 
 
 To purge the dross away.' " 
 
 " They are fine lines," said my brother, "but 
 I do not see how you apply your argument to the 
 present instance." 
 
 "I mean," Mr. Gaskell answered, "that I 
 have little doubt that the melody of this GagU- 
 
TEE LOST STRADIVARI [JS. 37 
 
 arda lias been connected in some manner witli 
 the life of the man you saw last night. It is not 
 unlikely, either, that it was a favourite air of his 
 whilst in the flesh, or even that it was played by 
 himseH or others at the moment of some crisis in 
 liis history. It is possible that such connection 
 may be due merely to the innocent pleasure the 
 melody gave him in life ; but the nature of the 
 music itself, and a peculiar effect it has upon my 
 own thoughts, induce me to believe that it was 
 associated with some occasion when he either fell 
 into great sin or when some evil fate, perhaps 
 even death itself, overtook him. You wiU re- 
 member I have told you that this air calls up to 
 my mind a certain scene of Italian revelry in 
 which an Englishman takes part. It is true that 
 I have never been able to fix his features in my 
 mind, nor even to say exactly how he was dressed. 
 Yet now some instinct tells me that it is this very 
 man whom you saw last night. It is not for us 
 to attempt to pierce the mystery which veils from 
 our eyes the secrets of an after-death existence ; 
 but I can scarcely suppose that a spirit entirely at 
 rest would feel so deeply the power of a certain 
 melody as to be called back by it to his old 
 haunts like a dog by Ms master's whistle. It is 
 
38 THE LOST STRADIVAKIUS. 
 
 more probable that there is some evil history con- 
 nected with the matter, and this, I think, we 
 ought to consider if it be possible to un- 
 ravel." 
 
 My brother assenting, he continued, "When 
 this man left you, Johnnie, did he walk to the 
 door ? " 
 
 "No; he made for the side wall, and when 
 he reached the end of the bookcase I lost sight of 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Gaskell went to the bookcase and looked 
 for a moment at the titles of the books, as though 
 expecting to see something in them to assist his 
 inquiries ; but finding aparently no clue, he said — 
 
 " This is the last time we shall meet for three 
 months or more, let us play the OagUa/rda and see 
 if there be any response." 
 
 My brother at first would not hear of this, 
 showing a lively dread of challenging any re- 
 appearance of the figure he had seen : indeed he 
 felt that such an event would probably fiing him 
 into a state of serious physical disorder. Mr. 
 Gaskell, however, continued to press him, assuring 
 him that the fact of his now being no longer 
 alone should largely allay any fear on his part, 
 and urging that this would be the last opportunity 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 39 
 
 they would have of playing together for some 
 months. 
 
 At last, being overborne, my brother took his 
 violiQ, and Mr. GaskeU seated himself at the 
 pianoforte. John was very agitated, and as he 
 commenced the GagUa/rda his hands trembled so 
 that he conld scarcely play the air. Mr. GaskeU 
 also exhibited some nervousness, not performing 
 with his customary correctness. But for the first 
 time the charm failed : no noise accompanied the 
 music, nor did anything of an unusual character 
 occur. They repeated the whole suite, but with 
 a similar result. 
 
 Both were surprised, but neither had any 
 explanation to offer. My brother, who at first 
 dreaded intensely a repetition of the vision, was 
 now almost disappointed that nothing had oc- 
 curred ; so quickly does the mood of man change. 
 
 After some further conversation the young 
 men parted for the Long "Vacation — John return- 
 ing to Worth Maltravers and Mr. GaskeU going 
 to London, where he was to pass a few days 
 before he proceeded to his home in "Westmore- 
 land. 
 
CHAPTEK Y. 
 
 John spent nearly tlie whole of this summer 
 vacation at "Worth Maltravers. He had been 
 anxious to pay a visit to Royston ; but the contin- 
 ued and serious Ulness of Mrs. Temple's sister had 
 called her and Constance to Scotland, where they 
 remained until the death of their relative allowed 
 them to return to Derbyshire in the late autumn. 
 John and I had been brought up together from 
 childhood. When he was at Eton we had al- 
 ways spent the holidays at Worth, and after my 
 dear mother's death, when we were left quite 
 alone, the bonds of our love were naturally drawn 
 still closer. Even after my brother went to Ox- 
 ford, at a time when most young men are anxious 
 to enjoy a new-found liberty, and to travel or to 
 visit friends in their vacation, John's ardent affec- 
 tion for me and for Worth Maltravers kept him 
 at home ; and he was pleased on most occasions to 
 make me the partner of his thoughts and of his 
 
 40 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 41 
 
 pleasures. This long vacation of 1842 was, I 
 think, the happiest of our lives. In my case I 
 know it was so, and I think it was happy also for 
 him ; for none could guess that the small cloud 
 seen in the distance like a man's hand was after- 
 wards to rise and darken all his later days. It 
 was a summer of brilliant and continued sunshine ; 
 many of the old people said that they could never 
 recollect so fine a season, and both fruit and crops 
 were alike abundant. John hired a small cutter- 
 yacht, the PalesUne, which he kept in our little 
 harbour of Encombe, and in which he and I made 
 many excursions, visiting "Weymouth, Lyme Ee- 
 gis, and other places of interest on the south 
 coast. 
 
 In this summer my brother confided to me two 
 secrets, — ^his love for Constance Temple, which in- 
 deed was after all no secret, and the history of the 
 apparition which he had seen. This last filled me 
 with inexpressible dread and distress. It seemed 
 cruel and unnatural that any influence so dark 
 and mysterious should thus intrude on our bright 
 life, and from the first I had an impression which 
 I could not entirely shake ofE, that any such ap- 
 pearance or converse of a disembodied spirit must 
 portend misfortune, if not worse, to him who saw 
 
42 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 or heard it. It never occurred to me to comlDat 
 or to doubt the reality of the vision ; he believed 
 that he had seen it, and his conviction was enough 
 to convince me. He had meant, he said, to tell 
 no one, and had given a promise to Mr, GaskeU to 
 that effect ; but I think that he could not bear to 
 keep such a matter in his own breast, and within the 
 first week of his return he made me his confidant. 
 I remember, my dear Edward, the look everything 
 wore on that sad night when he first told me 
 what afterwards proved so terrible a secret. We 
 had dined quite alone, and he had been moody 
 and depressed all the evening. It was a chilly 
 night, with some fret blowing up from the sea. The 
 moon showed that blunted and deformed appear- 
 ance which she assumes a day or two past the full, 
 and the moisture in the air encircled her with a 
 stormy-looking halo. We had stepped out of the 
 dining-room windows on to the little terrace look- 
 ing down towards Smedmore and Encombe. The 
 glaucous shrubs that grow in between the balus- 
 ters were wet and dripping with the salt breath of 
 the sea, and we could hear the waves coming into 
 the cove from the west. After standing a minute 
 I felt chill, and proposed that we should go back 
 to the billiard-room, where a fire was lit on all 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 43 
 
 except tte warmest nights. " No," John said, " I 
 want to tell you something, Sophy," and then we 
 walked on to the old boat summer-house. There 
 he told me everything. I cannot describe to you 
 my feehngs of anguish and horror when he told 
 me of the appearance of the man. The iaterest 
 of the tale was so absorbing to me that I took no 
 note of time, nor of the cold night air, and it was 
 only when it was all finished that I felt how 
 deadly chill it had become. " Let us go in, John," 
 I said ; " I am cold and feel benumbed." 
 
 But youth is hopeful and strong, and in 
 another week the impression had faded from 
 our minds, and we were enjoying the full glory 
 of midsummer weather, which I think only 
 those know who have watched the blue sea 
 come rippling in at the foot of the white chalk 
 chfEs of Dorset. 
 
 I had felt a reluctance even so much as to 
 hear the air of the GagUarda, and though he had 
 spoken to me of the subject on more than one 
 occasion, my brother had never offered to play it 
 to me. I knew that he had the copy of Grazi- 
 ani's suites with him at "Worth Maltravers, be- 
 cause he had told me that he had brought it from 
 Oxford; but ,1 had never seen the book, and 
 
44 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 fancied that he kept it intentionally locked up. 
 He did not, however, neglect the violin, and dur- 
 ing the summer momings, a8 I sat reading or 
 working on the terrace, I often heard him play- 
 ing to himself in the library. Though he had 
 never even given me any description of the mel- 
 ody of the Gagliarda, yet I felt certain that he 
 not unfrequently played it. I cannot say how 
 it was ; but from the moment that I heard him 
 one morning in the library performing an air set 
 in a curiously low key, it forced itseK upon my 
 attention, and I knew, as it were by instinct, that 
 it must be the Oagliarda of the " Areopagita." 
 He was using a sordino and playing it very soft- 
 ly ; but I was not mistaken. One wet afternoon 
 in October, only a week before the time of his 
 leaving us to return to Oxford for the autumn 
 term, he walked into the drawing-room where I 
 was sitting, and proposed that we should play 
 some music together. To this I readily agreed. 
 Though but a mediocre performer, I have always 
 taken much pleasure in the use of the pianoforte, 
 and esteemed it an honour whenever he asked 
 me to play with him, since my powers as a musi- 
 cian were so very much inferior to his. After 
 we had played several pieces, he took up an ob- 
 
THK LOST STRADIVARIPS. 45 
 
 long music-book bound in white vellum, placed 
 it upon the desk of the pianoforte, and proposed 
 that we should play a suite by Graziani, I knew 
 that he meant the " Areopagita," and begged him 
 at once not to ask me to play it. He rallied me 
 lightly on my fears, and said it would much 
 please him to play it, as he had not heard the 
 pianoforte part since he had left Oxford three 
 months ago. I saw that he was eager to perform 
 it, and being loath to disoblige so kind a brother 
 during the last week of his stay at home, I at 
 length overcame my scruples and set out to 
 play it. But I was so alarmed at the possibility of 
 any evil consequences ensuing, that when we 
 commenced the GagUa/rda I could scarcely find 
 my notes. Nothing in any way unusual, how- 
 ever, occurred ; and being reassured by this, and 
 feeling an irresistible charm in the music, I 
 finished the suite with more appearance of ease. 
 My brother, however, was, I fear, not satisfied 
 with my performance, and compared it, very pos- 
 sibly, with that of Mr. Gaskell, to which it was 
 necessarily much inferior, both through weakness 
 of execution and from my insufficient knowledge 
 of the principles of the hasso contmiM. We 
 stopped playing, and John stood looking out of 
 
46 THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 
 
 the window across the sea, where the sky was 
 clearing low down under the clouds. The sun 
 went down behind Portland in a fiery glow which 
 cheered us after a long day's rain. I had taken 
 the copy of Graziani's suites off the desk, and 
 was holding it on my lap turning over the old 
 foxed and yellow pages. As I closed it a streak 
 of evening sunlight fell across the room and 
 lighted up a coat of arms stamped in gilt on the 
 cover. It was much faded and would ordinarily 
 have been hard to make out; but the ray of 
 strong light illumined it, and in an instant I 
 recognised the same shield which Mr. Gaskell 
 had pictured to himself as hanging on the mu- 
 cicians' gallery of his phantasmal dancing-room. 
 My brother had often recounted to me this effort 
 of his friend's imagination, and here I saw before 
 me the same florid foreign blazon, a cherub's head 
 blowing on three lilies on a gold field. This dis- 
 covery was not only of interest, but afforded me 
 much actual relief; for it accounted rationally 
 for at least one item of the strange story. Mr, 
 Gaskell had no doubt noticed at some time this 
 shield stamped on the outside of the book, and 
 bearing the impression of it unconsciously in his 
 mind, had reproduced it in his imagined revels. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 47 
 
 I said as much to my brother, and he was greatly 
 interested, and after examining the shield agreed 
 that this was certainly a probable solution of that 
 part of the mystery. On the 12th of October 
 John returned to Oxford. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mt brother told me afterwards that more 
 than once during the summer vacation he had 
 seriously considered "with himseK the propriety of 
 changing his rooms at Magdalen Hall, He had 
 thought that it might thus be possible for him to 
 get rid at once of the memory of the apparition, 
 and of the fear of any reappearance of it. He 
 could either have moved into another set of 
 rooms in the Hall itself, or else gone into lodg- 
 ings in the town — a usual proceeding, I am told, 
 for gentlemen near the end of their course at 
 Oxford. "Would to God that he had indeed done 
 so ! but with the supineness which has, I fear, my 
 dear Edward, been too frequently a characteristic 
 of our family, he shrank from the trouble such a 
 course would involve, and the opening of the 
 autumn term found him still in his old rooms. 
 You will forgive me for entering here on a very 
 brief description of your father's sitting-room. 
 
 48 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAEICJS. 49 
 
 It is, I thiak, necessary for the proper under- 
 standing of the incidents that follow. It was not 
 a large room, though probably the finest in the 
 small buildings of Magdalen Hall, and panelled 
 from floor to ceiling with oak which successive 
 generations had obscured by numerous coats of 
 paint. On one side were two windows having an 
 aspect on to New College Lane, and fitted with 
 deep cushioned seats in the recesses. Outside 
 these windows there were boxes of flowers, the 
 brightness of which formed in the summer term 
 a pretty contrast to the grey and crumbling stone, 
 and afforded pleasure at once to the inmate and 
 to passers-by. Along nearly the whole length of 
 the wall opposite to the windows, some tenant in 
 years long past had had mahogany book-shelves 
 placed, reaching to a height of perhaps five feet 
 from the floor. They were handsomely made in 
 the style of the eighteenth century and pleased 
 my brother's taste. He had always exhibited apar- 
 tiality for books, and the fine library at Worth 
 Maltravers had no doubt contributed to foster his 
 tastes in that direction. At the time of which I 
 write he had formed a small collection for him- 
 self at Oxford, paying particular attention to the 
 bindings, and acquiring many excellent specimens 
 
50 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 of that art, principally, I think, from Messrs. 
 Payne & Toss, the celebrated London booksellers. 
 Towards the end of the antiunn term, having 
 occasion one cold day to take down a volume of 
 Plato from its shelf, he found to his surprise that 
 the book was quite warm. A closer examination 
 easily explaiaed to him the reason — namely, that 
 the flue of a chimney, passing behind one end of 
 the bookcase, sensibly heated not only the wall 
 itself, but also the books ia the shelves. Al- 
 though he had been ia his rooms now near three 
 years, he had never before observed this fact; 
 partly, no doubt, because the books in these 
 shelves were seldom handled, being more for 
 show as specimens of bindings than for practical 
 use. He was somewhat annoyed at this discov- 
 ery, fearing lest such a heat, which in moderation 
 is beneficial to books, might through its excess 
 warp the leather or otherwise injure the bindings. 
 Mr. Gaskell was sitting with him at the time of 
 the discovery, and indeed it was for his use that 
 my brother had taken down the volume of Plato. 
 He strongly advised that the bookcase should be 
 moved, and suggested that it would be better to 
 place it across that end of the room where the 
 pianoforte then stood. They examined it and 
 
THE LOST STEADIVABIUS. 61 
 
 found that it would easily admit of removal, be- 
 ing, ia fact, only tlie frame of a bookcase, and 
 sbowiiig at the back the painted panelling of the 
 wall. Mr. Gaskell noted it as curious that all the 
 shelves were fixed and immovable except one at 
 the end, which had been fitted with the ordinary 
 arrangement allowing its position to be altered at 
 wiQ. My brother thought that the change would 
 improve the appearance of his rooms, besides 
 being advantageous for the books, and gave in- 
 structions to the college upholsterer to have the 
 necessary work carried out at once. 
 
 The two young men had resumed their mu- 
 sical studies, and had often played the " Areopa- 
 gita" and other music of Graziani since their 
 return to Oxford in the autumn. They remarked, 
 however, that the chair no longer creaked during 
 the GagUarda — ^and, in fact, that no unusual oc- 
 currence whatever attended its performance. At 
 times they were almost tempted to doubt the 
 accuracy of their own remembrances, and to con- 
 sider as entirely mythical the mystery which had 
 so much disturbed them in the summer term. 
 My brother had also pointed out to Mr. Qaskell 
 my discovery that the coat of arms on the outside 
 of the music-book was identical with that which 
 
52 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 his fancy portrayed on the musicians' gallery. 
 He readily admitted that he must at some time 
 have noticed and afterwards forgotten the blazon 
 on the book, and that an unconscious reminiscence 
 of it had no doubt inspired his imagination in this 
 instance. He rebuked my brother for having 
 agitated me unnecessarily by telling me at all of 
 so idle a tale ; and was pleased to write a few 
 lines to me at Worth Maltravers, felicitating me 
 on my shrewdness of perception, but speaking 
 banteringly of the whole matter. 
 
 On the evening of the 14:th of November my 
 brother and his friend were sitting talking in the 
 former's room. The position of the bookcase had 
 been changed on the morning of that day, and 
 Mr. Gaskell had come round to see how the books 
 looked when placed at the end instead of at the 
 side of the room. He had applauded the new 
 arrangement, and the young men sat long over 
 the fire, with a bottle of college port and a dish 
 of medlars which I had sent my brother from our 
 famous tree in the Upper Croft at Worth Mal- 
 travers. Later on they feU to music, and played 
 a variety of pieces, performing also the " Areopa- 
 gita " suite. Mr. Gaskell before he left compli- 
 mented John on the improvement which the 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 53 
 
 alteration in the place of the bookcase had made 
 in his room, saying, " Not only do the books in 
 their present place very much enhance the general 
 appearance of the room, but the change seems to 
 me to have affected also a marked acoustical im- 
 provement. The oak panelling now exposed on 
 the side of the room has given a resonant property 
 to the wall which is peculiarly responsive to the 
 tones of your violin. While you were playing 
 the Gagliarda to-night, I could almost have im- 
 agined that some one in an adjacent room was 
 playing the same air with a sordino, so distinct 
 was the echo." 
 
 Shortly after this he left. 
 
 My brother partly undressed himself in his 
 bedroom, which adjoined, and then returning to 
 his sitting-room, pulled the large wicker chair in 
 front of the fire, and sat there looking at the 
 glowing coals, and thinking perhaps of Miss Con- 
 stance Temple. The night promised to be very 
 cold, and the wind whistled down the chimney, 
 increasing the comfortable sensation of the clear 
 fire. He sat watching the ruddy reflection of the 
 firelight dancing on the panelled wall, when he 
 noticed that a picture placed where the end of 
 the bookcase formerly stood was not tmly hung. 
 
54 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 and needed adjustment. A picture tung askew 
 was particularly offensive to his eyes, and he got 
 up at once to alter it. He remembered as he 
 went up to it that at this precise spot four months 
 ago he had lost sight of the man's figure which he 
 saw rise from the wicker chair, and at the mem- 
 ory felt an involuntary shudder. This reminis- 
 cence probably iafluenced his fancy also in an- 
 other direction, for it seemed to him that very 
 faintly, as though played far ofE, and with the 
 sordino, he could hear the air of the Gagliarda. 
 He put one hand behind the picture to steady it, 
 and as he did so his finger struck a very slight 
 projection in the wall. He pulled the picture a 
 little to one side, and saw that what he had 
 touched was the back of a small hinge sunk in 
 the wall, and almost obliterated with many coats 
 of paint. His curiosity was excited, and he took 
 a candle from the table and examined the wall 
 carefully. Inspection soon showed him another 
 hinge a httle further up, and by degrees he per- 
 ceived that one of the panels had been made at 
 some time ia the past to open, and serve probably 
 as the door of a cupboard. At this point he as- 
 sured me that a feverish anxiety to reopen this 
 cupboard door took possession of him, and that 
 
TEE LOST STRADlVARIUa 65 
 
 the intense excitement filled his mind which we 
 experience on the eve of a discovery which we 
 fancy may produce important results. He loos- 
 ened the paint in the cracks with a penknife, 
 and attempted to press open the door ; but his in- 
 strument was not adequate to such a purpose, and 
 all his efforts remained ineffective. His excite- 
 ment had now reached an overmastering pitch ; 
 for he anticipated, though he knew not why, 
 some strange discovery to be made in this sealed 
 cupboard. He looked round the room for some 
 weapon with which to force the door, and at 
 length with his penknife cut away sufficient wood 
 at the joint to enable him to insert the end of the 
 poker in the hole. The clock in the New Col- 
 lege Tower struck one at the exact moment when 
 with a sharp effort he thus forced open the door. 
 It appeared never to have had a fastening, but 
 merely to have been stuck fast by the accumula- 
 tion of paint. As he bent it slowly back upon 
 the rusted hingeg his heart beat so fast that he 
 could scarcely catch his breath, though he was 
 conscious all the while of a ludicrous aspect of 
 his position, knowing that it was most probable 
 that the cavity within would be found empty. 
 The cupboard was small but very deep, and in 
 
56 THK LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 the obscure ligM seemed at first to contain noth- 
 ing except a small heap of dust and cobwebs. 
 His sense of disappointment was keen as he 
 thrust his hand into it, but changed again in a 
 moment to breathless interest on feeling some- 
 thing solid in what he had imagined to be only 
 an accumulation of mould and dirt. He snatched 
 up a candle, and holding this in one hand, with 
 the other pulled out an object from the cupboard 
 and put it on the table, covered as it was with the 
 curious drapery of black and clinging cobwebs 
 which I have seen adhering to bottles of old 
 wine. It lay there between the dish of medlars 
 and the decanter, veiled indeed with thick dust as 
 with a mantle, but revealing beneath it the shape 
 and contour of a violin. 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 John was excited at his discovery, and felt his 
 thoughts confused in a manner that I have often 
 experienced myself on the unexpected receipt of 
 news interesting me deeply, whether for pleasure 
 or pain. Yet at the same time he was half amused 
 at his own excitement, feeling that it was childish 
 to be moved over an event so simple as the find- 
 ing of a violin in an old cupboard. He soon col- 
 lected himself and took up the instrument, using 
 great care, as he feared lest age should have ren- 
 dered the wood brittle or rotten. With some 
 vigorous puffs of breath and a little dusting with 
 a handkerchref he removed the heavy outer coat- 
 ing of cobwebs, and began to see more clearly the 
 delicate curves of the body and of the scroll. A 
 few minutes' more gentle handling left the instru- 
 ment sufficiently clean to enable him to appreciate 
 its chief points. Its seclusion from the outer 
 world, which the heavy accumulation of dust 
 
58 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 proved to have been for many years, did not seem 
 to have damaged it in the least ; and the fact of a 
 chimney-flue passing through the wall at no great 
 distance had no doubt conduced to maintain the 
 air in the cupboard at an equable temperature. 
 So far as he was able to judge, the wood was as 
 sound as when it left the maker's hands ; but the 
 strings were of course broken, and curled up in 
 little tangled knots. The body was of a light-red 
 colour, with a varnish of peculiar lustre and soft- 
 ness. The neck seemed rather longer than ordi- 
 nary, and the scroll was remarkably bold and free. 
 The viohn which my brother was in the habit 
 of using was a fine Preaaenda, given to him on 
 his fifteenth birthday by Mr. Thoresby, his guar- 
 dian. It was of that maker's later and best period, 
 and a copy of the Stradivariits model. John took 
 this from its case and laid it side by side with his 
 new discovery, meaning to compare them for size 
 and form. He perceived at once that while the 
 model of both was identical, the superiority of the 
 older violin in every detail was so marked as to 
 convince him that it was undoubtedly an instru- 
 ment of exceptional value. The extreme beauty 
 of its varnish impressed him vividly, and though 
 he had never seen a genuine Stradivarius, he felt 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 59 
 
 a conviction gradually gaining on him that he 
 stood in the presence of a masterpiece of that 
 great maker. On looking into the interior he 
 found that surprisingly little dust had penetrated 
 into it, and by blowing through the sound-holes 
 he soon cleared it sufficiently to enable him to 
 discern a label. He put the candle close to him, 
 and held the violin up so that a little patch of 
 light fell through the sound-hole on to the label. 
 His heart leapt with a violent pulsation as he read 
 the characters, " Antonius Stradiua/rius Cremo- 
 nensis faciebat, 170^." Under ordinary circum- 
 stances it would naturally be concluded that such 
 a label was a forgery, but the conditions were en- 
 tirely altered in the case of a violin found in a 
 forgotten cupboard, with proof so evident of its 
 having, remained there for a very long period. 
 
 He was not at that time as familiar vsdth the 
 history of the fiddles of the great maker as he, 
 and indeed I also, afterwards became. Thus he 
 was unable to decide how far the exact year of its 
 manufacture would determine its value as com- 
 pared vdth other specimens of Stradivarius. But 
 although the Pressenda he had been used to play 
 on was always considered a very fine instrument 
 both ra make and varnish, his new discovery so 
 
60 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 far excelled it in both points as to assure him that 
 it must be one of the Cremonese master's greatest 
 productions. 
 
 He examined the violin minutely, scrutinising 
 each separate feature, and finding each in turn to 
 be of the utmost perfection, so far as his knowl- 
 edge of the instrument would enable him to judge. 
 He lit more candles that he might be able better 
 to see it, and holding it on his knees, sat still ad- 
 miring it until the dying fire and increasing cold 
 warned him that the night was now far advanced. 
 At last, carrying it to his bedroom, he locked it 
 carefully into a drawer and retired for the night. 
 
 He woke next morning with that pleasurable 
 consciousness of there being some reason for glad- 
 ness, which we feel on awaking in seasons of 
 happiness, even before our reason, locating it, 
 reminds us what the actual source of our joy may 
 be. He was at first afraid lest his excitement, 
 working on the imagination, should have led him 
 on the previous night to overestimate the fineness 
 of the instrument, and he took it from the drawer 
 half expecting to be disappointed with its day- 
 light appearance. But a glance sufficed to con- 
 vince him of the unfounded nature of his suspi- 
 cions. The various beauties which he had before 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 61 
 
 observed were enhanced a hundred-fold by the 
 light of day, and he realised more fully than ever 
 that the instrument was one of altogether excep- 
 tional value. 
 
 And now, my dear Edward, I shall ask your 
 forgiveness if in the history I have to relate 
 any observation of mine should seem to reflect on 
 the character of your late father. Sir John Mal- 
 travers. And I beg you to consider that your 
 father was also my dear and only brother, and 
 that it is inexpressibly painful to me to recount 
 any actions of his which may not seem becoming 
 to a noble gentlemen, as he surely was. I only 
 now proceed because, when very near his end, he 
 most strictly enjoined me to narrate these circum- 
 stances to you fully when you should come of 
 age. "We must humbly remember that to God 
 alone belongs judgment, and that it is not' for 
 poor mortals to decide what is right or wrong in 
 certain instances for their fellows, but that each 
 should strive most earnestly to do his own 
 duty. 
 
 Tour father entirely concealed from me the 
 discovery he had made. It was not till long 
 afterwards that I had it narrated to me, and I 
 only obtained a knowledge of this and many other 
 
62 THK LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 of the facts which I am now telling you at a date 
 much subsequent to their actual occurrence. 
 
 He explained to his servant that he had dis- 
 covered and opened an old cupboard in the 
 panelling, without mentioning the fact of his 
 having found anything in it, but merely asking 
 him to give instructions for the paint to be 
 mended and the cupboard put into a usable state. 
 Before he had finished a very late breakfast Mr. 
 Gaskell was with him, and it has been a source of 
 lasting regret to me that my brother concealed 
 also from his most intimate and trusted friend the 
 discovery of the previous night. He did, indeed, 
 tell him that he had found and opened an old 
 cupboard in the panelling, but made no mention 
 of there having been anything within. I cannot 
 say what prompted him to this action; for the 
 two young men had for long been on such inti- 
 mate terms that the one shared almost as a matter 
 of course with the other any pleasure or pain 
 which might faU to his lot. Mr. Gaskell looked 
 at the cupboard with some interest, saying after- 
 wards, " I know now, Johnnie, why the one shelf 
 of the bookcase which stood there was made 
 movable when aU the others were fixed. Some 
 former occupant used the cupboard, no doubt, as 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 63 
 
 a secret receptacle for his treasures, and masked 
 it with the book-shelves in front. Who knows 
 what he kept in here, or who he was ! I should 
 not be surprised if he were that very man who 
 used to come here so often to hear us play the 
 ' Areopagita,' and whom you saw that night last 
 June. He had the one shelf made, you see, to 
 move so as to give him access to this cavity on 
 occasion : then when he left Oxford, or perhaps 
 died, the mystery was forgotten, and with a few 
 times of painting the cracks closed up." 
 
 Mr. Graskell shortly afterwards took his leave 
 as he had a lecture to attend, and my brother was 
 left alone to the contemplation of his new-found 
 treasure. After some consideration he determined 
 that he would take the instrument to London, and 
 obtain the opinion of an expert as to its authen- 
 ticity and value. He was weU acquainted with 
 the late Mr. George Smart, the celebrated Lon- 
 don dealer, from whom his guardian, Mr. Thores- 
 by, had purchased the Pressenda violin which 
 John commonly used. Besides being a dealer in 
 valuable instruments, Mr. Smart was a famous 
 collector of Stradivarius fiddles, esteemed one of 
 the first authorities in Europe in that domain of 
 art, and author of a valuable work of reference in 
 
64: THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 connection with it. It was to him, therefore, that 
 my brother decided to submit the violin, and he 
 wrote a letter to Mr. Smart saying that he should 
 give himself the pleasure of waiting on him the 
 next day on a matter of business. He then called 
 on his tutor, and with some excuse obtained leave 
 to journey to London the next morning. He 
 spent the rest of the day in very carefully clean- 
 ing the violin, and noon of the next saw him with 
 it, securely packed, in Mr. Smart's establishment 
 in Bond Street. 
 
 Mr. Smart received Sir John Maltravers with 
 deference, demanded in what way he could serve 
 him; and on hearing that his opinion was re- 
 quired on the authenticity of ' a viohn, smiled 
 somewhat dubiously and led the way into a back 
 parlour. 
 
 " My dear Sir John," he said, " I hope you 
 have not been led into buying any instrument by 
 a faith in its antiquity. So many good copies of 
 instruments by famous makers and bearing their 
 labels are now afloat, that the chances of obtain- 
 ing a genuine fiddle from an unrecognised source 
 are quite remote ; of hundreds of vioHns submit- 
 ted to me for opinion, I find that scarce one in 
 fifty is actually that which it represents itself to 
 
THE LOST STKADIVARIUS. 65 
 
 be. In fact the only safe rule," he added as a 
 professional commentary, " is never to buy a violin 
 unless you obtain it from a dealer -with a reputa- 
 tion to lose, and are prepared to pay a reasonable 
 price for it." 
 
 My brother had meanwhile impacked the 
 violin and laid it on the table. As he took from 
 it the last leaf of silver paper he saw Mr. Smart's 
 smUe of condescension fade, and assuming a look 
 of interest and excitement, he stepped forward, 
 took the violin in his hands, and scrutinised it 
 minutely. He turned it over in silence for some 
 moments, looking narrowly at each feature, and 
 even applying the test of a magnifying-glass. At 
 last he said with an altered tone, "Sir John, I 
 have had in my hands nearly all the finest pro- 
 ductions of Stradivarius, and thought myself ac- 
 quainted with every instrument of note that ever 
 left his workshop ; but I confess myself mistaken, 
 and apologise to you for the doubt which I ex- 
 pressed as to the instrument you had brought me. 
 This violin is of the great master's golden period, 
 is incontestably genuine, and finer in some re- 
 spects than any Stradivarius that I have ever seen, 
 not even excepting the famous Dolphm itself. 
 You need be under no apprehension as to- its 
 
66 THE LOST STEADIVAEIUS. 
 
 autlienticity : no connoisseur could hold it in his 
 hand for a second and entertain a doubt on the 
 point." 
 
 My brother was greatly pleased at so favour- 
 able a verdict, and Mr. Smart continued — 
 
 " The varnish is of that rich red which Stradi- 
 varius used ia his best period after he had aban- 
 doned the yellow tint copied by him at first from 
 his master Amati. I have never seen a varnish 
 thicker ,or more lustrous, and it shows on the 
 back that pecuhar shading to imitate wear which 
 we term 'breaking up.' The purfling also is of 
 an unsurpassable excellence. Its execution is so 
 fine that I should recommend you to use a magni- 
 fying-glass for its examination." 
 
 So he ran on, finding from moment to moment 
 some new beauties to admire. 
 
 My brother was at first anxious lest Mr. Smart 
 should ask him whence so extraordinary an instru- 
 ment came, but he saw that the expert had already 
 jumped to a conclusion in the matter. He knew 
 that John had recently come of age, and evidently 
 supposed that he had found the violin among the 
 heirlooms of "Worth Maltravers. John allowed 
 Mr. Smart to continue in this misconception, 
 merely saying that he had discovered the instru- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 67 
 
 ment in an old cupboard, wliere lie had reason to 
 think it had remained hidden for many years. 
 
 " Are there no records attached to so splendid 
 an instrument ? " asked Mr. Smart. " I suppose it 
 has been with your family a number of years. Do 
 you not know how it came into their possession?" 
 
 I believe this was the first occasion on which 
 it had occurred to John to consider what right he 
 had to the possession of the instrument. He had 
 been so excited by its discovery that the question 
 of ownership had never hitherto crossed his mind. 
 The imwelcome suggestion that it was not his 
 after all, that the College might rightfully prefer a 
 claim to it, presented itself to him for a moment ; 
 but he set it instantly aside, quieting his conscience 
 with the reflection that this at least was not the 
 moment to make such a disclosure. 
 
 He fenced with Mr. Smart's inquiry as best he 
 could, saying that he was ignorant of the history 
 of the instrument, but not contradicting the as- 
 sumption that it had been a long time in his 
 family's possession. 
 
 " It is indeed singular," Mr. Smart continued, 
 "that so magnificent an instrument should have 
 lain buried so long; that even those best ac- 
 quainted with such matters should be in perfect 
 
68 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 ignorance of its existence. I shall have to revise 
 the list of famous instruments in the next edition 
 of my ' History of the Yiolin,' and to write," he 
 added simling, "a special paragraph on the 
 * Worth Maltravers Stradivarius.' " 
 
 After much more, which I need not narrate, 
 Mr. Smart suggested that the violin should be left 
 with him that he might examine it more at leisure, 
 and that my brother should return in a week's 
 time, when he would have the instrument opened, 
 an operation which would be in any case advisa- 
 ble. " The interior," he added, " appears to be in 
 a strictly original state, and this I shall be able to 
 ascertain when opened. The label is perfect, but 
 if I am not mistaken I can see something higher 
 up on the back which appears like a second label. 
 This excites my interest, as I know of no instance 
 of an instrument bearing two labels." 
 
 To this proposal my brother readily assented, 
 being anxious to enjoy alone the pleasure of so 
 gratifying a discovery as that of the undoubted 
 authenticity of the instrument. 
 
 As he thought over the matter more at leisure, 
 he grew anxious as to what might be the import 
 of the second label in the violin of which Mr. 
 Smart had spoken, I blush to say that he feared 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 69 
 
 lest it might bear some owner's name or other in- 
 scription proving that the instrument had not 
 been so long in the Maltravers family as he had 
 allowed Mr. Smart to suppose. So within so 
 * short a time it was possible that Sir John Mal- 
 travers of "Worth should dread being detected, if 
 not in an absolute falsehood, at least in having by 
 his sUenee assented to one. 
 
 During the ensuing week John remained in 
 an excited and anxious condition. He did little 
 work, and neglected his friends, having his 
 thoughts continually occupied with the strange 
 discovery he had made. I know also that his 
 sense of honour troubled him, and that he was 
 not satisfied with the course he wa8 pursuing. 
 The evening of his return from London he went 
 to Mr. Gaskell's rooms at If ew CoUege, and spent 
 an hour conversing with him on indifEerent sub- 
 jects. In the course of their talk he proposed to 
 his friend as a moral problem the question of the 
 course of action to be taken were one to find 
 some article of value concealed in his room. Mr. 
 Gaskell answered unhesitatingly that he should 
 feel bound to disclose it to the authorities. He 
 saw that my brother was ill at ease, and with a 
 clearness of judgment which he always exhibited, 
 
YO THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 guessed that he had actually made some discovery 
 of this sort in the old cupboard in his rooms. He 
 could not divine, of course, the exact nature of 
 the object found, and thought it might probably 
 relate to a hoard of gold ; but insisted with much 
 urgency on the obligation to at once disclose any- 
 thing of this kind. My brother, however, misled, 
 I fear, by that feehng of inalienable right which 
 the treasure-hunter experiences over the treasure, 
 paid no more attention to the advice of his friend 
 than to the promptings of his own conscience, and 
 went his way. 
 
 From that day, my dear Edward, he began to 
 exhibit a spirit of secretiveness and reserve en- 
 tirely ahen to his own open and honourable dis- 
 position, and also saw less of Mr. GaakeU. His 
 friend tried, indeed, to win his confidence and af- 
 fection in every way in his power ; but in spite 
 of this the rift between them widened insensibly, 
 and my brother lost the fellowship and counsel of 
 a true friend at a time when he could ill afford to 
 be vidthout them. 
 
 He returned to London the ensuing week, and 
 met Mr. George Smart by appointment in Bond 
 Street. If the expert had been enthusiastic on a 
 former occasion, he was ten times more so on this. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. Yl 
 
 He spoke in terms almost of rapture about the 
 violin. He had compared it with two magnificent 
 instruments in the collection of the late Mr. James 
 Loding, then the finest in Europe ; and it was 
 admittedly superior to either, both ia the delicate 
 markings of its wood and singularly fine varnish. 
 " Of its tone," he said, " we cannot, of course, 
 yet pronounce with certainty, but I am very sure 
 that its voice will not belie its splendid exterior. 
 It has been carefully opened, and is iu a strangely 
 perfect condition. Several persons eminently 
 qualified to judge unite with me in considering 
 that it has been exceedingly little played upon, 
 and admit that never has so intact an interior 
 been seen. The scroll is exceptionally bold and 
 original. Although undoubtedly from the hand 
 of the great master, this is of a pattern entirely 
 different and distinct from any that have ever 
 come under my observation." 
 
 He then pointed out to my brother that the 
 side lines of the scroll were unusually deeply cut, 
 and that the front of it projected far more than 
 is common with such instruments. 
 
 " The most remarkable feature," he concluded, 
 " is that the instrument bears a double label. Be- 
 sides the label which you have already seen bear- 
 
72 THE LOST STRADIVARIUa 
 
 ing ^AntomuB Stradma/rhia Cremoneneis facie- 
 hat,^ with the date of his most splendid period, 
 1Y04, so clearly that the ink seems scarcely dry, 
 there is another smaller one higher up on the 
 back which I wiU show you." 
 
 He took the violin apart and showed him a 
 small label with characters written in faded ink. 
 " That is the writing of Antonio Stradivarius 
 himseK, and is easily recognisable, though it is 
 much firmer than a specimen which I once saw, 
 written in extreme old age, and giving his name 
 and the date 1736. He was then ninety-two, and 
 died in the following year. But this, as you will 
 see, does not give his name, but merely the two 
 words ^Porphyrms phUoaophua.^ What this may 
 refer to I cannot say : it is beyond my experience. 
 My friend Mr. Calvert has suggested that Strad- 
 ivarius may have dedicated this violin to the 
 pagan philosopher, or named it after him; but 
 this seems improbable. I have, indeed, heard of 
 two famous violras being called 'Peter' and 
 * Paul,' but the instances of such naming are very 
 rare; and I believe it to be altogether without 
 precedent to find a name attached thus on a label. 
 
 " In any case, I must leave this matter to your 
 ingenuity to decipher, Neither the sound-post 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. Y3 
 
 nor the bass-bar bave ever been moved, and you 
 see bere a Stradivarius violin wearing exactly the 
 same appearance as it once wore in tbe great 
 master's workshop, and in exactly the same con- 
 dition ; yet I think the belly is sufficiently strong 
 to stand modern stringing. I should advise you 
 to leave the instrument with me for some little 
 while, that I may give it due care and attention 
 and ensure its being properly strung." 
 
 My brother thanked him and left the violin 
 with him, saying that he would instruct him later 
 by letter to what address he wished it sent. 
 
CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 "Within a few days after this the autumn term 
 came to an end, and in the second week of De- 
 cember John returned to Worth Maltravers for 
 the Christmas vacation. His advent was always 
 a very great pleasure to me, and on this occasion 
 I had looked forward to his company with antici- 
 pation keener than usual, as I had been disap- 
 pointed of the visit of a friend and had spent the 
 last month alone. After the joy of our first 
 meeting had. somewhat sobered, it was not long 
 before I remarked a change in his manner, which 
 puzzled me. It was not that he was less kind to 
 me, for I tliink he was even more tenderly for- 
 bearing and gentle than I had ever known him, 
 but I had an uneasy feeling that some shadow 
 had crept in between us. It was the small cloud 
 rising in the distance that afterwards darkened his 
 horizon and mine. I missed the old candour 
 and open-hearted frankness that he had always 
 
 74 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. Y5 
 
 shown ; and there seemed to be always something 
 in the background which he was trying to keep 
 from me. It was obvious that his thoughts were 
 constantly elsewhere, so much so that on more 
 than one occasion he returned vague and inco- 
 herent answers to my questions. At times I was 
 content to believe that he was in love, and that 
 his thoughts were with Miss Constance Temple ; 
 but even so, I could not persuade myseK that his 
 altered manner was to be thus entirely accounted 
 for. At other times a dazed air, entirely foreign 
 to his bright disposition, which I observed par- 
 ticularly in the morning, raised in my mind the 
 terrible suspicion that he was ia the habit of 
 taking some secret narcotic or other deleterious 
 drug. 
 
 "We had never spent a Christmas away from 
 "Worth Maltravers, and it had always been a sea- 
 son of quiet joy for both of us. But under these 
 altered circumstances it was a great relief and 
 cause of thankfulness to me to receive a letter 
 from Mrs. Temple inviting us both to spend 
 Christmas and ISTew Year at Eoyston. This in- 
 vitation had upon my brother precisely the effect 
 that I had hoped for. It roused him from his 
 moody condition, and he professed much pleasure 
 
76 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 in accepting it, especially as lie had never hitherto 
 been in Derbyshire. 
 
 There was a small but very agreeable party at 
 Royston, and we passed a most enjoyable fort- 
 night. My brother seemed thoroughly to have 
 shaken off his indisposition ; and I saw my fond- 
 est hopes realised in the warm attachment which 
 was evidently springing up between him and Miss 
 Constance Temple, 
 
 Our visit drew near its close, and it was within 
 a week of John's return to Oxford. Mrs. Temple 
 celebrated the termina,tion of the Christmas fes- 
 tivities by giving a ball on Twelfth-night, at 
 which a large party were present, including most 
 of the county families. Koyston was admirably 
 adapted for such entertainments, from the num- 
 ber and great size of its reception rooms. Though 
 Elizabethan in date and external appearance, suc- 
 ceeding generations had much modified and en- 
 larged the house ; and an ancestor in the middle 
 of the last century had built at the back an 
 enormous hall after the classic model, and covered 
 it with a dome or cupola. In this room the dan- 
 cing went forward. Supper was served in the 
 older hall ia the front, and it was while this was 
 in progress that a thunderstorm began. The 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. YY 
 
 rarity of such a plieiiomenon in the depth of 
 winter formed the subject of general remark; 
 but though the lightning was extremely brilliant, 
 being seen distinctly through the curtained win- 
 dows, the storm appeared to be at some distance, 
 and, except for one peal, the thunder was not 
 loud. After supper dancing was resumed, and I 
 was taking part in a polka (called, I remember, 
 the " King Pippim, "), when my partner pointed 
 out that one of the footmen wished to speak 
 with me. I begged him to lead me to one side, 
 and the servant then informed me that my 
 brother was ill. Sir John, he said, had been 
 seized with a fainting fit, but had been got to 
 bed, and was being attended by Dr. Empson, 
 a physician who chanced to be present among 
 the visitors. 
 
 I at once left the hall and hurried to my 
 brother's room. On the way I met Mrs. Tem- 
 ple and Constance, the latter much agitated and 
 in tears. Mrs. Temple assured me that Dr. Emp- 
 son reported favourably of my brother's condi- 
 tion, attributing his faintness to over-exertion in 
 the dancing-room. The medical man had got 
 him to bed with the assistance of Sir John's valet, 
 had given him a quieting draught, and ordered 
 
78 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 tliat he should not be disturbed for the present. 
 It was better that I should not enter the room ; 
 she begged that I would kindly comfort and re- 
 assure Constance, who was much upset, whUe she 
 herself returned to her guests. 
 
 I led Constance to my bedroom, where there 
 was a bright fire burning, and calmed her as best 
 I could. Her interest in my brother was evi- 
 dently very real and unaffected, and while not ad- 
 mitting her partiality for him in words, she made 
 no effort to conceal her sentiments from me. I 
 kissed her tenderly, and bade her narrate the cir- 
 cumstances of John's attack. 
 
 It seemed that after supper they had gone 
 upstairs into the music-room, and he had him- 
 seK proposed that they should walk thence into 
 the picture-gallery, where they would better be 
 able to see the lightning, which was then par- 
 ticularly vivid. The picture-gallery at Koyston 
 is a very long, narrow, and rather low room, run- 
 ning the whole length of the south wing, and ter- 
 Eoinating in a large Tudor oriel or flat bay win- 
 dow looking east. In this oriel they had sat for 
 some minutes watching the flashes, and the win- 
 try landscape revealed for an instant and then 
 plunged into outer blackness. The gallery itself 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 79 
 
 was not illuminated, and the effect of the light- 
 ning was very fine. 
 
 There had been an umisually bright flash ac- 
 companied by that single reverberating peal of 
 thunder which I had previously noticed. Con- 
 stance had spoken to my brother, but he had not 
 replied, and in a moment she saw that he had 
 swooned. She summoned aid without delay, but 
 it was some short time before consciousness had 
 been restored to him. 
 
 She had concluded this narrative, and sat 
 holding my hand in hers. "We were speculating 
 on the cause of my brother's iUness, thinking it 
 might be dne to over-exertion, or to sitting in a 
 chilly atmosphere as the picture-gallery was not 
 warmed, when Mrs. Temple knocked at the door 
 and said that John was now more composed and 
 desired earnestly to see me. 
 
 On entering my brother's bedroom I found 
 him sitting up in bed wearing a dressing-gown. 
 Pamham, his valet, who was arranging the fire, 
 left the room as I came in. A chair stood at 
 the head of the bed and I sat down- by him. 
 He took my hand in his and without a word 
 burst into tears. " Sophy," he said, " I am so 
 unhappy, and I have sent for you to tell you 
 
80 THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 
 
 of my trouble, because I know you will be 
 forbearing to me. An hour ago all seemed so 
 bright. I was sitting in the picture-gallery with 
 Constance, whom I love dearly. We had been 
 watching the lightning, till the thunder had 
 grown gradually fainter and the storm seemed 
 past. I was just about to ask her to become my 
 wife when a brighter flash than all the rest burst 
 on us, and I saw — I saw, Sophy, standing in the 
 gallery as close to me as you are now — I saw — 
 that man I told you about at Oxford ; and then 
 this faintness came on me." 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" I said, not under- 
 standing what he spoke of, and thinking for a 
 moment he referred to some one else, " Did you 
 see Mr. Gaskell?" 
 
 "Ifo,' it was not he; but that dead man 
 whom I saw rising from my wicker chair the 
 night you went away from Oxford." 
 
 You will perhaps smile at my weakness, my 
 dear Edward, and indeed I had at that time no 
 justification for it ; but I assure you that I have 
 not yet forgotten, and never shall forget, the 
 impression of overwhelming horror which his 
 words produced upon me. It seemed as though 
 a fear which had hitherto stood vague and 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 81 
 
 shadowy in tlie background, began now to ad- 
 vance towards me, gathering more distinctness 
 as it approached. There was to me something 
 morbidly terrible about the apparition of this 
 man at such a momentous crisis in my brother's 
 life, and I at once recognised that unknown 
 form as being the shadow which was gradually 
 Bteahng between John and myseK. Though I 
 feigned incredulity as best I might, and employed 
 those arguments or platitudes which will always 
 be used on such occasions, urging that such a 
 phantom could only exist in a mind disordered 
 by physical weakness, my brother was not de- 
 ceived by my words, and perceived in a moment 
 that I did not even believe in them myself. 
 
 "Dearest Sophy," he said, with a much 
 cahner air, "let us put aside all dissimulation. 
 I know that what I have to-night seen, and that 
 what I saw last summer at Oxford, are not 
 phantoms of my brain; and I believe that you 
 too in your inmost soul are convinced of this 
 truth. Do not, therefore, endeavour to per- 
 suade me to the contrary. If I am not to be- 
 lieve the evidence of my senses, it were better 
 at once to admit my madness — and I know that 
 I am not mad. Let us rather consider what 
 
82 TBE LOST STRADIVARIUS. , 
 
 Buch an appearance can portend, and who the 
 man is who is thus presented. I cannot explain 
 to yon why this appearance inspires me with so 
 great a revulsion. I can only say that in its 
 presence I seem to be brought face to face with 
 some abysmal and repellent wickedness. It is 
 not that th^ form he wears is hideous. Last 
 night I saw hina exactly as I saw him at Oxford 
 — his face waxen pale, with a sneering mouth, 
 the same lofty forehead, and hair brushed straight 
 up so as almost to appear standing on end- He 
 wore the same long coat of green cloth and white 
 waistcoat. He seemed as if he had been stand- 
 ing hstening to what we said, though we had not 
 seen him till this bright flash of lightning made 
 him manifest. You will remember that when 
 I saw him at Oxford his eyes were always 
 cast down, so that I never knew their colour. 
 This time they were wide open ; indeed he was 
 looking full at us, and they were a light brown 
 and very brilliant." 
 
 I saw that my brother was exciting himself, 
 and was still weak from his recent swoon. I 
 knew, too, that any ordinary person of strong 
 mind would say at once that his brain wandered, 
 and yet I had a dreadful conviction all the while 
 
THE LOST STBADIVARIUS. 83 
 
 that what he told me was the truth. All I could 
 do was to beg him to calm himself, and to reflect 
 how vain such fancies must be. " We must trust, 
 deaf John," I said, " in God. I am sure that so 
 long as we are not living in conscious sin, we 
 shall never be given over to any evil power; 
 and I know my brother too well to think that 
 he is doing anything he knows to be evil. If 
 there be evil spirits, as we are taught there are, 
 we are taught also that there are good spirits 
 stronger than they who will protect us." 
 
 So I spoke with him a little while, until he 
 grew calmer; and then we talked of Constance 
 and of his love for her. He was deeply pleased 
 to hear from me how she had shown such obvious 
 signs of interest in his iUness, and sincere affec- 
 tion for him. In any case,, he made me promise 
 that I would never mention to her either what he 
 had seen this night or last summer at Oxford. 
 
 It had grown late, and the undulating beat of 
 the dances, which had been distinctly sensible in 
 his room — even though we could not hear any 
 definite noise — ^had now ceased. Mrs. Temple 
 knocked at the door as she went to bed and in- 
 quired how he did, giving him at the same time a 
 kind message of sympathy from Constance, which 
 
84 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 afforded him much gratification. After she had 
 left I prepared ako to retire ; but before going he 
 begged me to take a prayer-book lying on the 
 table, and to read aloud a collect which he pointed 
 out. It was that for the second Sunday in Lent, 
 and evidently well known to him. As I read it 
 the words seemed to bear a new and deeper sig- 
 nificance, and my heart repeated with fervour the 
 petition for protection from those " evil thoughts 
 which may assault and hurt the soul." I bade 
 him good night and went away very sorrowful. 
 Pamham, at John's request, had arranged to sleep 
 on a sofa in his master's bedroom. 
 
 I rose betimes the next morning and inquired 
 at my brother's room how he was. Pamham re- 
 ported that he had passed a restless night, and on 
 entering a httle later I found him in a high fever, 
 slightly delirious, and evidently not so well as 
 when I saw him last. Mrs. Temple, with much 
 kindness and forethought, had begged Dr. Emp- 
 son to remain at Royston for the night, and he 
 was soon in attendance on his patient. His ver- 
 dict was suflSciently grave: John was suffering 
 from a sharp access of brain-fever ; his condition 
 afforded cause for alarm ; he could not answer for 
 any turn his sickness might take. You will easily 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 85 
 
 imagine how mucli this intelligence affected me ; 
 and Mrs. Temple and Constance shared my anx- 
 iety and solicitude. Constance and I talked 
 much with Dne another that morning. Unaf- 
 fected anxiety had largely removed her reserve, 
 and she spoke openly of her feelings towards my 
 brother, not concealing her partiahty for him. I 
 on my part let her understand how welcome to 
 me would be any union between her and John, 
 and how sincerely I should value her as a 
 sister. 
 
 It was a wild winter's momiag, with some 
 snow falling and a high wind. The house was in 
 the disordered condition which is generally ob- 
 servable on the day following a ball or other 
 important festivity. I roamed restlessly about, 
 and at last found my way to the picture-gallery, 
 which had formed the scene of John's adventure 
 on the previous night. I had never been in this 
 part of the house before, as it contained no facili- 
 ties for heating, and so often remained shut in 
 the winter months. I found a hstless pleasure in 
 admiring the pictures which hned the walls, most 
 of them being portraits of former members of the 
 family, including the famous picture of Sir Ealph 
 Temple and his family, attributed to Holbein. I 
 
86 THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 
 
 had reached the end of the gallery and sat down 
 in the oiiel watching the snow-flakes falling 
 sparsely, and the evergreens below me waving 
 wildly in the sudden rashes of the wind. My 
 thoughts were busy with the events of the pre- 
 vious evening, — ^with John's illness, with the ball, 
 — ^and I found myself humming the air of a waltz 
 that had caught my fancy. At last I turned 
 away from the garden scene towards the gallery, 
 and as I did so my eyes fell on a remarkable pic- 
 ture just opposite to me. 
 
 It was a full-length portrait of a young man, 
 life-size, and I had barely time to appreciate even 
 its main features .when I knew that I had before 
 me the painted counterfeit of my brother's vision. 
 The discovery caused me a violent shock, and it 
 was with an iafinite repulsion that I recognised at 
 once the features and dress of the man whom 
 John had seen rising from the chair at Oxford, 
 So accurately had my brother's imagination de- 
 scribed him to me, that it seemed as if I had my- 
 self seen him often before. I noted each feature, 
 comparing them with my brother's description, 
 and finding them all famihar and corresponding 
 exactly. He was a man stiU in the prime of hfe. 
 His features were regular and beautifully mod- 
 
THE LOST. STRADIVARIUS. 87 
 
 elled; yet there was something in his face that 
 inspired me with a deep aversion, though his 
 brown eyes were open and brilliant. His month 
 was sharply cut, with a slight sneer on the hps, 
 and his coniplexion of that esctreme pallor which 
 had impressed itself deeply on my brother's im- 
 agination and my own. 
 
 After the first intense surprise had somewhat 
 subsided, I experienced a feeling of great relief, 
 for here was an extraordinary explanation of my 
 brother's vision of last night. It was certain that 
 the flash of hghtning had lit up this ill-starred 
 picture, and that to his predisposed fancy the 
 paiuted figure had stood forth as an actual em- 
 bodiment. That such an incident, however star- 
 tling, should have been able to fling John into a 
 brain-fever, showed that he must already have 
 been in a very low and reduced state, on which 
 excitement would act much more powerfully than 
 on a more robust condition of health. A similar 
 state of weakness, perturbed by the excitement of 
 his passion for Constance Temple, might surely 
 also have conjured up the vision which he thought 
 he saw the night of our leaving Oxford in the 
 summer. These thoughts, my dear Edward, gave 
 me great" relief; for it seemed a comparatively 
 
88 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 trivial matter that my brother should be ill, even 
 seriously ill, if only his physical indisposition could 
 explain away the supernatural dread which had 
 haunted us for the past six months. The cloude 
 were breaking up. It was evident that John had 
 been seriously unwell for some months ; his phys- 
 ical weakness had acted on his brain ; and I had 
 lent colour to his wandering fancies by being 
 alarmed by them, instead of rejecting them at 
 once or gently laughing them away as I should 
 have done. But these glad thoughts took me too 
 fai', and I was suddenly brought up by a reflection 
 that did not admit of so simple an explanation. 
 K the man's form my brother saw at Oxford were 
 merely an effort of disordered imagination, how 
 was it that he had been able to describe it exactly 
 like that represented in this picture? He had 
 never in his Hfe been to Eoyston, therefore he 
 could have no image of the picture impressed un- 
 consciously on or hidden away in his mind. Yet 
 his description had never varied. It had been so 
 close as to enable me to produce in my fancy a 
 vivid representation of the man he had seen ; and 
 here I had before me the features and dress exact- 
 ly reproduced. In the presence of a coincidence 
 BO extraordinary reason stood confounded, and I 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 89 
 
 knew not what to think. I walked nearer to the 
 picture and scrutinised it closely. 
 
 The dress corresponded iu every detail with 
 that which my brother had described the figure as 
 wearing at Oxford : a long cut-away coat of green 
 cloth with an edge of gold embroidery, a white 
 satin waistcoat with sprigs of embroidered roses, 
 gold lace at the pocket-holes, buff silk knee- 
 breeches, and low down on the finely modelled 
 neck a fuU cravat of rich lace. The figure was 
 posed neghgently against a fluted stone pedestal 
 or short column on which the left elbow leant, 
 and the right foot was crossed lightly over the 
 left. His shoes were of pohshed black with heavy 
 silver buckles, and the whole costume was very 
 old-fashioned, and such as I had only seen worn 
 at fancy balls. On the foot of the pedestal was 
 the painter's name, " Battoni pinxit, Romse, 1750." 
 On the top of the pedestal, and under his left 
 elbow, was a long roll apparently of music, 
 of which one end, unfolded, hung over the 
 edge. 
 
 For some minutes I stood still gazing at this 
 portrait which so much astonished me, but turned 
 on hearing footsteps ia the gallery, and saw Con- 
 Btance, who had come to seek for me. 
 
90 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 " Constance," I said, " wliose portrait is this ? 
 it is a very striking picture, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is a splendid painting, though of a 
 very bad man. His name was Adrian Temple, 
 and he once owned Royston. I do not know- 
 much about him, but I beheTe he was very wicked 
 and very clever. Mj mother would be able to 
 tell you more. It is a picture we none of us like, 
 although so finely painted : and perhaps because 
 he was always pointed out to me from childhood 
 as a bad man, I have myself an aversion to it. It 
 is singular that when the very bright flash of 
 lightning came last night while your brother John 
 and I were sitting here, it lit this picture with a 
 dazzling glare that made the figure stand out so 
 strangely as to seem almost alive. It was just 
 p,ft6r that I found that John had fainted." 
 
 The memory was not a pleasant one for either 
 of us and we changed the subject, "Come," I 
 said, "let us leave the gallery, it is very cold 
 here." 
 
 Though I said nothing more at the time, her 
 words had made a great impression on me. It 
 was so strange that, even with the httle she knew 
 of this Adrian Temple, she should speak at once 
 of hifi notoriously evil Hf e, and of her personal 
 
THE LOST STKADIVARIUS. 91 
 
 dislike to the picture. Eemembering what my 
 brother had said on the previous night, that in 
 the presence of this man he felt himseK brought 
 face to face with some indescribable wickedness, 
 I could not but be surprised at the coincidence. 
 The whole story seemed to me now to resemble 
 one of those puzzle pictures or maps which I 
 have played with as a child, where each bit fits 
 into some other until the outline is complete. It 
 was as if I were finding the pieces one by one of 
 a bygone history, and fitting them 'to one another 
 until some terrible whole should be gradually 
 built up and stand out in its complete deformity. 
 
 Dr. Empson spoke gravely of John's illness, 
 and entertained without reluctance the proposal 
 of Mrs. Temple, that Dr. Dobie, a celebrated 
 physician in Derby, should be summoned to a 
 consultation. Dr. Dobie came more than once, 
 and was at last able to report an amendment 
 in John's condition, though both the doctors ab- 
 solutely forbade any one to visit him, and said 
 that tmder the most favourable circumstances a 
 period of some weeks must elapse before he could 
 be moved. 
 
 Mrs. Temple invited me to remain at Eoyston 
 until my brother should be sufficiently convales- 
 
92 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 cent to be mored ; and both she and Constance, 
 while regretting the cause, were good enough to 
 express themselves pleased that accident should 
 detain me so long with them. 
 
 As the reports of the doctors became gradu- 
 ally more favourable, and our minds were in con- 
 sequence more free to turn to other subjects, I 
 spoke to Mrs. Temple one day about the picture, 
 saying that it interested me, and asking for 
 some particulars as to the hfe of Adrian 
 Temple. 
 
 " My dear child," she said, " I had rather that 
 you should not exhibit any curiosity as to this 
 man, whom I wish that we had not to call an 
 ancestor. I know httle of him myself, and indeed 
 his life was of such a nature as no woman, much 
 less a young girl, woidd desire to be well ac- 
 quainted with. He was, I believe, a man of 
 remarkable talent, and spent most of his time 
 between Oxford and Italy, though he visited 
 Koyston occasionally, and built the large hall 
 here, which we use as a dancing-room. Before 
 he was twenty wild stories were prevalent as to 
 his licentious life, and by thirty his name was a 
 by-word among sober and upright people. He 
 had constantly with him at Oxford and on his 
 
THE LOST STKADIVARIUS. 93 
 
 travels a boon companion called Jocelyn, who 
 aided him in his wickednesses, untU on one of 
 their Italian tours Jocelyn left him suddenly and 
 became a Trappist monk. It was currently re- 
 ported that some wild deed of Adrian Temple 
 had shocked even him, and so outraged his sur- 
 viving instincts of common humanity that he was 
 snatched as a brand from the burning and enabled 
 to turn back even in the full tide of his wicked- 
 ness. However that may be, Adrian went on in 
 his evU course without him, and about four years 
 after disappeared. He was last heard of in 
 Naples, and it is believed that he succumbed 
 during a violent outbreak of the plague which 
 took place iu Italy in the autumn of 1752. That 
 is all I shall tell you of him, and indeed I know 
 little more myself. The only good trait that has 
 been handed down concerning h\m is that he was 
 a masterly musician, performing admirably upon 
 the violin, which he had studied under the illus- 
 trious Tartini himself. Yet even his art of music, 
 if tradition speaks the truth, was put by bim to 
 the basest of uses." 
 
 I apologised for my indiscretion in asking her 
 about an unpleasant subject, and at the same time 
 thanked her for what she had seen fit to tell me, 
 
94 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 professing myself mucli interested, as, indeed, I 
 really was. 
 
 " Was he a handsome man ? " 
 
 "That is a girl's question," she answered, 
 smihng, " He is said to have been very hand- 
 some; and indeed his picture, painted after his 
 first youth was past, would still lead one to sup- 
 pose so. But his complexion was spoiled, it is 
 said, and turned to deadly white by certain ex- 
 periments, which it is neither possible nor seemly 
 for us to understand. His face is of that long 
 oval shape of which aU the Temples are proud, 
 and he had brown eyes : we sometimes tease Con- 
 stance, saying she is like Adrian." 
 
 It was indeed true, as I remembered after 
 Mrs. Temple had pointed it out, that Constance 
 had a peculiarly long and oval face. It gave her, 
 I think, an air of staid and placid beauty, which 
 formed in my eyes, and perhaps in John's also, 
 one of her greatest attractions. 
 
 " I do not like even his picture," Mrs. Tem- 
 ple continued, " and strange tales have been nar- 
 rated of it by idle servants which are not worth 
 repeating. I have sometimes thought of destroy- 
 ing it; but my late husband, being a Temple, 
 would never hear of this, or even of removing it 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 95 
 
 from its present place in tlie gallery; and I 
 slioiild be loath to do anything now contrary to 
 his wishes, once so strongly expressed. It is, be- 
 sides, yery perfect from an artistic point of view, 
 being paiated by Battoni, and in his happiest 
 manner." 
 
 I could never glean more from Mrs. Temple ; 
 but what she had told me interested me deeply. 
 It seemed another link in the chain, though I 
 could scarcely teU why, that Adrian Temple 
 should be so great a musician and violinist. I 
 had, I fancy, a dim idea of that mahgn and 
 outlawed spirit sitting alone in darkness for a 
 hundred years, until he was called back by the 
 sweet tones of the Itahan music, and the hit of 
 the " Areopagita " that he had loved so long ago. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 John's recovery, though contimious and satis- 
 factory, was but slow ; and it was not until Easter, 
 which fell early, that his health was pronounced 
 to be entirely re-estabhshed. The last few weeks 
 of his convalescence had proved to all of us a time 
 of thankful and tranquil enjoyment. If I may 
 judge from my own experience, there are few 
 epochs in our life more favourable to the growth 
 of sentiments of affection and piety, or more full 
 of pleasurable content, than is the period of 
 gradual recovery from serious illness. The chast- 
 ening effect of our recent sickness has not yet 
 passed away, and we are at once grateful to our 
 Creator for preserving us, and to our friends for 
 the countless acts of watchful kindness which it is 
 the peculiar property of illness to evoke. 
 
 No mother ever nursed a son more tenderly 
 than did Mrs. Temple nurse my brother, and be- 
 fore his restoration to health was complete the 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 97 
 
 attachment between him and Constance had rip- 
 ened into a formal betrothal. Such an alliance 
 was, as I have before explained, particularly suit- 
 able, and its prospect afforded the most lively 
 pleasure to all those concerned. The month of 
 March had been unusually mild, and Koyston be- 
 ing situated in a valley, as is the case with most 
 houses of that date, was well sheltered from cold 
 winds. It had, moreover, a south aspect, and as 
 my brother gradually gathered strength, Con- 
 stance and he and I would often sit out of doors 
 in the soft spring mornings. We put an easy- 
 chair with many cushions for him on the gravel 
 by the front door, where the warmth of the sun 
 was reflected from the red brick walls, and he 
 would at times read aloud to us while we were 
 engaged with our crochet-work. \Mx. Tennyson 
 had just published anonymously a first volume of 
 poems, and the sober dignity of his verse well 
 suited our frame of mind at that time. The 
 memory of those pleasant spring mornings, my 
 dear Edward, has not yet passed away, and I can 
 still smell the sweet moist scent of the violets, and 
 see the bright colours of the crocus-flowers in the 
 parterres in front of us. 
 
 John's mind seemed to be gathering strength 
 
98 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 ■witli his body. He had apparently flung off the 
 clond which had overshadowed him before his ill- 
 ness, and avoided entirely any reference to those 
 unpleasant events which had been previously so 
 constantly in his thoughts. I had, indeed, taken 
 an early opportunity of telling him of my dis- 
 covery of the picture of Adrian Temple, as I 
 thought it would tend to show him that at least 
 the last appearance of this ghostly form admitted 
 of a rational explanation. He seemed glad to 
 hear of this, but did not exhibit the same interest 
 in the matter that I had expected, and allowed it at 
 once to drop. Whether through lack of interest, 
 or from a lingering dislike to revisit the spot 
 where he was seized with iUness, he did not, I be- 
 lieve, once enter the picture-gallery before he left 
 Eoyston. 
 
 I cannot say as much for myself. The picture 
 of Adrian Temple exerted a curious fascination 
 over me, and I constantly took an opportunity of 
 studying it. It was, indeed, a beautiful work; 
 and perhaps because John's recovery gave a more 
 cheerful tone to my thoughts, or perhaps from 
 the power of custom to dull even the keenest 
 antipathies, I gradually got to lose much of the 
 feeling of aversion whicli it had at first inspired. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 99 
 
 In time the unpleasant look grew less unpleasing, 
 and I noticed more the beautiful oval of the face, the 
 brown eyes, and the fine chiselling of the features. 
 Sometimes, too, I felt a deep pity for so clever a 
 gentleman who had died young, and whose life, 
 were it ever so wicked, must often have been also 
 lonely and bitter. More than once I had been • 
 discovered by Mrs. Temple or Constance sitting 
 looking at the picture, and they had gently 
 laughed at me, saying that I had fallen in love 
 with Adrian Temple. 
 
 One morning in early April, when the sun 
 was streaming brightly through the oriel, and the 
 picture received a fuller light than usual, it oc- 
 curred to me to examine closely the scroll of 
 music painted as hanging over the top of the 
 pedestal on which the figure leant. I had hitherto 
 thought that the signs depicted on it were merely 
 such as painters might conventionally use to 
 represent a piece of musical notation. This 
 has generally been the case, I think, in such 
 pictures as I have ever seen in which a piece of 
 music has been introduced. I mean that while 
 the painting gives a general representation of the 
 musical staves, no attempt is ever made to paint 
 any definite notes such as would enable an actual 
 
100 THE LOST STEADIVARIU8. 
 
 piece to be identified. Though, as I write this, I 
 do remember that on the monument to Handel in 
 Westminster Abbey there is represented a musical 
 scroll similar to that in Adrian Temple's picture, 
 but actually sculptured with the opening phrase 
 of the majestic melody, "I know that my Re- 
 deemer Hveth." 
 
 On this morning, then, at Eoyston I thought 
 I perceived that there were painted on the scroll 
 actual musical staves, bars, and notes; and my 
 interest being excited, I stood upon a chair so as 
 better to examine them. Though time had some- 
 what obscured this portion of the picture as with 
 a veil or fihn, yet I made out that the painter had 
 intended to depict some definite piece of music. 
 In another moment I saw that the air represented 
 consisted of the opening bars of the OagUarda in 
 the suite by Graziani with which my brother and 
 I were so well acquainted. Though I believe 
 that I had not seen the volume of music in 
 which that piece was contained more than 
 twice, yet the melody was very familiar to 
 me, and I had no difficulty whatever in mak- 
 ing myself sure that I had here before me the 
 air of the Gaglia^da and none other. It was 
 true that it was only roughly painted, but to 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 101 
 
 one who knew the tune there was no room left 
 for doubt. 
 
 Here was a new cause, I will not say for sur- 
 prise, but for reflection. It might, of course, 
 have been merely a coincidence that the artist 
 should have chosen to paint in this picture this 
 particular piece of music; but it seemed more 
 probable that it had actually been a favourite air 
 of Adrian Temple, and that he had chosen de- 
 liberately to have it represented with him. This 
 discovery I kept entirely to myself, not thinking 
 it wise to communicate it to my brother, lest by 
 doing so I might reawaken his interest in a sub- 
 ject which I hoped he had finally dismissed from 
 his thoughts. 
 
 In the second week of April the happy party 
 at Eoyston was dispersed, John returning to Ox- 
 ford for the summer term, Mrs. Temple making 
 a short visit to Scotland, and Constance coming 
 to Worth Maltravers to keep me company for a 
 time. 
 
 It was John's last term at Oxford. He ex- 
 pected to take his degree in June, and his mar- 
 riage with Constance Temple had been provision- 
 ally arranged for the September following. He 
 returned to Magdalen Hall in the best of spirits, 
 
102 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS, 
 
 and found his rooms looking cheerful with well- 
 filled flower-boxes in the windows. I shaU not 
 detain you with any long narration of the events 
 of the term, as they have no relation to the pres- 
 ent history. I will only say that I believe my 
 brother applied himself diligently to his studies, 
 and took his amusement mostly on horseback, 
 riding two horses which he had had sent to him 
 from Worth Maltravers. 
 
 About the second week after his return he 
 received a letter from- Mr. George Smart to the 
 effect that the Stradivarius violin was now in 
 complete order. Subsequent examination, Mr. 
 Smart wrote, and the unanimous verdict of con- 
 noisseurs whom he had consulted, had merely con- 
 firmed the views he had at first expressed — ^name- 
 ly, that the violin was of the finest quality, and 
 that my brother had in his possession a unique 
 and intact example of Stradivarius's best period. 
 He had had it properly strung ; and as the bass- 
 bar had never been moved, and was of a stronger 
 nature than that usual at the period of its manu- 
 facture, he had considered it unnecessary to re- 
 place it. If any signs should become visible of 
 its being inadequate to support the tension of 
 modem stringLng, another could be easily substi- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 103 
 
 tuted for it at a later date. He had allowed a 
 young German mri/uoso to play on it, and though 
 this gentleman was one of the first living per- 
 formers, and had had an opportunity of handling 
 many splendid instruments, he assured Mr. Smart 
 that he had never performed on one that could in 
 any way compare with this. My brother wrote 
 in reply thanking him, and begging that the vio- 
 lin might be sent to Magdalen Hall. 
 
 The pleasant musical evenings, however, 
 which John had formerly been used to spend 
 in the company of Mr. Gaskell were now en- 
 tirely pretermitted. For though there was no 
 cause for any diminution of friendship between 
 them, and though on Mr. Gaskell's part there was 
 an ardent desire to maintain their former inti- 
 macy, yet the two young men saw less and less of 
 one another, until their intercourse was confined 
 to an accidental greeting in the street. I beheve 
 that during all this time my brother played very 
 frequently on the Stradivarius violin, but always 
 alone. Its very possession seemed to have en- 
 gendered from the first in his mind a secretive 
 tendency which, as I have already observed, was 
 entirely alien to his real disposition. As he had 
 concealed its discovery from his sister, so he had 
 
104 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 also from his friend, and Mr. Gaskell remained in 
 complete ignorance of tlie existence of such an 
 instrument. 
 
 On the evening of its arrival from London, 
 John seems to have carefully unpacked the violin 
 and tried it with a new bow of Tourte's make 
 which he had purchased of Mr. Smart. He had 
 shut the heavy outside door of his room before 
 beginning to play, so that no one might enter un- 
 awares ; and he told me afterwards that though 
 he had naturally expected from the instrument a 
 very fine tone, yet its actual merits so far ex- 
 ceeded his anticipations as entirely to overwhelm 
 him. The sound issued from it in a volume of 
 such depth and purity as to give an impression of 
 the passages being chorded, or even of another 
 viohn being played at the same time. He had 
 had, of course, no opportunity of practising dur- 
 ing his illness, and so expected to find his skill 
 with the bow somewhat diminished ; but he per- 
 ceived, on the contrary, that his performance was 
 greatly improved, and that he was playing with a 
 mastery and feeling of which he had never before 
 been conscious. While attributing this improve- 
 ment very largely to the beauty of the instru- 
 ment on which he was performing, yet he could 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 105 
 
 not but believe that by his illness, or in some 
 other unexplained way, he had actually acquired 
 a greater freedom of wrist and fluency of expres- 
 sion, with which reflection he was not a little 
 elated. He had had a lock fixed on the cupboard 
 in which he had originally found the violin, and 
 here he carefuUy deposited it on each occasion 
 after playing, before he opened the outer door of 
 his room. 
 
 So the summer term passed away. The ex- 
 aminations had come in their due time, and were 
 now over. Both the young men had submitted 
 themselves to the ordeal, and while neither would 
 of course have admitted as much to any one else, 
 both felt secretly that they had no reason to be 
 dissatisfied with their performance. The results 
 would not be published for some weeks to come. 
 The last night of the term had arrived, the last 
 night too of John's Oxford career. It was near 
 nine o'clock, but still quite light, and the rich 
 orange glow of sunset had not yet left the sky. 
 The air was warm and sultry, as on that eventful 
 evening when just a year ago he had for the first 
 time seen the figure or the illusion of the figure 
 of Adrian Temple. Since that time he had 
 played the " Areopagita " many, many times ; 
 
106 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 but there liad never been any reappearance of 
 tliat form, nor even had the once familiar creak- 
 ing of the wicker chair ever made itself heard. 
 As he sat alone in his room, thinking with a natu- 
 ral melancholy that he had seen the sun set for 
 the last time on his student life, and reflecting on 
 the possibihties of the future and perhaps on op- 
 portunities wasted in the past, the memory of that 
 evening last June recurred strongly to his imagi- 
 nation, and he felt an irresistible impulse to play 
 once more the " Areopagita." He unlocked the 
 now famihar cupboard and took out the violin, 
 and never had the exquisite gradations of colour 
 in its varnish appeared to greater advantage than 
 in the soft mellow light of the fading day. As 
 he began the OagUarda he looked at the wicker 
 chair, half expecting to see a form he well knew 
 seated in it ; but nothing of the kind ensued, and 
 he concluded the " Areopagita " without the oc- 
 currence of any unusual phenomenon. 
 
 It was just at its close that he heard some one 
 knocking at the outer door. He hurriedly locked 
 away the violin and opened the " oak." It was 
 Mr. Gaskell. He came in rather awkwardly, as 
 though not sure whether he would be wel- 
 comed. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIITS. 107 
 
 " Johnnie," he began, and stopped. 
 
 The force of ancient habit sometimes, dear 
 nephew, leads us unwittingly to accost those who 
 were once our friends by a familiar or nick-name 
 long after the intimacy that formerly justified it 
 has vanished. But sometimes we intentionally 
 revert to the use of such a name, not wishing 
 to proclaim openly, as it were, by a more 
 formal address that we are no longer the 
 friends we once were. I think this latter was 
 the case with Mr. Gaskell as he repeated the 
 familiar name. 
 
 " Johnnie, I was passing down New College 
 Lane, and heard the vioKn from your open 
 windows. You were playing the ' Areopagita,' 
 and it all soimded so famihar to me that I 
 thought I must come up. I am not interrupting 
 you, am I ? " 
 
 " No, not at all," John answered. 
 
 '' It is the last night of our undergraduate life, 
 the last night we shall meet in Oxford as stu- 
 dents. To-morrow we make our bow to youth 
 and become men. We have not seen much of 
 each other this term at any rate, and I daresay 
 that is my fault. But at least let us part as 
 
 friends. Surely our friends are not so many 
 8 
 
108 THE LOST STRADIVARIU8, 
 
 that we can afford to fling them lightly 
 away." 
 
 He held out his hand frankly, and his voice 
 trembled a httle as he spoke— partly perhaps 
 from real emotion, but more probably from 
 the feeling of reluctance which I have no- 
 ticed men always exhibit to discovering any 
 sentiment deeper than those usually deemed 
 conventional in correct society. My brother 
 was moved by his obvious wish to renew their 
 former friendship, and grasped the proffered 
 hand. 
 
 There was a minute's pause, and then the con- 
 versation was resumed, a little stiffly at first, but 
 more freely afterwards. They spoke on many in- 
 different subjects, and Mr. Gaskell congratulated 
 John on the prospect of his marriage, of which 
 he had heard. As he at length rose up to take 
 his departure, he said, " You must have practised 
 the violin diligently of late, for I never knew any 
 one make so rapid progress with it as you have 
 done. As I came along I was quite spellbound 
 by your music. I never before heard you bring 
 from the instrument so exquisite a tone: the 
 chorded passages were so powerful that I believed 
 there had been another person playing with you; 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 109 
 
 Your Pressenda is certainly a finer instrument 
 than I ever imagined." 
 
 Mj brother was pleased with Mr. Gaskell's 
 compliment, and the latter continued, "Let me 
 enjoy the pleasure of playing with you once 
 more in Oxford ; let us play the ' Areopagita.' " 
 
 And so saying he opened the pianoforte and 
 sat down. 
 
 John was turning to take out the Stradivarins 
 when he remembered that he had never even 
 revealed its existence to Mr. Gaskell, and that if 
 he now produced it an explanation must follow. 
 In a moment his mood changed, and with less 
 geniality he excused himself, somewhat awk- 
 wardly, from complying with the request, saying 
 that he was fatigued. 
 
 Mr. Qaskell was evidently hurt at his friend's 
 altered manner, and without renewing his peti- 
 tion rose at once from the pianoforte, and after 
 a little forced conversation took his departure. 
 On leaving he shook my brother by the hand, 
 wished him all prosperity in his marriage and 
 after-life, and said, " Do not entirely forget your 
 old comrade, and remember that if at any time 
 you should stand in need of a true friend, you 
 know where to find him ! " 
 
110 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 Jolm heard his footsteps echoing down the 
 passage and made a half involuntary motion 
 towards the door as if to call him back, but did 
 not do so, though he thought over his last words 
 then and on a subsequent occasion. 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 The summer was spent by us in the company 
 of Mrs. Temple and Constance, partly at Royston 
 and partly at "Worth Maltravers. John had again 
 hired the cutter-yacht PaZestme, and the whole 
 party made several expeditions in her. Constance 
 was entirely devoted to her lover ; her life seemed 
 wrapped up in his ; she appeared to have no exist- 
 ence except in his presence. 
 
 I can scarcely enumerate the reasons which 
 
 prompted such thoughts, but during these months 
 
 I sometimes found myself wondering if John still 
 
 returned her affection as ardently as I knew had 
 
 once been the case. I can certainly call to mind 
 
 no single circumstance which could justify me in 
 
 such a suspicion. He performed punctiliously all 
 
 those thousand little acts of devotion which are 
 
 expected of an accepted lover ; he seemed to take 
 
 pleasure in perfecting any scheme of enjoyment 
 
 to amuse her ; and yet the impression grew in my 
 111 
 
112 THE LOST STEADIVARIUS, 
 
 mind tliat he no longer felt the same heart-whole 
 love to her that she bore him, and that he had 
 himself shown six months earlier. I cannot say, 
 my dear Edward, how lively was the grief that 
 even the suspicion of such a fact caused me, and 
 I continually rebuked myseK for entertaiarag for 
 a moment a thought so unworthy, and dismissed 
 it from my mind with reprobation. Alas ! ere 
 long it was sure again to make itself felt. We 
 had all seen the Stradivarius violin ; indeed it was 
 impossible for my brother longer to conceal it 
 from us, as he now played continually on it. He 
 did not recount to us the story of its discovery, 
 contenting himself with saying that he had become 
 possessed of it at Oxford. "We imagined naturally 
 that he had purchased it ; and for this I was sorry, 
 as I feared Mr. Thoresby, his guardian, who had 
 given him some years previously an excellent vio- 
 lin by Pressenda, might feel hurt at seeing his 
 present so unceremoniously laid aside, ^one of 
 us were at all intimately acquainted with the fan- 
 cies of fiqldle-coUectors, and were consequently 
 quite ignorant of the enormous value that fashion 
 attached to so splendid an instrument. Even had 
 we known, I do not think that we should have 
 been surprised at John purchasing it ; for he had 
 
THJE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 113 
 
 recently come of age, and was in possession of so 
 large a fortune as would amply justify him in 
 such an indulgence had he wished to gratify it. 
 No one, however, could remain unaware of the 
 wonderful musical qualities of the instrument. 
 Its rich and melodious tones would commend them- 
 selves even to the most immusical ear, and formed 
 a subject of constant remark. I noticed also that 
 my brother's knowledge of the violin had im- 
 proved in a very -perceptible manner, for it was 
 impossible to attribute the great beauty and power 
 of his present performance entirely to the excel- 
 lence of the instrument he was using. He ap- 
 peared more than ever devoted to the art, and 
 would shut himseK up in his room alone for two 
 or more hours together for the purpose of playing 
 the violin — a habit which was a source of sorrow 
 to Constance, for he would never allow her to sit 
 with him on such occasions, as she naturally wished 
 to do. 
 
 So the summer fled. I should have mentioned 
 that in July, after going up to complete the vwa- 
 vooe part of their examination, both Mr. Gaskell 
 and John received information that they had ob- 
 tained "first-classes." The young men had, it 
 appears, done excellently well, and both had se- 
 
114 THE LOST STEADIVAEIUS. 
 
 cured a place in that envied division of the first- 
 class which was called " above the line." John's 
 success proved a source of much pleasure to us all, 
 and mutual congratulations were freely exchanged. 
 We were pleased also at Mr. Gaskell's high place, 
 remembering the kindness which he had shown us 
 at Oxford in the previous year, I desired John 
 to send him my compliments and felicitations 
 when he should next be writing to him. I did 
 not doubt that my brother would return Mr. Gas- 
 kell's congratulations, which he had already re- 
 ceived : he said, however, that his friend had given 
 no address to which he could write, and so the 
 matter dropped. 
 
 On the 1st of September John and Constance 
 Temple were married. The wedding took place 
 at Koyston, and by John's special desire (with 
 which Constance fully agreed) the ceremony was 
 of a strictly private and unpretentious nature. 
 The newly married pair had determined to spend 
 their honeymoon in Italy, and left for the Conti- 
 nent in the forenoon. 
 
 Mrs. Temple invited me to remain with her 
 for the present at Royston, which I was very 
 glad to do, feeling deeply the loss of a favourite 
 brother, and looking forward with dismay to six 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 115 
 
 weeks of loneliness whicli must elapse before I 
 should again see him and my dearest Constance. 
 
 We received news of our travellers about a 
 fortnight afterwards, and then heard from them 
 at frequent intervals. Constance wrote ia the 
 best of spirits, and with the keenest appreciation. 
 She had never traveEed in Switzerland or Italy 
 before, and aU was enchantingly novel to her. 
 They had journeyed through Basle to Lucerne, 
 spending a few days in that delightful spot, and 
 thence proceeding by the Simplon Pass to Lugano 
 and the Italian lakes. Then we heard that they 
 had gone further south than had at first been con- 
 templated ; they had reached Home, and were in- 
 tending to go on to Naples. 
 
 After the first few weeks we neither of us 
 received any more letters from John. It was 
 always Constance who wrote, and even her letters 
 grew very much less frequent than had at first 
 been the case. This was perhaps natural, as 
 the business of travel no doubt engrossed their 
 thoughts. But ere long we both perceived that 
 the letters of our dear girl were more constrained 
 and formal than before. It was as if she was 
 writing now rather to comply with a sense of 
 duty than to give vent to the light-hearted gaiety 
 
116 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 and naive enjoyment which breathed in every line 
 of her earher connnmiications. So at least it 
 seemed to us, and again the old suspicion pre- 
 sented itself to my mind, and I feared that all was 
 not as it should be. 
 
 Naples was to be the turning-point of their 
 travels, and we expected them to return to Eng- 
 land by the end of October. November had ar- 
 rived, however, and we still had no intimation 
 that their return journey had commenced or was 
 even decided on. From John there was no word, 
 and Constance wrote less often than ever. John, 
 she said, was enraptured with Naples and its sur- 
 roundings ; he devoted himself much to the violin, 
 and though she did not say so, this meant, I knew, 
 that she was often left alone. For her own part, 
 she did think that a continued residence in Italy 
 would suit her health ; the sudden changes of 
 temperature tried her, and people said that the 
 airs rising in the evening from the bay were un- 
 wholesome. 
 
 Then we received a letter from her which 
 much alarmed us. It was written from Naples 
 and dated October 25. John, she said, had been 
 ailing of late with nervousness and insomnia. On 
 Wednesday, two days before the date of her 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAHIUS. 117 
 
 letter, he had suffered all day from a strange 
 restlessness, which increased after they had re- 
 tired for the evening. He could not sleep and 
 had dressed again, telling her he would walk a 
 little in the night air to compose himseK. He 
 had not returned till near six in the morning, 
 and then was so deadly pale and seemed so ex- 
 hausted that she insisted on his keeping to his bed 
 till she could get medical advice. The doctors 
 feared that he had been attacked by some strange 
 form of malarial fever, and said he needed much 
 care. Our anxiety was, however, at least tempora- 
 rily relieved by the receipt of later tidings which 
 spoke of John's recovery ; but November drew to 
 a close without any definite mention of their re- 
 turn having reached us. 
 
 That month is always, I think, a dreary one 
 in the country. It has neither the brilliant tints 
 of October, nor the cosy jollity of mid-winter 
 with its Christmas joys to alleviate it. This year 
 it was more gloomy than usual. Incessant rain 
 had marked its close, and the Eoy, a little brook 
 which skirted the gardens not far from the house, 
 had swollen to unusual proportions. At last one 
 wild night the flood rose so high as to completely 
 cover the garden terraces, working havoc in the 
 
118 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 parterres, and covering the lawns with a thick 
 coat of mud. Perhaps this gloominess of nature's 
 outer face impressed itseK in a sense of apprehen- 
 sion on our spirits, and it was with a feeling of 
 more than ordinary pleasure and relief that early 
 in December we received a letter dated from 
 Laon, saying that our travellers were already well 
 advanced on their return journey, and expected 
 to be in England a week after the receipt by us 
 of this advice. It was, as usual, Constance who 
 wrote. John begged, she said, that Christmas 
 might be spent at Worth Maltravers, and that we 
 would at once proceed thither to see that all was 
 in order against their return. They reached 
 "Worth about the middle of the month, and were, 
 I need not say, received with the utmost affection 
 by Mrs. Temple and myself. 
 
 In reply to our inquiries John professed that 
 his health was completely restored ; but though 
 we could indeed discern no other signs of any 
 special weakness, we were much shocked by his 
 changed appearance. He had completely lost his 
 old healthy and sun-burnt complexion, and his 
 face, though Aot thin or sunken, was strangely 
 pale. Constance assured us that though in other 
 respects he had apparently recovered, he had 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 119 
 
 never regained his old colour from the night of 
 his attack of fever at Naples. 
 
 I soon perceived that her own spirits were not 
 so bright as was ordinarily the case with her ; and 
 she exhibited none of the eagerness to narrate to 
 others the incidents of travel which is generally 
 observable in those who have recently returned 
 from a journey. The cause of this depression 
 was, alas ! not difficult to discover, for John's 
 former abstraction and moodiness seemed to have 
 returned with an increased force. It was a source 
 of infinite pain to Mrs. Temple, and perhaps even 
 more so to me, to observe this sad state of things. 
 Constance never complained, and her afEection 
 towards her husband seemed only to increase in 
 the face of difficulties. Yet the matter was one 
 which could not be hid from the anxious eyes of 
 loving kinswomen, and I believe that it was the 
 consciousness that these altered circumstances 
 could not but force themselves upon our notice 
 that added poignancy to my poor sister's grief. 
 While not markedly neglecting her, my brother 
 had evidently ceased to take that pleasure in her 
 company which might reasonably have been ex- 
 pected in any case under the circumstances of a 
 recent marriage, and a thousand times more so 
 
120 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 wlien his wife was so loving and beautiful a crea- 
 ture as Constance Temple. He appeared little ex- 
 cept at meals, and not even always at lunch, shut 
 tiiig himseM up for the most part in his morning- 
 room or study and playing continually on the vio- 
 lin. It was in vain that we attempted even by 
 means of his music to win him back to a sweeter 
 mood. Again and again I begged him to allow 
 me to accompany him on the pianoforte, but he 
 would never do so, always putting me off with 
 some excuse. Even when he sat with us in the 
 evening, he spoke little, devoting himself for the 
 most part to reading. His books were almost al- 
 ways Greek or Latin, so that I am ignorant of the 
 subjects of his study ; but he was content that 
 either Constance or I should play on the piano- 
 forte, saying that the melody, so far from distract- 
 ing his attention, helped him rather to appreciate 
 what he was reading. Constance always begged 
 me to allow her to take her place at the instru- 
 ment on these occasions, and would play to him 
 sometimes for hours without receiving a word of 
 thanks, being eager even in this unreciprocated 
 manner to testify her love and devotion to him. 
 
 Christmas Day, usually so happy a season, 
 brought no alleviation of our gloom. My broth- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 121 
 
 er's reserve continually increased, and even his 
 longest-established habits appeared changed. He 
 had been always most observant of his religions 
 duties, attending divine service with the utmost 
 regularity whatever the weather might be, and 
 saying that it was a duty a landed proprietor 
 owed as much to his tenantry as himself to set a 
 good example in such matters. Ever since our 
 earliest years he and I had- gone morning and 
 afternoon on Sundays to the little church of 
 "Worth, and there sat together in the Maltravers 
 chapel where so many of our name had sat before 
 us. Here their monuments and achievements 
 stood about us on every side, and it had always 
 seemed to me that with their name and property 
 we had inherited also the obligation to continue 
 those acts of piety, in the practice of which so 
 many of them had lived and died. It was, there- 
 fore, a source of surprise and great grief to me 
 when on the Sunday after his return my brother 
 omitted all religious observances, and did not 
 once attend the parish church. He was not pres- 
 ent with us at breakfast, ordering coffee and a 
 roll to be taken to his private sitting-room. At 
 the hour at which we usually set out for church I 
 went to his room to tell him that we were all 
 
122 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 dressed and waiting for him. I tapped at the 
 door, but on trying to enter found it locked. In 
 reply to my message he did not open the door, 
 but merely begged us to go on to church, saying 
 he would possibly follow us later. We went 
 alone, and I sat anxiously in our seat with my 
 eyes fixed on the door, hoping against hope that 
 each late comer might be John, but he never 
 came. Perhaps this will appear to you, Edward, 
 a comparatively trivial circumstance (though I 
 hope it may not), but I assure you that it brought 
 tears to my eyes. When I sat in the Maltravers 
 chapel and thought that for the first time my 
 dear brother had preferred in an open way his 
 convenience or his whim to his duty, and had of 
 set purpose neglected to come to the house of 
 God, I felt a bitter grief that seemed to rise up 
 in my throat and choke me. I could not think 
 of the meaning of the prayers nor join in the 
 singing; and all the time that Mr. Butler, our 
 clergyman, was preaching, a verse of a little piece 
 of poetry which I learnt as a girl was running in 
 my head : 
 
 " How easy are the paths of ill ; 
 
 How steep and hard the upward ways ; 
 A child can roll the stone down hill 
 That breaks a giant's arm to raise," 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 123 
 
 It seemed to me that our loved one had set his 
 foot upon the downward slope, and that not all 
 the efEorts of those who would hare given their 
 lives to save him could now hold him back. 
 
 It was even worse on Christmas Day. Ever 
 since we had been confirmed John and I had 
 always taken the Sacrament on that happy morn- 
 ing, and after service he had distributed the Mal- 
 travers dole in our chapel. There are given, as 
 you know, on that day to each of twelve old men 
 £5 and a green coat, and a hke sum of money 
 with a blue cloth dress to as many old women. 
 These articles of dress are placed on the altar- 
 tomb of Sir Esmoun de Maltravers, and have 
 been thence distributed from days immemorial by 
 the head of our house. Ever since he was twelve 
 years old it had been my pride to watch my 
 handsome brother doing this deed of noble char- 
 ity, and to hear the kindly words he added with 
 each gift. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! it was all different this Christmas. 
 Even on this holy day my brother did not ap- 
 proach either the altar or the house of God. Till 
 then Christmas had always seemed to me to be a 
 day given us from above, that we might see even 
 while on earth a faint glimpse of that serenity 
 
124 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 and peaceful love wMch will hereafter gild all 
 days in heaven. Then covetous men lay aside 
 their greed and enemies their rancour, then warm 
 hearts grow warmer, and Christians feel their 
 common brotherhood. I can scarcely imagine 
 any man so lost or guilty as not to experience on 
 that day some desire to turn back to the good 
 once more, as not to recognise some far-off possi- 
 bility of better things. It was thoughts free and 
 happy such as these that had previously come into 
 my heart in the service of Christmas Day, and 
 been particularly associated with the familiar 
 words that we all love so much. But that morn- 
 ing the harmonies were all jangled : it seemed as 
 though some evil spirit was pouring wicked 
 thoughts into my ear; and even while children 
 sang " Hark the herald angels," I thought I could 
 hear through it all a melody which I had learnt 
 to loathe, the GagUa/rda of the " Areopagita." 
 
 Poor Constance ! Though her veil was down, 
 I could see her tears,, and knew her thoughts must 
 me sadder even than mine : I drew her hand 
 towards me, and held it as I would a child's. 
 After the service was over a new trial awaited us. 
 John had made no arrangement for the distribu- 
 tion of the dole. The coats and dresses were aU 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 125 
 
 piled ready on Sir EsTnoun's tomb,. and tliere lay 
 the little leather pouches of money, but there was 
 no one to give them away. Mr. Butler looked 
 puzzled, and approaching us, said he feared Sir 
 John was ill — ^had he made no provision for the 
 distribution? Pride kept back the tears which 
 were rising fast, and I said my brother was in- 
 deed unwell, that it would be better for Mr. 
 Butler to give away the dole, and that Sir John 
 would himself visit the recipients during the 
 week. Then we hurried away, not daring to 
 watch the distribution of the dole, lest we should 
 no longer be able to master our feelings, and 
 should openly betray our agitation. 
 
 From one another we no longer attempted to 
 conceal our grief. It seemed as though we had 
 all at once resolved to abandon the farce of pre- 
 tending not to notice John's estrangement from 
 his wife, or of explaining away his neglectful and 
 unaccountable treatment of her. 
 
 I do not think that three poor women were 
 ever so sad on Christmas Day before as were we 
 on our return from church that morning. None 
 of us had seen my brother, but about five in the 
 afternoon Constance went to his room, and through 
 the locked door begged piteously to see him. 
 
126 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 After a few minutes he complied with her request 
 and opened the door. The exact circumstances of 
 that interview she never revealed to me, but I 
 knew from her manner when she returned that 
 something she had seen or heard had both grieved 
 and frightened her. She told me only that she 
 had flung herseK in an agony of tears at his feet, 
 and kneeling there, weary and broken-hearted, 
 had begged him to tell her if she had done aught 
 amiss, had prayed him to give her back his love. 
 To all this he answered little, but her entreaties 
 had at least such an effect as to induce him to 
 take his dinner with us that evening. At that 
 meal we tried to put aside our gloom, and with 
 feigned smilej and cheerful voices, from which 
 the tears were hardly banished, sustained a weary 
 show of conversation and tried to wile away his 
 evil mood. But he spoke little ; and when Foster, 
 my father's butler, put on the table the three- 
 handled Maltravers' loving-cup that he had 
 brought up Christmas by Christmas for thirty 
 years, my brother merely passed it by without a 
 taste. I saw by Foster's face that the master's 
 malady was no longer a secret even from the 
 servants. 
 
 I shall not harass my own feelings nor yours, 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 127 
 
 my dear Edward, by entering into further details 
 of your father's illness, for such it was obvious his 
 indisposition had become. It was the only conso- 
 lation, and that a sorry one, that we could use 
 with Constance, to persuade her that John's 
 estrangement from her was merely the result or 
 manifestation of some physical infirmity. He ob- 
 viously grew worse from week to week, and his 
 treatment of his wife became colder and more 
 callous. We had used all efforts to persuade liim 
 to take a change of air — ^to go to Eoyston for a 
 month, and place himself under the care of Dr. 
 Dobie. Mrs. Temple had even gone so far as to 
 write privately to this physician, telling him as 
 much of the case as was prudent, and asking his 
 advice. Not being aware of the darker sides of 
 my brother's ailment. Dr. Dobie replied in a less 
 serious strain than seemed to us convenient, but 
 recommended in any case a complete change of 
 air and scene. 
 
 It was, therefore, with no ordinary pleasure 
 and relief that we heard my brother announce quite 
 unexpectedly one morning in March that he had 
 made up his mind to seek change, and was going 
 to leave almost immediately for the Continent. 
 He took his valet Pamham with him, and quitted 
 
128 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 Worth one morning before lunch, bidding us an 
 unceremonious adieu, though he kissed Constance 
 with some apparent tenderness. It was the first 
 time for three months, she confessed to me after- 
 wards, that he had shown her even so ordinary a 
 mark of affection ; and her wounded heart treas- 
 ured up what she hoped would prove a token of 
 returning love. He had not proposed to take 
 her with him, and even had he done so, we should 
 have been reluctant to assent, as signs were not 
 wanting that it might have been imprudent for 
 her to undertake foreign travel at that period. 
 
 For nearly a month we had no word of him. 
 Then he wrote a short note to Constance from 
 JJaples, giving no news, and indeed, scarce speak- 
 ing of himseK at all, but mentioning as an address 
 to which she might write if she wished, the Villa de 
 Angelis at Posilipo. Though his letter was cold 
 and empty, yet Constance was delighted to get it, 
 and wrote henceforth herself nearly every day, 
 pouring out her heart to him, and retailing such 
 news as she thought would cheer him. 
 
CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 A MONTH later Mrs. Temple wrote to John 
 warning him of the state in which Constance now 
 found herself, and begging him to return at least 
 for a few weeks in order that he might he pres- 
 ent at the time of her confinement. Though it 
 would have been in the last degree unMnd, or 
 even inhuman, that a request of this sort should 
 have been refused, yet I will confess to you that 
 my brother's recent strangeness had prepared me 
 for any behaviour on his part however wild ; and 
 it was with a feehng of extreme relief that I 
 heard from Mrs. Temple a little later that she 
 had received a short note from John to say that 
 he was already on his return journey. I believe 
 Mrs. Temple herself felt as I did in the matter, 
 though she said nothing. 
 
 When he returned we were all at Eoyston, 
 whither Mrs. Temple had taken Constance to be 
 under Dr. Dobie's care. "We found John's phys- 
 
 129 
 
130 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 ical appearance changed for the worse. His pallor 
 was as remarkable as before, but he was visibly 
 thinner; and his strange mental abstraction and 
 moodiness seemed little if any abated. At first, 
 indeed, he greeted Constance kindly or even affec- 
 tionately. She had been in a terrible state of 
 anxiety as to the attitude he would assume towards 
 her, and this mental strain affected prejudicially 
 her very delicate bodily condition. His kindness, 
 of an ordinary enough nature indeed, seemed to 
 her yearning heart a miracle of condescending 
 love, and she was transported with the idea that 
 his affection to her, once so sincere, was indeed 
 letuming. But I grieve to say that his manner 
 thawed only for a very short time, and ere long 
 he relapsed into an attitude of complete indiffer- 
 ence. It was as if his real, true, honest, and lov- 
 ing character had made one more vigorous effort 
 to assert itself — ^as though it liad for a moment 
 broken through the hard and selfish crust that 
 was forming around him; but the blighting in- 
 fiuence which was at work proved seemingly too 
 strong for him to struggle against, and riveted its 
 chains again upon him with a weight heavier than 
 before. That there was some malefic influence, 
 mental or physical, thus working on him, no one 
 
THE LOST STEADIVAEIUS. 131 
 
 who had known him before could for a moment 
 doubt. But while Mrs. Temple and I readily ad- 
 mitted this much, we were entirely unable even 
 to form a conjecture as to its nature. It is true 
 that Mrs. Temple's fancy suggested that Constance 
 had some rival in his affections ; but we rejected 
 such a theory almost before it was proposed, feel- 
 ing that it was inherently improbable, and that, 
 had it been true, we could not have remained en- 
 tirely unaware of the circumstances which had 
 conduced to such a state of things. It was this 
 inexplicable nature of my brother's affliction that 
 added immeasurably to our grief. If we could 
 only have ascertained its cause we might have 
 combated it ; but as it was, we were fighting in 
 the dark, as against some enemy who was assault- 
 ing us from an obscurity so thick that we could 
 not see his form. Of any mental trouble we thus 
 knew nothing, nor could we say that my brother 
 was suffering from any definite physical aihnent, 
 except that he was certainly growing thinner. 
 
 Tour birth, my dear Edward, followed very 
 shortly. Tour poor mother rallied in an unusu- 
 ally short time, and was filled with rapture at the 
 new treasure which was thus given as a solace to 
 her afflictions. Tour father exhibited little in- 
 
132 THE LOST STEADIVAEIUS. 
 
 terest at the event, though he sat nearly half an 
 hour with her one evening, and allowed her even 
 to stroke his hair and caress him as in time long 
 past. Although it was now the height of 
 summer he seldom left the house, sitting much 
 and sleeping in his own room, where he had a 
 field-bed provided for him, and continually de- 
 voting himself to the violin. 
 
 One evening near the end of July we were 
 sitting after dinner in the drawing-room at 
 Koyston, having the French windows looking on 
 to the lawn open, as the air was still oppressively 
 warm. Though things were proceeding as in- 
 differently as before, we were perhaps less cast 
 down than usual, for John had taken his dinner 
 with us that evening. This was a circimistance 
 now, alas I sufficiently uncommon, for he had 
 nearly all his meals served for him in his own 
 rooms. Constance, who was once more dovra- 
 stairs, sat playing at the pianoforte, performing 
 chiefly melodies by Scarlatti or Bach, of which 
 old-fashioned music she knew her husband to be 
 most fond. A later fashion, as you know, has 
 revived the cultivation of these composers, but at 
 the time of which I write their works were much 
 less commonly known. Though she was more 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. I33 
 
 than a passable musician, he would not allow 
 her to accompany him; indeed he never now 
 performed at all on the viohn before us, re- 
 serving his practice entirely for his own chamber. 
 There was a pause in the music while coffee was 
 served. My brother had been sitting in an easy- 
 chair apart reading some classical work during 
 his wife's performance, and taking little notice of 
 us. But after a while he put down his book and 
 said, "Constance, if you will accompany me, I 
 win get my violin and play a httle while." I 
 cannot say how much his words astonished us. 
 It was so simple a matter for him to say, and 
 yet it filled us all with an unspeakable joy. We 
 concealed our emotion till he had left the room to 
 get his instrument, then Constance showed how 
 deeply she was gratified by kissing first her 
 mother and then me, squeezing my hand but 
 saying nothing. In a minute he returned, bring- 
 ing his violin and a music-book. By the soiled 
 vellum cover and the shape I perceived instantly 
 that it was the book containing the "Areopa- 
 gita." I had not seen it for near two years, and 
 was not even aware that it was in the house, but 
 I knew at once that he iatended to play that 
 suite. I entertained an unreasoning but profound 
 
134 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 aversion to its melodies, but at that moment I 
 would have welcomed warmly that or any other 
 music, so that he would only choose once more to 
 show some thought for his neglected wife. He 
 put the book open at the " Areopagita " on the 
 desk of the pianoforte, and asked her to play it 
 with him. She had never seen the music before, 
 though I believe she was not unacquainted with 
 the melody, as she had heard him playing it by 
 himself, and once heard, it was not easily for- 
 gotten. 
 
 They began the "Areopagita" suite, and at 
 first all went well. The tone of the violin, and 
 also, I may say with no undue partiality, my 
 brother's performance, were so marvellously fine 
 that though our thoughts were elsewhere when 
 the music commenced, in a few seconds they 
 were wholly engrossed in the melody, and we sat 
 spellbound. It was as if the violin had become 
 suddenly endowed with life, and was singing to 
 us in a mystical language more deep and awful 
 than any human words. Constance was compara- 
 tively unused to the figuring of the iasso oon- 
 tmuo, and found some trouble in reading it 
 accurately, especially in manuscript ; but she was 
 able to mask any diflSculty she may have had 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 135 
 
 until she came to tlie Oagliarda. Here she con- 
 fessed to me her thoughts seemed against her will 
 to wander, and her attention became too deeply 
 riveted on her husband's performance to allow 
 her to watch her own. She made first one slight 
 fault, and then growing nervous, another, and 
 another. Suddenly John stopped and said 
 brusquely, " Let Sophy play, I cannot keep time 
 with you." Poor Constance! The tears came 
 swiftly to my own eyes when I heard him speak 
 so thoughtlessly to her, and I was almost pro- 
 voked to rebuke him openly. She was still weak 
 from her recent illness ; her nerves were excited 
 by the unusual pleasure she felt in playing once 
 more with her husband, and this sudden shatter- 
 ing of her hopes of a renewed tenderness proved 
 more than she could bear: she put her head 
 between her hands upon the keyboard and broke 
 into a paroxysm of tears. 
 
 We both ran to her ; but while we were at- 
 tempting to assuage her grief, John shut his 
 violin into its case, took the music-book under his 
 arm, and left the room without saying a word to 
 any of us, not even to the weeping girl, whose 
 sobs seemed as though they would break her 
 heart. 
 
136 THE LOST STRADIVARIDS. 
 
 We got her put to bed at once, but it was 
 some hours before her convulsive sobbing ceased. 
 Mrs. Temple had administered to her a soothing 
 draught of proved efficacy, and after sitting with 
 her till after one o'clock I left her at last dozing 
 off to sleep, and myself sought repose. I was 
 quite wearied out with the weight of my anxiety, 
 and with the crushing bitterness of seeing my 
 dearest Constance's feelings so wounded. Tet in 
 spite, or rather perhaps on account of my trouble, 
 my head had scarcely touched my pillow ere I 
 fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 A room in the south wing had been converted 
 for the nonce into a nursery, and for the con- 
 venience of being near her infant Constance now 
 slept in a room adjoining. As this portion of the 
 house was somewhat isolated, Mrs, Temple had 
 suggested that I should keep her daughter com- 
 pany, and occupy a room in the same passage, 
 only removed a few doors, and this I had accord- 
 ingly done. I was aroused from my sleep that 
 night by some one knocking gently on the door 
 of my bedroom ; but it was some seconds before 
 my thoughts became sufficiently awake to allow 
 me to remember where I was. There was some 
 moonlight, but I lighted a candle, and looking at 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 137 
 
 my watch saw that it was two o'clock. I con- 
 cluded that either Constance or her baby was 
 unwell, and that the nurse needed my assistance. 
 So I left my bed, and moving to the door, asked 
 softly who was there. It was, to my surprise, the 
 voice of Constance that replied, " O Sophy, let 
 me in." 
 
 In a second I had opened the door, and found 
 my poor sister wearing only her night-dress, and 
 standing in the moonlight beforeme. 
 
 She looked frightened and unusually pale in 
 her white dress and with the cold gleam of the 
 moon upon her. At first I thought she was 
 walking in her sleep, and perhaps rehearsing 
 again in her di'eams the troubles which dogged 
 her wkking footsteps. I took her gently by the 
 arm, saying, " Dearest Constance, come back at 
 once to bed ; you will take cold." 
 
 She was not asleep, however, but made a 
 motion of silence, and said in terrified whisper, 
 "Hush; do you hear nothing?" There was 
 something so vague and yet so mysterious in 
 the question and in her evident perturbation 
 that I was infected too by her alarm. I felt 
 myself shiver, as I strained my ear to catch 
 if possible the slightest sound. But a complete 
 
138 THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 
 
 silence pervaded everything: I could hear 
 nothing. 
 
 " Can you hear it ? " she said again. AE sorts 
 of images of iU presented themselves to my im- 
 agination : I thought the baby must be iU with 
 croup, and that she was listening for some ster- 
 torous breath of anguish ; and then the dread 
 came over me that perhaps her sorrows had been 
 too much for her, and that reason had left her 
 seat. At that thought the marrow froze in my 
 bones. 
 
 " Hush," she said again ; and just at that mo- 
 ment, as I strained my ears, I thought I caught 
 upon the sleeping air a distant and very faint 
 murmur. 
 
 " Oh, what is it, Constance ? " I said. " You 
 will drive me mad " ; and while I spoke the mur- 
 mur seemed to resolve itself into the vibration, 
 felt almost rather than heard, of some distant 
 musical instrument, I stepped past her into the 
 passage. AU was deadly still, but I could per- 
 ceive that music was being played somewhere far 
 away ; and almost at the same minute my ears 
 recognised faintly but xmmistakably the Gagli- 
 arda of the " Areopagita." 
 
 I have already mentioned that for some reason 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 139 
 
 which I can scarcely explain, this melody was 
 very repugnant to me. It seemed associated in 
 some strange and intimate way with my brother's 
 indisposition and moral decline. Almost at the 
 moment that I had heard it first two years ago, 
 peace seemed to have risen up and left our house, 
 gathering her skirts about her, as we read that 
 the angels left the Temple at the siege of Jeru- 
 salem. And now it was even more detestable to 
 my ears, recalling as it did too vividly the cruel 
 events of the preceding evening. 
 
 " John must be sitting up playing," I said. 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " but why is he in this 
 part of the house, and why does he always play 
 that tune ? " 
 
 It was as if some irresistible attraction drew 
 
 us towards the music. Constance took my hand 
 
 in hers and we moved together slowly down the 
 
 passage. The wind had risen, and though there 
 
 was a bright moon, her beams were constantly 
 
 eclipsed by driving clouds. Still there was light 
 
 enough to guide us, and I extinguished the 
 
 candle. As we reached the end of the passage 
 
 the air of the Gagliarda grew more and more 
 
 distinct. 
 
 Our passage opened on to a broad landing 
 10 
 
140 THE LOST STRADIVAEIU8. 
 
 with a balustrade, and from one side of it ran out 
 the picture-gallery which you know. 
 
 I looked at Constance significantly. It was 
 evident that John was playing in this gallery. 
 We crossed the landing, treading carefully and 
 making no noise with our naked feet, for both of 
 us had been too excited even to think of putting 
 on shoes. 
 
 We could now see the whole length of the 
 gallery. My poor brother sat in the oriel window 
 of which I have before spoken. He was sitting 
 so as to face the picture of Adrian Temple, and 
 the great windows of the oriel flung a strong hght 
 on him. At times a cloud hid the moon, and all 
 was plunged in darkness.; but in a moment the 
 cold hght fell full on him again, and we could 
 trace every feature as in a picture. He had evi- 
 dently not been to bed, for he was fully dressed, 
 exactly as he had left us in the dravnng-room five 
 hours earlier when Constance was weeping over 
 his thoughtless words. He was playing the 
 violin, playing with a passion and reckless energy 
 which I had never seen, and hope never to see 
 again. Perhaps he remembered that this spot was 
 far removed from the rest of the house, or perhaps 
 he was careless whether any were awake and lis- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 141 
 
 tening to Mm or not ; but it seemed to me that lie 
 was playing with a sonorous strength greater than 
 I had thought possible for a single violin. There 
 came from his instrument such a volume and tor- 
 rent of melody as to fiU the gallery so full, as it 
 were, of sound that it throbbed and vibrated 
 again. He kept his eyes jBxed on something at 
 the opposite side of the gallery ; we could not 
 indeed see on what, but I have no doubt at all 
 that it was the portrait of Adrian Temple. His 
 gaze was eager and expectant, as though he 
 were waiting for something to occur which did 
 not. 
 
 I knew that he had been growing thin of late, 
 but this was the first time 1 had realised how 
 sunk were the hollows of his eyes and how hag- 
 gard his features had become. It may have been 
 some effect of moonHght which I do not well 
 understand, but his fine-cut face, once so hand- 
 some, looked on this night worn • and thin Kke 
 that of an old man. He never for a moment 
 ceased playing. It was always one same dreadful 
 melody, the OagUa/rda of the " Areopagita," and 
 he repeated it time after time with the persever- 
 ance and apparent aimlessness of an automaton. 
 
 He did not see us, and we made no sign. 
 
142 THE LOST STRADIVABIUS, 
 
 standing afar off in silent horror at that nocturnal 
 sight. Constance clutched me by the arm: she 
 was so pale that I perceived it even in the moon- 
 light. " Sophy," she said, " he is sitting in the 
 same place as on the first night when he told me 
 how he loved me." I could answer nothing, my 
 voice was frozen in me. I could only stare at my 
 brother's poor withered face, realising then for 
 the first time that he must be mad, and that it 
 was the haunting of the OagUa/rda that had made 
 him so. 
 
 We stood there I believe for half an hour 
 without speech or motion, and all the time that 
 sad figure at the end of the gallery continued its 
 performance. Suddenly he stopped, and an ex- 
 pression of frantic despair came over his face as 
 he laid down the violin and buried his head in his 
 hands. I could bear it no longer. " Constance," 
 I said, "come back to bed. We can do noth- 
 ing." So we turned and crept away silently as 
 we had come. Only as we crossed the landing 
 Constance stopped, and looked back for a minute 
 with a heartbroken yearning at the man she 
 loved. He had taken his hands from his head, 
 and she saw the profile of his face clear cut and 
 hard in the white moonlight. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 143 
 
 It was the last time her eyes ever looked 
 upon it. 
 
 She made for a moment as if she would turn 
 back and go to him, but her courage failed her, 
 and we went on. Before we reached her room 
 we heard in the distance, faintly but distinctly, 
 the burden of the Oaglia/rda. 
 
CHAPTEE XIL 
 
 The next moming my maid brought me a 
 hurried note written in pencil by my brother. 
 It contained only a few liues, saying that he 
 found that his continued sojourn at Royston was 
 not beneficial to his health, and had determiaed 
 to return to Italy. If we wished to write, letters 
 would reach him at the YOla de AngeUs : his 
 valet Pamham was to follow him thither with 
 his baggage as soon as it could be got together. 
 This was aU ; there was no word of adieu ev^en to 
 his wife. 
 
 "We found that he had never gone to bed that 
 night. But in the early moming he had him- 
 self saddled his horse Sembmel and ridden iu to 
 Derby, taking the early mail thence to London. 
 His resolve to leave Poyston had apparently been 
 arrived at very suddenly, for so far as we could 
 discover, he had carried no luggage of any kind. 
 I could not help looking somewhat carefully 
 
 144 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 145 
 
 round his room to see if he had taken the Strad- 
 ivarius violin. No trace of it or even of its 
 case was to be seen, though it was difficult to 
 imagine how he could have carried it with him 
 on horseback. There was, indeed, a locked 
 travelling-trunk which Parnham was to bring with 
 him later, and the iastrument might, of course, 
 have been ia that ; but I felt convinced that he 
 had actually taken it with him in some way or 
 other, and this proved afterwards to have been 
 the case. 
 
 I shall draw a veil, my dear Edward, over the 
 events which immediately followed your father's 
 departure. Even at this distance of time the 
 memory is too inexpressibly bitter to allow me to 
 do more than briefly allude to them. 
 
 A fortnight after John's departure, we left 
 Koyston and removed to Worth, wishing to get 
 some sea-air, and to enjoy the late summer of the 
 south coast. Tour mother seemed entirely to 
 have recovered from her confinement, and to be 
 enjoying as good health as could be reasonably 
 expected under the circumstances of her hus- 
 band's indisposition. But suddenly one of those 
 insidious maladies which are incidental to women 
 in her condition seized upon her. We had hoped 
 
146 THE LOST STKADIVARIUS, 
 
 and believed that all sucli period of danger was 
 already happily past ; but, alas I it was not so, and 
 within a few hours of her first seizure all realised 
 how serious was her case. Everything that hu- 
 man skill can do under such conditions was done, 
 but without avail. Symptoms of blood-poisoning 
 showed themselves, accompanied with high fever, 
 and within a week she was in her coffin. 
 
 Though her delirium was terrible to watch, 
 yet I thank God to this day, that if she was to 
 die, it pleased him to take her while in an uncon- 
 scious condition. For two days before her death 
 she recognised no one, and was thus spared at 
 least the sadness of passing from life without one 
 word of kindness or even of reconciliation from 
 her unhappy husband. 
 
 The communication with a place so distant as 
 I^aples was not then to be made under fifteen or 
 twenty days, and all was over before we could 
 hope that the intelligence even of his wife's illness 
 had reached John. Both Mrs. Temple and I re- 
 mained at Worth in a state of complete prostra- 
 tion, awaiting his return. When more than a 
 month had passed without his arrival, or even a 
 letter to say that he was on his way, our anxiety 
 took a new turn, as we feared that some accident 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 147 
 
 had befallen hixa, or that the news of his wife's 
 death, which would then be in his hands, had so 
 seriously affected him as to render him incapable 
 of taking any action. To repeated subsequent 
 communications we receiyed no answer; but at 
 last, to a letter which I wrote to Parnham, the 
 servant replied, stating that his master was still 
 at the Yilla de Angelis, and in a condition of 
 health little differing from that in which he left 
 Koyston, except that he was now slightly paler if 
 possible and thinner. It was not till the end of 
 November that any word came from him, and 
 then he wrote only one page^ of a sheet of note- 
 paper to me ia pencil, making no reference what- 
 ever to his wife's death, but saying that he should 
 not return for Christmas, and instructing me to 
 draw on his bankers for any moneys that I might 
 require for household purposes at Worth. 
 
 I need not tell you the effect that such con- 
 duct produced on Mrs. Temple and myself ; you 
 can easily imagine what would have been your 
 own feelings in such a case. Nor will I relate 
 any other circumstances which occurred at this 
 period, as they would have no direct bearing upon 
 my narrative. Though I stiU. wrote to my 
 brother at frequent intervals, as not wishing 
 
148 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 to neglect a duty, no word from Mm ever came 
 in reply. 
 
 About the end of March, indeed, Pamham re- 
 turned to "Worth Maltravers, saying that his master 
 had paid him a half-year's wages in advance, and 
 then dispensed with his services. He had always 
 been an excellent servant, and attached to the 
 family, and I was glad to be able to oJBfer him a 
 suitable position with us at Worth until his mas- 
 ter should return. He brought disquieting re- 
 ports of John's health, saying that he was grow- 
 ing visibly weaker. Though I was sorely tempted 
 to ask him many questions as to his master's habits 
 and way of Hf e, my pride forbade me to do so. But 
 I heard incidentally from my maid that Pamham 
 had told her Sir John was spending money freely 
 in alterations at the Yilla de Angelis, and had 
 engaged ItaHans to attend him, with which his 
 English valet was naturally much dissatisfied. 
 
 So the spring passed and the summer was well 
 advanced. 
 
 On the last morning of July I found waiting 
 for me on the breakfast-table an envelope ad- 
 dressed in my brother's hand. I opened it hastily. 
 It only contained a few words, which I have be- 
 fore me as I write now. The ink is a little faded 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. I49 
 
 and yellow, but the impression it made is yet viyid 
 as on that summer morning. 
 
 " Mt dearest Sophy," it began, — " Come to 
 me here at once, if possible, or it may be too late. 
 I want to see you. They say that I am ill, and 
 too weak to travel to England. — Your loving 
 brother, John." 
 
 There was a great change iu the style, from 
 the cold and conventional notes that he had 
 hitherto sent at such long intervals ; from the stiffi 
 " Dear Sophia " and " Sincerely yours " to which, 
 I grieve to say, I had grown accustomed. Even 
 the writing itself was altered. It was more the 
 bold boyish hand he wrote when first he went to 
 Oxford, than the smaller cramped and classic 
 character of his later years. Though it was a 
 little matter enough, God knows, in comparison 
 with his grievous conduct, yet it touched me 
 much that he should use agaiu the once familiar 
 " Dearest Sophy," and sign himself " my loving 
 brother." I felt my heart go out towards him ; 
 and so strong is woman's affection for her own 
 kin, that I had already forgotten any resentment 
 and reprobation in my great pity for the poor 
 
150 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 wanderer, lying sick perhaps unto death and alone 
 in a foreign land. 
 
 I took his note at once to Mrs. Temple. She 
 read it twice or thrice, trying to take in the mean- 
 iag of it. Then she drew me to her and, kissing 
 me, said, " Go to him at once, Sophy. Bring him 
 back to Worth; try to bring him back to the 
 right way." 
 
 I ordered my things to be packed, determining 
 to drive to Southampton and take train thence to 
 London ; and at the same time Mrs. Temple gave 
 instructions that all should be prepared for her 
 own return to Royston within a few days. I 
 knew she did not dare to see John after her 
 daughter's death. 
 
 I took my maid with me, and Pamham to act 
 as courier. At London we hired a carriage for 
 the whole journey, and from Calais posted direct 
 to Naples. "We took the short route by Marseilles 
 and Genoa, and travelled for seventeen days with- 
 out intermission, as my brother's note made me 
 desirous of losing no time on the way. I had 
 never been in Italy before ; but my anxiety was 
 such that my mind was unable to appreciate either 
 the beauty of the scenery or the incidents of 
 travel. I can, in fact, remember nothing of our 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 151 
 
 journey now, except tlie wearisome and intermix 
 nable jolting over bad roads and the insufEerable 
 heat. It was the middle of August in an excep- 
 tionaEy warm summer, and after passing Genoa 
 the beat became almost tropical. There was no 
 relief even at night, for the warm air hung stag- 
 nant and suffocating, and the inside of my travel- 
 ling coach was often like a furnace. 
 
 We were at last approaching the conclusion of 
 our journey, and had left Eome behind us. The 
 day that we set out from Aversa was the hottest 
 that I have ever felt, the sun beating down with 
 an astonishing power even in the early hours, and 
 the road being thick with a white and blinding 
 dust. It was soon after midnight that our car- 
 riage began rattling over the great stone blocks 
 with which the streets of ]!^aples are paved. The 
 suburbs that we at first passed through were, I 
 remember, in darkness and perfect quiet; but 
 after traversing the heart of the city and reaching 
 the western side, we suddenly found ourselves in 
 the midst of an enormous and very dense crowd. 
 There were lanterns everywhere, and intermina- 
 ble lanes of booths, whose proprietors were prais- 
 ing their wares with loud shouts ; and here acro- 
 bats, jugglers, minstrels, black-vested priests, and 
 
152 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS, 
 
 blue-coated soldiers mingled with a vast crowd 
 whose number at once arrested tbe progress of 
 tbe carriage. Though it was so late of a Sunday 
 night, all seemed here awake and busy as at noon- 
 day. Oil-lamps with reeking fumes of black 
 smoke flung a glare over the scene, and the dis- 
 cordant cries and chattering conversation united 
 in so deafening a noise as to make me turn faint 
 and giddy, wearied as I already was with long 
 travelling. Though I felt that intense eagerness 
 and expectation which the approaching termina- 
 tion of a tedious journey inspires, and was desir- 
 ous of pushing forward with all imaginable des- 
 patch, yet here our course was sadly delayed. 
 The horses could only proceed at the slowest of 
 foot-paces, and we were constantly brought to a 
 complete stop for some minutes before the post- 
 boy could force a passage through the unwilling 
 crowd. This produced a feeling of irritation, and 
 despair of ever reaching my destination ; and the 
 mirth and careless hilarity of the people round us 
 chafed with bitter contrast on my depressed 
 spirits. I inquired from the post-boy what was 
 the origin of so great a conmiotion, and under- 
 stood him to say in reply that it was a religious 
 festival held annually in honour of " Our Lady of 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 153 
 
 the Grotto." I cannot, however, conceive of any 
 truly religious person countenancing such a gath- 
 ering, which seemed to me rather hke the un- 
 clean orgies of a heathen deity than an act of 
 faith of Christian people. This disturbance occa- 
 sioned us so serious a delay, that as we were 
 climbing the steep slope leading up to Posilipo it 
 was already three in the morning and the dawn 
 was at hand. 
 
 After mounting steadily for a long time we 
 began to rapidly descend, and just as the stm 
 came up over the sea we arrived at the YUla de 
 Angelis. I sprang from the carriage, and pass- 
 iug through a trellis of vines, reached the house. 
 A man-servant was in waiting, and held the door 
 open for me ; but he was an Italian, and did not 
 understand me when I asked in English where 
 Sir John Maltravers was. He had evidently, 
 however, received instructions to take me at once 
 to my brother, and led the way to an inner part 
 of the house. As we proceeded I heard the 
 sound of a rich alto voice singing very sweetly to 
 a mandoline some soothing or religious melody. 
 The servant pulled aside a heavy curtain and I 
 found myself in my brothei''s room. An Italian 
 youth sat on a stool near the door, and it was he 
 
154 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 who had been singing. At a few words from 
 John, addressed to him in his own language, he 
 set down his mandoline and left the room, pull- 
 ing to the curtain and shutting a door behind it. 
 
 The room looked directly on to the sea : the 
 villa was, in fact, built upon rocks at the foot of 
 which the waves lapped. Through two folding 
 windows which opened on to a balcony the early 
 light of the summer morning streamed in with a 
 rosy flush. My brother sat on a low couch or 
 sofa, propped up against a heap of pillows, with a 
 rug of brilliant colours flung across his feet and 
 legs. He held out his arms to me, and I ran to 
 him ; but even in so brief an interval I had per- 
 ceived that he was terribly weak and wasted. 
 
 All my memories of his past faults had van- 
 ished and were dead in that sad aspect of his worn 
 features, and in the conviction which 1 felt, even 
 from the first moment, that he had but little time 
 longer to remain with us. I knelt by him on 
 the floor, and with my arms round his neck, em- 
 braced him tenderly, not finding any place for 
 words, but only sobbing in great anguish. Neither 
 of us spoke, and my weariness from long travel 
 and the strangeness of the situation caused me to 
 feel that paralysing sensation of doubt as to the 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 155 
 
 reality of the scene, and even of my own exist- 
 ence, which all, I believe, have experienced at 
 times of severe mental tension. That I, a plain 
 English girl, should be kneeling here beside my 
 brother in the Italian dawn ; that I should read, 
 as I believed, on his young face the unmistakable 
 image and superscription of death; and reflect 
 that within so few months he had married, had 
 wrecked his home, that my poor Constance was 
 no more; — ^these thiags seemed so unrealisable 
 that for a minute I felt that it must all be a night- 
 mare, that I should immediately wake with the 
 fresh salt air of the Channel blowing through my 
 bedroom window at "Worth, and find I had been 
 dreaming. But it was not so ; the light of day 
 grew stronger and brighter, and even in my sorrow 
 the panorama of the most beautiful spot on earth, 
 the Bay of iNTaples, with Vesuvius lying on the far 
 side, as seen then from these windows, stamped it- 
 self for ever on my mind. It was unreal as a scene 
 in some brilliant dramatic spectacle, but, alas ! no 
 unreahty was here. The flames of the candles in 
 their silver sconces waxed paler and paler, the lines 
 and shadows on my brother's face grew darker, and 
 the pallor of his wasted features showed more 
 
 striking in the bright rays of the morning sun. 
 11 
 
OHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 I HAD spent near a week at the Yilla de 
 AngeKs. John's manner to me was most tender 
 and affectionate ; but he showed no wish to refer 
 to the tragedy of his wife's death and the sad 
 events which had preceded it, or to attempt to ex- 
 plain in any way his own conduct in the past. 
 Nor did I ever lead the conversation to these 
 topics ; for I felt that even if there were no other 
 reason, his great weakness rendered it nnadvisable 
 to introduce such subjects at present, or even to 
 lead him to speak at aU more than was actually 
 necessary. I was content to minister to him in 
 quiet, and infinitely happy in his restored affection. 
 He seemed desirous of banishing from his mind 
 all thoughts of the last few months, but spoke 
 much of the years before he had gone to Oxford, 
 and of happy days which we had spent together 
 in our childhood at Worth Maltravers. His weak- 
 ness was extreme, but he complained of no par- 
 
 156 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 157 
 
 ticular malady except a short cougli which troubled 
 him at night. 
 
 I had spoken to him of his health, for I could 
 see that his state was such as to inspire anxiety, 
 and begged that he would allow me to see if there 
 was an English doctor at Naples who could visit 
 him. This he woidd not assent to, saying that he 
 was quite content with the care of an Italian 
 doctor who visited him almost daily, and that he 
 hoped to be able, under my escort, to return withia 
 a very short time to England. 
 
 " I shall never be much better, dear Sophy," 
 he said one day. " The doctor tells me that I am 
 suffering from some sort of consumption, and that 
 I must not expect to live long. Yet I yearn to 
 see Worth once more, and to feel again the west 
 wind blowing in the evening across from Portland, 
 and smiell the thyme on the Dorset downs. In a 
 few days I hope perhaps to be a Httle stronger, 
 and I then wish to show you a discovery which I 
 have made in N^aples. After that you may order 
 them to harness the horses, and carry me back to 
 "Worth Maltravers." 
 
 I endeavoured to ascertain from Signer Bara- 
 veUi, the doctor, something as to the actual state 
 of his patient ; but my knowledge of Italian waa 
 
158 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 SO sliglit that .1 could neither make him under- 
 stand what I would be at, nor comprehend in 
 turn what he replied, so that this attempt was 
 relinquished. From my brother himself I gath- 
 ered that he had begun to feel his health much 
 impaired as far back as the early spring, but 
 though his strength had since then gradually 
 failed him, he had not been confined to the house 
 imtil a month past. He spent the day and often 
 the night reclining on his sofa and speaking little. 
 He had apparently lost that taste for the violin 
 which had once absorbed so much of his atten- 
 tion ; indeed I think the bodily strength neces- 
 sary for its performance had probably now failed 
 him. The Stradivarius instrument lay near his 
 couch- in its case ; but I only saw the latter open 
 on one occasion, I think, and was deeply thankful 
 that John no longer took the same delight as 
 heretofore ia the practice of this art, — ^not only 
 because the mere sound of his violin was now 
 fraught to me with such bitter memories, but also 
 because I felt sure that its performance had in 
 some way which I could not explain a deleterious 
 effect upon himself. He exhibited that absence 
 of vitality which is so often noticeable in those 
 who have not long to live, and on some days lay 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 159 
 
 in a state of, semi-lethargy from whicli it was diffi- 
 cult to rouse him. But at other times he suffered 
 from a distressing restlessness which forbade him 
 to sit still even for a few minutes, and which was 
 more painful to watch than his lethargic stupor. 
 The Italian boy, of whom I have already spoken, 
 exhibited an untiring devotion to his master 
 which won my heart. His name was Eaffaelle 
 Carotenuto, and he often sang to us in the even- 
 ing, accompanying himself on the mandoline. 
 At nights, too, when John could not sleep, 
 Kaffaelle would read for hours till at last his 
 master dozed off. He was well educated, and 
 though I could not understand the subject he 
 read, I often sat by and listened, being charmed 
 with his evident attachment to my brother and 
 with the melodious intonation of a sweet 
 voice. 
 
 My brother was nervous apparently in some 
 respects, and would never be left alone even for a 
 few minutes ; but in the intervals while Kaffaelle 
 was with him I had ample opportunities to ex- 
 amine and appreciate the beauties of the Yilla de 
 Angelis. It was built, as I have said, on some 
 rocks jutting into the sea, just before coming to 
 the Capo di PosiMpo as you proceed from Naples. 
 
160 THE LOST STBADIVAEIUS. 
 
 The earlier foundations were, I believe, originally 
 Koman, and upon them a modem villa had been 
 constructed in the eighteenth century, and to this 
 agaia John had made important additions in the 
 past two years. Looking down upon the sea 
 from the windows of the villa, one could on calm 
 days easily discern the remains of Koman piers 
 and moles lying below the surface of the trans- 
 parent water; and the tufa-rock on which the 
 house was built was burrowed with those unin- 
 telligible excavations of a classic date so common 
 in the neighbourhood. These subterraneous 
 rooms and passages, while they aroused my curi- 
 osity, seemed at the same time so gloomy and 
 repellent that I never explored them. But on 
 one sunny morning, as I walked at the foot of 
 the rocks by the sea, I ventured into one of the 
 larger of these chambers, and saw that it had at 
 the far end an opening leading apparently to 
 another inner room. I had walking with me an 
 old Italian female servant who took a motherly 
 iaterest in my proceedings, and who, relying 
 principally upon a very slight knowledge of Eng- 
 lish, had constituted herseK my body-guard. En- 
 couraged by her presence, I penetrated this iimer 
 room and found that it again opened in turn into 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI DS. 161 
 
 anotlier, and so on until we had passed tlirough 
 no less than four chambers. 
 
 They were all lighted after a fashion through 
 vent-holes which somewhere or other reached the 
 outer air, but the fourth room opened into a fifth 
 which was unlighted. My companion who had 
 been showing signs of alarm and an evident re- 
 luctance to proceed further, now stopped abruptly 
 and begged me to return. It may have been that 
 her fear communicated itself to me also, for on 
 attempting to cross the threshold and explore the 
 darkness of the fifth cell, I was seized by an un- 
 reasoning panic and by the feeling of undefined 
 horror experienced in a nightmare. I hesitated 
 for an instant, but my fear became suddenly more 
 intense, and springing back, I followed my com- 
 panion, who had set out to run back to the outer 
 air. "We never paused until we stood panting in 
 the full sunHght by the sea. As soon as the 
 maid had found her breath, she begged me 
 never to go there again, explaining in broken 
 English that the caves were known in the 
 neighbourhood as the " OeUs of Isis," and were 
 reputed to be haunted by demons. This epi- 
 sode, t riflin g as it may appear, had so great 
 an effect upon me that I never again ventured 
 
162 THE LOST STRADIVARIITS. 
 
 on to the lower walk which ran at the foot of the 
 rocks by the sea. 
 
 In the house above, ray brother had built a 
 large hall after the ancient Eoman style, and this, 
 with a dining-room and many other chambers, 
 were decorated in the fashion of those discovered 
 at Pompeii. They had been furnished with the 
 utmost luxury, and the beauty of the painting, 
 furniture, carpets, and hangings was enhanced by 
 statues in bronze and marble. The villa, indeed, 
 and its fittings were of a kind to which I was little 
 used, and at the same time of such beauty that I 
 never ceased to regard all as a creation of an en- 
 chanter's wand, or as the drop-scene to some 
 drama which might suddenly be raised and dis- 
 appear from my sight. The house, in short, to- 
 gether with its furniture, was, I believe, intended 
 to be a reproduction of an ancient Koman villa, 
 and had something about it repellent to my rustic 
 and insular ideas. In the contemplation of its 
 perfection I experienced a curious mental sensa- 
 tion, which I can only compare to the physical 
 oppression produced on some persons by the heavy 
 and cloying perfume of a bouquet of gardenias or 
 other too highly-scented exotics. 
 
 In my brother's room was a medieval repro- 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 163 
 
 duction in mellow alabaster of a classic group of a 
 dolphin encircling a Oupid. It was, I think, the 
 fairest work of art I ever saw, but it jarred upon 
 my sense of propriety that close by it should hang 
 an ivory crucifix. I would rather, I think, have 
 seen all things material and pagan entirely, with 
 every view of the future life shut out, than have 
 found a medley of things sacred and profane, 
 where the emblems of our highest hopes and 
 aspirations were placed in insulting indifference 
 side by side with the embodied forms of sensu- 
 ality. Here, in this scene of magical beauty, it 
 seemed to ifte for a moment that the years had 
 rolled back, that Christianity had still to fight 
 with a living Paganism, and that the battle was 
 not yet won. It was the same all through the 
 house ; and there were many other matters which 
 filled me with regret, mingled with vague and 
 apprehensive surmises which I shall not here re- 
 peat. 
 
 At one end of the house was a small library, 
 but it contained few works except Latin and 
 Greek classics. I had gone thither one day to 
 look for a book that John had asked for, when in 
 turning out some drawers I found a number of 
 letters written from Worth by my lost Constance 
 
164 THE LOST 8TEADIVARIU8, 
 
 to iter husband. The shock of being brought sud- 
 denly face to face with a handwriting that evoked 
 memories at once so dear and sad was in itseK a 
 sharp one; but its bitterness was immeasurably 
 increased by the discovery that not one of these 
 envelopes had ever been opened. WhUe that 
 dear heart, now at rest, was pouring forth her 
 love and sorrow to the ears that should have been 
 above all others ready to receive them, her letters, 
 as they arrived, were fltmg nncared for, unread, 
 even unopened, into any haphazard receptacle. 
 
 The days passed one by one at the ViUa de 
 Angelis with but httle incident, nor did my 
 brother's health either visibly improve or decline. 
 Though the weather was stiU more than usually 
 warm, a grateful breeze came morning and even- 
 ing from the sea and tempered the heat so much 
 as to render it always supportable. John would 
 sometimes in the evening sit propped up with 
 cushions on the trellised balcony looking towards 
 Baia, and watch the flshermen setting their nets. 
 We could hear the melody of their deep-voiced 
 songs carried up on the night air. " It was here, 
 Sophy," my brother said, aa we sat one evening 
 looking on a scene like this — " It was here that 
 the great epicure PoIIio built himself a famous 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 165 
 
 house, and called it by two Greek words meaning 
 a ' truce to care,' from wliicli our name of Posi- 
 lipo is deriyed. It was his sans-souci, and here 
 he cast aside his vexations ; but they were lighter 
 than mine. Posilipo has brought no cessation of 
 care to me. I do not think I shall find any 
 truce this side the grave; and beyond, who 
 knows ? " 
 
 This was the first time John had spoken in 
 this straiu, and he seemed stirred to an unusual 
 activity, as though his own words had suddenly 
 reminded him how frail was his state. He called 
 Eaffaelle to him and despatched him on an errand 
 to ISTaples. The next morning he sent for me 
 earlier than usual, and begged that a carriage 
 might be ready by six in the evening, as he desired 
 to drive into the city. I tried at first to dissuade 
 him from this project, urging him to consider his 
 weak state of health. He replied that he felt 
 somewhat stronger, and had something that he 
 particularly wished me to see in Naples. This 
 done, it would be better to return at once to 
 England; he could, he thought, bear the jour- 
 ney if we travelled by very short stages. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 Shoetlt after six o'clock in the evening we 
 left the YiUa de Angelis. The day had been 
 as usual cloudlessly serene; but a gentle sea- 
 breeze, of which I have spoken, rose ia the after- 
 noon and brought with it a refreshing coolness. 
 We had arranged a sort of couch in the landau 
 with many cushions for my brother, and he 
 mounted into the carriage with more ease than 
 I had expected. I sat beside him, with Eaffaelle 
 facing me on the opposite seat. We drove down 
 the hill of Posilipo through the ilex-trees and 
 tamariflk-bushes that then skirted the sea, and so 
 into the town. John spoke httle except to re- 
 mark that the carriage was an easy one. As we 
 were passing through one of the principal streets 
 he bent over to me and said, " You must not be 
 alarmed if I show you to-day a strange sight. 
 Some women might perhaps be frightened at 
 what we are going to see ; but my poor sister 
 
 166 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI [JS. 16Y 
 
 has known already so much of trouble that a light 
 thing like this wiU not affect her." In spite of 
 his encomiums upon my supposed courage, I 
 felt alarmed and agitated by his words. There 
 was a vagueness ra them which frightened 
 me, and bred that indefinite apprehension which 
 is often infinitely more terrifying than the actual 
 object which inspires it. To my inquiries he 
 would give no further response than to say that 
 he had whilst at Posilipo made some investiga- 
 tions in Naples leading to a strange discovery, 
 which he was anxious to conmiunicate to me. 
 After traversiQg a considerable distance, we had 
 penetrated apparently into the heart of the town. 
 The streets grew narrower and more densely 
 thronged ; the houses were more dirty and tum- 
 ble-down, and the appearance of the people 
 themselves suggested that we had reached some 
 of the lower quarters of the city.. Here we 
 passed through a further network of small streets 
 of the name of which I took no note, and found 
 ourselves at last in a very dark and narrow lane 
 called the Via del Gia/rdino. Although my 
 brother had, so far as I had observed, given no 
 orders to the coachman, the latter seemed to have 
 no difficulty in finding his way, driving rapidly 
 
168 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 in the Neapolitan fashion, and proceeding direct 
 as to a place with which he was already familiar. 
 
 In the Yia del Giardino the houses were of 
 great height, and overhung the street so as nearly 
 to touch one another. It seemed that this quar- 
 ter had been formerly inhabited, if not by the 
 aristocracy, at least by a class very much superior 
 to that which now hved there ; and many of the 
 houses were large and dignified, though long 
 since parcelled out into smaller tenements. It 
 was before such a house that we at last brought 
 up. Here must have been at one time a house or 
 palace of some person of distinction, having a 
 long and fine fagade adorned with dehcate pilas- 
 ters, and much florid ornamentation of the Ke- 
 naissance period. The ground-floor was divided 
 into a series of small shops, and its upper storeys 
 were evidently peopled by sordid famiKes of the 
 lowest class. Before one of these little shops, 
 now closed and having its windows carefully 
 blocked with boards, our carriage stopped. Eaf- 
 faelle alighted, and taking a key from his pocket 
 imlocked the door, and assisted John to leave the 
 carriage. I followed, and directly we had crossed 
 the threshold, the boy locked the door behind 
 us, and I heard the carriage drive away. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 169 
 
 We found ourselves in a narrow and dark 
 passage, and as soon as my eyes grew aocnstomed 
 to the gloom I perceived there was at the end of 
 it a low staircase leading to some upper room, 
 and on the right a door which opened into the 
 closed shop. My brother moved slowly along the 
 passage, and began to ascend the stairs. He 
 leant with one hand on Eaffaelle's arm, taking 
 hold of the balusters with the other. But I could 
 see that to mount the stairs cost him considerable 
 effort, and he paused frequently to cough and get 
 his breath again. So we reached a landing at the 
 top, and found ourselves ia a small chamber or 
 magazine directly over the shop. It was quite 
 empty except for a few broken chairs, and ap- 
 peared to be a small loft formed by dividing what 
 had once been a high room into two storeys, of 
 which the shop formed the lower. A long win- 
 dow, which had no doubt once formed one of 
 several in the walls of this large room, was now 
 divided across its width by the flooring, and with 
 its upper part served to light the loft, while its 
 lower panes opened into the shop. The ceiling 
 was, in consequence of these alterations, compara- 
 tively low, but though much mutilated, retained 
 evident traces of having been at one time richly 
 
170 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 decorated, witli the raised mouldings and pen- 
 dants common in the sixteenth century. At one 
 end of the loft was a species of coved and elab- 
 orately carved dado, of which the former use was 
 not obvious; but the large original room had 
 without doubt been divided in length as well as 
 in height, as the lath-and-plaster walls at either 
 end of the loft had evidently been no part of the 
 ancient structure. 
 
 My brother sat down ia one of the old chairs, 
 and seemed to be collecting his strength before 
 speaking. My anxiety was momentarily increas- 
 ing, and it was a great rehef when he began talk- 
 ing in a low voice as one that had much to say 
 and wished to husband his strength, 
 
 "I do not know whether you wUl recoUect 
 my having told you of something Mr. Gaskell 
 once said about the music of Graziani's ' Areo- 
 pagita' suite. It had always, he used to say, a 
 curious effect upon his imagination, and the mel- 
 ody of the GagUa/rda especially called up to his 
 thoughts in some strange way a picture of a cer- 
 tain hall where people were dancing. He even 
 went so far as to describe the general appearance 
 of the room itself, and of the persons who were 
 dancing there." 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. ITl 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I remember your telling 
 me of this ; " and indeed mjr memory had in 
 times past so often rehearsed Mr. Gaskell's de- 
 scription, that although I had not recently thought 
 of it, its chief features immediately returned to 
 my mind. 
 
 " He described it," my brother continued, " as 
 a long hall with an arcade of arches running 
 down one side, of the fantastic Gothic of the Ee- 
 naissance. At the end was a gallery or balcony 
 for the musicians, which on its front carried a 
 coat of arms." 
 
 I remembered this perfectly and told John so, 
 adding that the shield bore a cherub's head fan- 
 ning three lilies on a golden field. 
 
 " It is strange," John went on, " that the de- 
 scription of a scene which our friend thought a 
 mere effort of his own imagination has impressed 
 itself so deeply on both our minds. But the pic- 
 ture which he drew was more than a fancy, for 
 we are at this minute ia the very hall of his 
 dream." 
 
 I could not gather what my brother meant, 
 
 and thought hie reason was failing him; but he 
 
 continued, "This miserable floor on which we 
 
 stand has of course been afterwards built in ; but 
 12 
 
172 THE LOST STRADIVAKIUS. 
 
 yon may see above you the old ceiling, and here 
 at the end was the musicians' gallery with the 
 shield upon its front." 
 
 He pointed to the carved and whitewashed 
 dado which had hitherto so puzzled me. I 
 stepped up to it, and although the lath-and- 
 plaster partition wall was now built around it, it 
 was clear that its curved outline might very 
 easily, as John said, have formed part of the 
 front of a coved gallery. I looked closely at the 
 relief-work which had adorned it. Though the 
 edges were all rubbed off, and the mouldings 
 in some cases entirely removed, I could trace 
 without difficulty a shield in the midst; and a 
 more narrow inspection revealed underneath the 
 whitewash, which had partly peeled away, enough 
 remnants of colour to show that it had certainly 
 been once painted gold and borne a cherub's 
 head with three lilies. 
 
 "That is the shield of the old Neapolitan 
 house of Doma-Cavalli," my brother continued ; 
 "they bore a cherub's head fanning three lilies 
 on a shield or. It was in the balcony behind this 
 shield, long since blocked up as you see, that the 
 musicians sat on that baU night of which Graskell 
 dreamt. From it they looked down on the hall 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 173 
 
 below where dancing was going forward, and I 
 will now take you downstairs that you may see 
 if the description tallies." 
 
 So saying, he raised himself, and descending 
 the stairs Avith much less difficulty than he had 
 shown in mounting them, flung open the door 
 which I had seen in the passage and ushered us 
 into the shop on the ground-floor. The evening 
 light had now faded so much that we could 
 scarely see even in the passage, and the shop hav- 
 ing its windows barricaded with shutters, was in 
 complete darkness. EaffaeUe, however, struck a 
 match and lit three half -burnt candles in a tar- 
 nished sconce upon the wall. 
 
 The shop had evidently been lately in the oc- 
 cupation of a wine-seller, and there were still 
 several empty wooden wine-butts, and some 
 broken flasks on shelves. In one comer I noticed 
 that the earth which formed the floor had been 
 turned up with spades. There was a small heap 
 of mould, and a large flat stone was thus exposed 
 below the surface. This stone had an iron ring 
 attached to it, and seemed to cover the aperture 
 of a well, or perhaps a vault. At the back of the 
 shop, and furthest from the street, were two 
 lofty arches separated by a column in the mid- 
 
174 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 die, from whicli the oTitside cafling had been 
 stripped. 
 
 To these arches John pointed and said, " That 
 is a part of the arcade which once ran down the 
 whole length of the hall. Only these two arches 
 are now left, and the fine marbles which doubtless 
 coated the outside of this dividing pillar have 
 been stripped off. On a summer's night about one 
 hundred years ago dancing was going on in this 
 hall. There were a dozen couples dancing a wild 
 step such as is never seen now. The tune that 
 the musicians were playing in the gallery above 
 was taken from the 'Areopagita' suite of 
 Graziani. Gaskell has often told me that when 
 he played it the music brought with it to his 
 mind a sense of some impending catastrophe, 
 which culminated at the end of the first move- 
 ment of the OagUa/rda. It was just at that 
 moment, Sophy, that an Enghshman who was 
 dancing here was stabbed in the back and foully 
 murdered." 
 
 I had scarcely heard all that John had said, 
 and had certainly not been able to take in its 
 import ; but without waiting to hear if I should 
 say anything, he moved across to the uncovered 
 stone with the ring in it. Exerting a strength 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 175 
 
 wMch I should have believed entirely impossible 
 in his weak condition, he applied to the stone a 
 lever which lay ready at hand. Eaffaelle at the 
 same time seized the ring, and so they were able 
 between them to move the covering to one side 
 sufficiently to allow access to a small staircase 
 which thus appeared to view. The stair was a 
 winding one, and once led no doubt to some 
 vaults below the ground-floor. Eaffaelle de- 
 scended first, taking in his hand the sconce of 
 three candles, which he held above his head so as 
 to fling a light down the steps. John went next, 
 and then I followed, trying to support my brother 
 if possible with my hand. The stairs were very 
 dry, and on the walls there was none of the damp 
 or mould which fancy usually associates with a 
 subterraneous vault. I do not know what it was I 
 expected to see, but I had an uneasy feeling that 
 I was on the brink of some evil and distressing 
 discovery. After we had descended about twenty 
 steps we could see the entry to some vault or un- 
 derground room, and it was just at the foot of 
 the stairs that I saw something lying, as the light 
 from the candles fell on it from above. At first 
 I thought it was a heap of dust or refuse, but on 
 looking closer it seemed rather a bundle of rags. 
 
176 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 As my eyes penetrated the gloom, I saw tliere 
 was about it some tattered cloth of a faded green 
 tint, and almost at the same minute I seemed to 
 trace under the clothes the lines or dimensions of 
 a human figure. For a moment I imagined jt 
 was some poor man lying face downward and 
 bent up against the wall. The idea of a man or 
 of a dead body being there shocked me violently, 
 and I cried to my brother, " Tell me, what is it ? " 
 At that instant the light from EaflEaelle's candles 
 fell ia a somewhat different direction. It lighted 
 up the white bowl of a human skull, and I saw 
 that what I had taken for a man's form was 
 instead that of a clothed skeleton. I turned faint 
 and sick for an instant, and should have fallen 
 had it not been for John, who put his arm about 
 me and sustained me with an unexpected 
 strength. 
 
 " God help us ! " I exclaimed, " let us go. I 
 cannot bear this ; there are foul vapours here ; let 
 us get back to the outer air." 
 
 He took me by the arm, and pointing at the 
 huddled heap, said, " Do you know whose bones 
 those are ? That is Adrian Temple. After it 
 was all over, they flung his body down the steps 
 dressed in the clothes he wore." 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 177 
 
 At that name, uttered in so ill-omened a place, 
 I felt a fresh access of terror. It seemed as though 
 the soul of that wicked man must be still hovering 
 over his unburied remains, and boding evil to us 
 all. A chill crept over me, the light, the walls, 
 my brother, and EaffaeUe all swam round, and I 
 sank swooning on the stairs. 
 
 "When I returned fully to my senses we were 
 in the landau again making our way back to the 
 Villa de Angelis. 
 
CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 The next morning my health and strength 
 were entirely restored to me, but my brother, on 
 the contrary, seemed weak and exhausted from his 
 efforts of the previous night. Our return journey 
 to the Villa de Angelis had passed in complete 
 silence. I had been too much perturbed to ques- 
 tion him on the many points relating to the 
 strange events as to which 1 was still completely 
 in the dark, and he on his side had shown no de- 
 sire to afford me any further information. When 
 I saw him the next morning he exhibited signs of 
 great weakness, and in response to an effort on 
 my part to obtaia some explanation of the dis- 
 covery of Adrian Temple's body, avoided an im- 
 mediate reply, promising to teU me all he knew 
 after our return to Worth Maltravers. 
 
 I pondered over the last terrifying episode 
 very frequently in my own mind, and as I thought 
 more deeply of it all, it seemed to me that the out- 
 
 178 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 1Y9 
 
 lines of some evil history were piece by piece 
 developing themselves, that I had almost withia 
 my grasp the clue that would make all plain, and 
 that had eluded me so long. In that dim story 
 Adrian Temple, the music of the OagUwrda, my 
 brother's fatal passion for the violin, all seemed to 
 have some mysterious connection, and to have 
 conspired in working John's mental and physical 
 ruin. Even the Stradivarius violin bore a part in 
 the tragedy, becoming, as it were, an actively ma- 
 lignant spirit, though I could not explain how, 
 and was yet entirely unaware of the manner in 
 which it had come into my brother's possession. 
 
 I found that John was still resolved on an 
 immediate return to England. His weakness, it 
 is true, led me to entertain doubts as to how he 
 would support so long a journey ; but at the same 
 time I did not feel justified in using any strong 
 efforts to dissuade him from his purpose. I re- 
 flected that the more wholesome air and associa- 
 tions of England would certainly re-invigorate 
 both body and mind, and that any extra strain 
 brought about by the journey would soon be 
 repaired by the comforts and watchful care with 
 which we could surround him at Worth Mal- 
 travers. 
 
180 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 So the first week in October saw ns once more 
 with our faces set towards England. A very 
 comfortable swinging-bed or hammock had been 
 arranged for John in the travelling carriage, and 
 we determined to avoid fatigue as much as possi- 
 ble by dividing our journey into very short stages. 
 My brother seemed to have no intention of giving 
 up the Villa de Angelis. It was left complete 
 with its luxurious furniture, and with all his serv- 
 ants, under the care of an Italian maggior-diiomo. 
 I felt that as John's state of health forbade his 
 entertaining any hope of an immediate return 
 thither, it would have been much better to close 
 entirely his Italian house. But his great weak- 
 ness made it impossible for him to undertake the 
 effort such a course would involve, and even if 
 my own ignorance of the Italian tongue had not 
 stood in the way, I was far too eager to get my 
 invalid back to Worth to feel inclined to import 
 any further delay, while I should myself adjust 
 matters which were after all comparatively tri- 
 fling. As Pamham was now ready to discharge 
 his usual duties of valet, and my brother seemed 
 quite content that he should do so, EaffaeUe was 
 of course to be left behind. The boy had quite 
 won my heart by his sweet manners, combined 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 181 
 
 with liis evident affection to his naaster, and in 
 making him understand that he was now to leave 
 us, I offered him a present of a few pounds as a 
 token of my esteem. He refused, however, to 
 touch this money, and shed tears when he learnt 
 that he was to be left in Italy, and begged with 
 many protestations of devotion that he might be 
 allowed to accompany us to England. My heart 
 was not proof against his entreaties, supported by 
 so many signs of attachment, and it was agreed, 
 therefore, that he should at least attend us as far 
 as Worth Maltravers. John showed no surprise 
 at the boy being with us, indeed I never thought 
 it necessary to explain that I had originally pur- 
 posed to leave him behind. 
 
 Our journey, though necessarily prolonged by 
 the shortness of its stages, was safely accom- 
 plished. John bore it as well as I could have 
 hoped, and though his body showed no signs of 
 increased vigour, his mind, I think, improved in 
 tone, at any rate for a time. From the evening 
 on which he had shown me the terrible discovery 
 in the Via del Giardino he seemed to have laid 
 aside something of his care and depression. He 
 now exhibited little trace of the moroseness and 
 selfishness which had of late so marred his char- 
 
182 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 acter; and though he naturally felt severely at 
 times the fatigue of travel, yet we had no longer 
 to dread any relapse into that state of lethargy or 
 stupor which had so often baffled every effort to 
 connteract it at Posilipo. Some feeling of super- 
 stitious aversion had prompted me to give orders 
 that the Stradivarius violin should be left behind 
 at Posilipo. But before parting my brother 
 asked for it, and insisted that it should be brought 
 with him, though I had never heard him play a 
 note on it for many weeks. He took an interest 
 in aU the petty episodes of travel, and certainly 
 appeared to derive more entertainment from the 
 journey than was to have been anticipated in his 
 feeble state of health. 
 
 To the incidents of the evening spent in the 
 "Via del Giardino he made no allusion of any kind, 
 nor did I for my part wish to renew memories of 
 so unpleasant a nature. His only reference oc- 
 curred one Sunday evening as we were passing a 
 small graveyard near Genoa. The scene appar- 
 ently turned his thoughts to that subject, and he 
 told me that he had taken measures before leav- 
 ing Naples to ensure that the remains of Adrian 
 Temple should be decently interred in the ceme- 
 tery of Santa Sibiana. His words set me think- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 183 
 
 ing again, and unsatisfied curiosity prompted me 
 strongly to inquire of Mm how he had convinced 
 himself that the skeleton at the foot of the stairs 
 was indeed that of Adrian Temple. But I re- 
 strained myself, partly from a reliance on his 
 promise that he would one day explaia-the whole 
 story to me, and partly being very reluctant to 
 mar the enjoyment of the peaceful scenes through 
 which we were passing, by the introduction of 
 any subjects so jarring and painful as those to 
 which I have alluded. 
 
 We reached London at last, and here we 
 stopped a few days to make some necessary ar- 
 rangements before going down to Worth Mal- 
 travers. I had urged upon John during the jour- 
 ney that immediately on his arrival in London he 
 shoxdd obtain the best English medical advice as 
 to his own health. Though he at first demurred, 
 saying that nothing more was to be done, and 
 that he waa perfectly satisfied Avith the medicine 
 given bi'tn by Dr. Baravelli, which he continued 
 to take, yet by constant entreaty I prevailed upon 
 him to accede to so reasonable a request. Dr. 
 Frobisher, considered at that time the first living 
 authority on diseases of the brain and nerves, saw 
 him on the morning after our arrival. He was 
 
184 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 good enoTigli to speak with me at some length 
 after seeing my brother, and to give me many 
 hints and recipes whereby I might be better 
 enabled to nurse the invalid. 
 
 Sir John's condition, he said, was such as to 
 excite serious anxiety. There was, indeed, no 
 brain mischief of. any kind to be discovered, but 
 his lungs were in a state of advanced disease, and 
 there were signs of grave heart affection. Yet he 
 did not bid me to despair, but said that with care- 
 ful nursing life might certainly be prolonged, and 
 even some measure of health in time restored. 
 He asked me more than once if I knew of any 
 trouble or worry that preyed upon Sir John's 
 mind. Were there financial difficulties ; had he 
 been subjected to any mental shock ; had he re- 
 ceived any severe fright ? To aU this I could 
 only reply in the negative. At the same time I 
 told Dr. Frobisher as much of John's history as I 
 considered pertinent to the question. He shook 
 his head gravely, and recommended that Sir John 
 should remain for the present in London, under 
 his own constant supervision. To this course my 
 brother would by no means consent. He was 
 eager to proceed at once to his own house, saying 
 that if necessary we could return again to London 
 
THE LOST STRAPIVARIUS. 185 
 
 for Christmas. It was therefore agreed that we 
 should go down to Worth Maltravers at the end 
 of the week. 
 
 Pamham had already left us for Worth ua 
 order that he might have everything ready against 
 his master's return, and when we arrived we found 
 aU in perfect order for our reception. A small 
 morning-room next to the library, with a pleasant 
 south aspect and opening on to the terrace, had 
 been prepared for my brother's use, so that he 
 might avoid the fatigue of mounting stairs, which 
 Dr. Frobisher considered very prejudicial ia his 
 present condition. We had also purchased in 
 London a chair fitted with wheels, which enabled 
 him to be moved, or, if he were feeling equal to 
 the exertion, to move himself, without difficulty, 
 from room to room. 
 
 His health, I think, improved ; very gradually, 
 it is true, but still sufficiently to inspire me with 
 hope that he might yet be spared to us. Of the 
 state of his mind or thoughts I knew httle, but I 
 could see that he was at times a prey to nervous 
 anxiety. This showed itself in the harassed look 
 which his pale face often wore, and in his marked 
 dislike to being left alone. He derived, I think, 
 a certain pleasure from the quietude and monotony 
 
186 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 of his life at Worth, and perhaps also from the 
 consciousness that he had about him loying and 
 devoted hearts. I say hearts, for every servant 
 at Worth waa attached to him, remembering the 
 great consideration and courtesy of his earlier 
 years, and grieving to see his youthful and once 
 vigorous frame reduced to so sad a strait. Books 
 he never read himself, and even the charm of 
 Eaffaelle's reading seemed to have lost its power ; 
 though he never tired of hearing the boy sing, 
 and Uked to have him sit by his chair even when 
 his eyes were shut and he was apparently asleep. 
 His general health seemed to me to change but 
 little either for better or worse. Dr. Frobisher 
 had led me to expect some such a sequel. I had 
 not concealed from him that I had at times enter- 
 tained suspicions as to my brother's sanity ; but 
 he had assured me that they were totally un- 
 founded, that Sir John's brain was as clear as his 
 own. At the same time he confessed that he 
 could not account for the exhausted vitality of his 
 patient — a condition which he would under ordi- 
 nary circumstances have attributed to excessive 
 study or severe trouble. He had urged upon me 
 the pressing necessity for complete rest, and for 
 much sleep. My brother never even incidentally 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 187 
 
 referred to his wife, his child, or to Mrs. Temple, 
 who constantly wrote to me from Eoyston, send- 
 ing kind messages to John, and asking how he 
 did. These messages I never dared to give him, 
 fearing to agitate him, or retard his recovery by 
 diverting his thoughts into channels which must 
 necessarily be of a painful character. That he 
 should never even mention her name, or that of 
 Lady Maltravers, led me to wonder sometimes if 
 one of those curious freaks of memory which oc- 
 casionally accompany a severe illness had not en- 
 tirely blotted out from his mind the recollection 
 of his marriage and of his wife's death. He was 
 unable to consider any affairs of business, and the 
 management of the estate remained as it had done 
 for the last two years in the hands of our excellent 
 agent, Mr. Baker. 
 
 But one evening in the early part of Decem- 
 ber he sent Eaffaelle about nine o'clock, saying 
 he wished to speak to me. I went to his room, 
 and without any warning he began at once, " You 
 never show me my boy now, Sophy ; he must be 
 grown a big child, and I should like to see him." 
 Much startled by so unexpected a remark, I re- 
 plied that the child was at Koyston under the 
 
 care of Mrs. Temple, but that I knew that if it 
 13 
 
188 THE LOST STRADlVARIUa 
 
 pleased him to see Edward she would be glad to 
 bring him down to Worth. He seemed gratified 
 with this idea, and begged me to ask her to do so, 
 desiring that his respects should be at the same 
 time conveyed to her. I almost ventured at that 
 moment to recall his lost wife to his thoughts, by 
 sayiag that his child resembled her strongly ; for 
 your likeness at that time, and even now, my 
 dear Edward, to your poor mother was very 
 marked. But my courage failed me, and his talk 
 soon reverted to an earher period, comparing the 
 mildness of the month to that of the first winter 
 which he spent at Eton. His thoughts, however, 
 must, I fancy, have returned for a moment to the 
 days when he fijst met your mother, for he sud- 
 denly asked, "Where is Gaskell? Why does he 
 never come to see me ? " This brought quite a 
 new idea to my mind. I fancied it might do my 
 brother much good to have by him so sensible 
 and true a friend as I knew Mr. Gaskell to be. 
 The latter's address had fortunately not slipped 
 from my memory, and I put all scruples aside 
 and wrote by the next mail to him, setting forth 
 my brother's sad condition, saying that I had 
 heard John mention his name, and begging him 
 on my own account to be so good as to help us if 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 189 
 
 possible and come to us in this hour of trial. 
 Though he was so far off as Westmoreland, Mr. 
 GaskeU's generosity brought him at once to our 
 aid, and within a week he was installed at Worth 
 Maltravers, sleeping in the Hbrary, where we had 
 arranged a bed at his own desire, so that he might 
 be near his sick friend. 
 
 His presence was of the utmost assistance to 
 us all. He treated John at once with the tender- 
 ness of a woman and the firmness of a clever and 
 strong man. They sat constantly together in the 
 mornings, and Mr. Gaskell told me John had 
 not shown with him the same reluctance to talk 
 freely of his married life as he had discovered 
 with me. The tenor of his commimications I 
 cannot guess, nor did I ever ask; but I knew 
 that Mr. GaskeU was much affected by them. 
 
 John even amused himself now at times by 
 having Mr. Baker into his rooms of a morning, 
 that the management of the estate might be dis- 
 cussed with his friend ; and he also expressed his 
 wish to see the family solicitor, as he desired to 
 draw his wiU. Thinking that any diversion of 
 this nature could not but be beneficial to him, we 
 sent to Dorchester for our solicitor, Mr. Jeffreys, 
 who together with his clerk spent three nights at 
 
190 THE LOST STRADIVAHIUS. 
 
 Worth, and drew up. a testament for my brother. 
 So time went on, and the year was drawing 
 to a close. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and I had gone to bed 
 shortly after twelve o'clock, having an hour 
 earlier bid good night to John and Mr. Gas- 
 keU. The long habit of watching with, or being 
 in charge of an invalid at night, had made my 
 ears extraordinarily quick to apprehend even the 
 slightest murmur. It must have been, I think, 
 near three in the morning when I found myself 
 awake and conscious of some unusual sound. It 
 was low and far off, but I knew instantly what it 
 was, and felt a choking sensation of fear and 
 horror, as if an icy hand had gripped my throat, 
 on recognising the air of the GagUa/rda. It was 
 being played on the viohn, and a long way off, 
 but I knew that tune too well to permit of my 
 having any doubt on the subject. 
 
 Any trouble or fear becomes, as you will 
 some day learn, my dear nephew, immensely in- 
 tensified and exaggerated at night. It is so, I 
 suppose, because our nerves are in an excited 
 condition, and our brain not sufficiently awake to 
 give a due account of our foolish imaginations. 
 I have myseK many times lain awake wrestling 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 191 
 
 in thought with difficulties which in the hours of 
 darkness seemed insurmountable, but with the 
 dawn resolved themselves into merely trivial in- 
 conveniences. So on this night, as I sat up in 
 bed looking into the dark, with the sound of 
 that melody in my ears, it seemed as if something 
 too terrible for words had happened ; as though 
 the evil spirit, which we had hoped was exorcised, 
 had returned with others sevenfold more wicked 
 than himself, and taken up his abode again with 
 my lost brother. The memory of another night 
 rushed to my mind when Constance had called 
 me from my bed at Eoyston, and we had stolen 
 together down the moonht passages with the hit 
 of that wicked music vibrating on the still sum- 
 mer air. Poor Constance ! She was in her grave 
 now ; yet her troubles at least were over, but 
 here, as by some bitter irony, instead of carol or 
 sweet symphony, it was the GagUa/rda that woke 
 me from my sleep on Christmas morning. 
 
 I flung my dressing-gown about me, and 
 hurried through the corridor and down the stairs 
 which led to the lower storey and my brother's 
 room. As I opened my bedroom door the violin 
 ceased suddenly in the middle of a bar. Its last 
 sound was not a musical note, but rather a hor- 
 
192 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 rible scream, such as I pray I may never hear 
 again. It was a sound such as a wounded beast 
 might utter. There is a picture I have seen of 
 Blake's, showing the soul of a strong wicked man 
 leaving his body at death. The spirit is flying 
 out through the window with awful staring eyes, 
 aghast at the desolation into which it is going. 
 If in the agony of dissolution such a lost soul 
 could utter a cry, it would, I think, sound hke 
 the wail which I heard from the violin that night. 
 Instantly all was in absolute stillness. The 
 passages were silent and ghostly ia the faint 
 light of my candle ; but as I reached the bottom 
 of the stairs I heard the sound of other foot- 
 steps, and Mr. Gaskell met me. He was fully 
 dressed, and had evidently not been to bed. He 
 took me kindly by the hand and said, " I feared 
 you might be alarmed by the sound of music. 
 John has been walking in his sleep ; he had taken 
 out his violin and was playing on it in a trance. 
 Just as 1 reached him something in it gave way, 
 and the discord caused by the slackened strings 
 roused him at once. He is awake now and has 
 returned to bed. Control your alarm for his sake 
 and your own. It is better that he should not 
 know you have been awakened." 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 193 
 
 He pressed my hand and spoke a few more 
 reassuring words, and I went back to my room 
 still mncli agitated, and yet feeling half ashamed 
 for having shown so much anxiety with so little 
 reason. 
 
 That Christmas morning was one of the most 
 beautiful that I ever remember. It seemed as 
 though summer was so loath to leave our sunny 
 Dorset coast that she came back on this day to 
 bid us adieu before her final departure. I had 
 risen early and had partaken of the Sacrament at 
 our little church. Dr. Butler had recently intro- 
 duced this early service, and though any altera- 
 tion of time-honoured customs in such matters 
 might not otherwise have met with my approval, 
 I was glad to avail myself of the privilege on this 
 occasion, as I wished in any case to spend the 
 later morning with my brother. The singular 
 beauty of the early hours, and the tranquilHsing 
 effect of the solemn service brought back seren- 
 ity to my mind, and effectually banished from it 
 all memories of the preceding night. Mr. Gas- 
 kell met me in the hall on my return, and after 
 greeting me kindly with the established compli- 
 ments of the day, inquired after my health, and 
 hoped that the disturbance of my slumber on the 
 
194 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 previous night liad not affected me injuriously. 
 He had good news for me: John seemed de- 
 cidedly better, was already dressed, and desired, 
 as it was Christmas morning, that we would take 
 our breakfast with him ia his room. 
 
 To this, as you may imagine, I readily as- 
 sented. Our breakfast party passed off with 
 much content, and even with some quiet humour, 
 John sitting in his easy-chair at the head of the 
 table and wishing us the compliments of the sea- 
 son. I found laid in my place a letter from Mrs. 
 Temple greeting us all (for she knew Mr. Gaskell 
 was at Worth), and saying that she hoped to bring 
 httle Edward to us at the New Year. My brother 
 seemed much pleased at the prospect of seeing 
 his son, and though perhaps it was only imagina- 
 tion, I fancied he was particularly gratified that 
 Mrs. Temple herself was to pay us a visit. She 
 had not been to Worth since the death of Lady 
 Maltravers. 
 
 Before we had finished breakfast the sun beat 
 on the panes with an unusual strength and bright- 
 ness. His rays cheered us all, and it was so warm 
 that John first opened the windows, and then 
 wheeled his chair on to the walk outside. Mr, 
 Gaskell brought him a hat and mufflers, and we 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 195 
 
 sat with him on the terrace baslriiig in the snn. 
 The sea was still and glassy as a mirror, and the 
 Channel lay stretched before us like a floor of 
 moving gold. A rose or two still hung against 
 the house, and the sun's rays reflected from the 
 red sandstone gave us a December morning more 
 mild and genial than many June days that I have 
 known in the north. We sat for some minutes 
 without speaking, immersed in our own reflections 
 and in the exquisite beauty of the scene. 
 
 The stniaess was broken by the bells of the 
 parish church ringing for the morning service. 
 There were two of them, and their sound, famil- 
 iar to us from childhood, seemed hke the voices 
 of old friends. John looked at me and said with 
 a sigh, " I should hke to go to church. It is long 
 since I was there. You and I have always been 
 on Christmas mornings, Sophy, and Constance 
 would have wished it had she been with us." 
 
 His words, so unexpected and tender, filled 
 my eyes with tears; not tears of grief, but of 
 deep thankfulness to see my loved one turning 
 once more to the old ways. It was the first time 
 I had heard him speak of Constance, and that 
 gweet name, with the infinite pathos of her death, 
 an-d of the spectacle of my brother's weakness, so 
 
196 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 
 
 overcame me tliat I could not speak. I only 
 pressed his hand and nodded. Mr. Gaskell, who 
 had turned away for a minute, said he thought 
 John would take no harm in attending the morn- 
 ing service provided the church were warm. On 
 this point I could reassure him, having found it 
 properly heated even in the early morning. 
 
 Mr. Graskell was to push John's chair, and I 
 ran oflE to put on my cloak, with my heart full of 
 profound thankfulness for the signs of returning 
 grace so mercifully vouchsafed to our dear sufferer 
 on this happy day. I was ready dressed and had 
 just entered the library when Mr. Gaskell stepped 
 hurriedly through the window from the terrace. 
 " John has fainted ! " he said. " Bxld. for some 
 smelling salts and call Pamham ! " 
 
 There was a scene of hurried alarm, giving 
 place ere long to terrified despair. Pamham 
 mounted a horse and set off at a wild gallop to 
 Swanage to fetch Dr. Bruton; but an hour 
 before he returned we knew the worst. My 
 brother was beyond the aid of the physician : his 
 wrecked life had reached a sudden term ! 
 
 I have now, dear Edward, completed th6 
 brief narrative of some of the facts attending 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 197 
 
 the latter years of your father's life. The motive 
 which has induced me to commit them to writing 
 has been a double one. I am anxious to give 
 effect as far as may be to the desire expressed 
 most strongly to Mr. Gaskell by your father, that 
 you should be put in possession of these facts on 
 your coming of age. And for my own part I 
 think it better that you should thus hear the plain 
 truth from me, lest you should be at the mercy of 
 haphazard reports, which might at any time reach 
 you from ignorant or interested sources. Some 
 of the circumstances were so remarkable that it is 
 scarcely possible to suppose that they were not 
 known, and most probably frequently discussed, 
 in so large an estabhshment as that of Worth 
 Maltravers. I even have reason to believe that 
 exaggerated and absurd stories were current at 
 the time of Sir John's death, and I should be 
 grieved to think that such foolish tales might by 
 any chance reach your ear without your having 
 any sure means of discovering where the truth 
 lay. God knows how grievous it has been to me 
 to set dovra on paper some of the facts that I 
 have here narrated. You as a dutiful son will 
 reverence the name even of a father whom you 
 never knew; but you must remember that his 
 
198 THE LOST STBADIVARIUS. 
 
 sister did more: she loved him Avith a siagle- 
 hearted devotion, and it still grieves her to the 
 quick to write anything which may seem to 
 detract from his memory. Only, above all things 
 let us speak the truth. Much of what I have 
 told you needs, I feel, further explanation, but 
 this I cannot give, for I do not understand the 
 circimistances. Mr. Gaskell, your guardian, wiU, 
 I believe, add to this accoxmt a few notes of his 
 own, which may tend to elucidate some points, as 
 he is in possession of certain facts of which I am 
 still ignorant. 
 
ME. GASKELL'S NOTE. 
 
 I HAVE read what Miss Maltravers has written, 
 and have but little to add to it. I can give no 
 explanation that will tally with all the facts or 
 meet all the difficulties involved in her narrative. 
 The most obvious solution of some points would 
 be, of course, to suppose that Sir John Maltravers 
 was insane. But to any one who knew him as 
 intimately as I did, such an hypothesis is unten- 
 able ; nor, if admitted, would it explain some of 
 the strangest incidents. Moreover, it was strong- 
 ly negatived by Dr. Frobisher, from whose ver- 
 dict in such matters there was at the time no 
 appeal, by Dr. Dobie, and by Dr. Bruton, who 
 had known Sir John from his infancy. It- is pos- 
 sible that towards the close of his life he suffered 
 occasionally from hallucination, though I could 
 not positively affirm even so much ; but this was 
 only when his health had been completely under- 
 mined by causes which are very difficult to analyse. 
 
 199 
 
200 THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 
 
 When I first knew him at Oxford he was a 
 strong man physically as well as mentally ; open- 
 hearted, and of a merry and genial temperament. 
 At the same time he was, like most cultured per- 
 sons — and especially musicians, — ^highly strung 
 and excitable. But at a certain point in his ca- 
 reer his very nature seemed to change; he be- 
 came reserved, secretive, and saturnine. On this 
 moral metamorphosis followed an equally star- 
 tling physical change. His robust health began to 
 fail him, and although there was no definite mal- 
 ady which doctors could combat, he went grad- 
 ually from bad to worse until the end came. 
 
 The commencement of this extraordinary 
 change coincided, I believe, almost exactly with 
 his discovery of the Stradivarius violin ; and 
 whether this was, after all, a. mere coincidence or 
 something more it is not easy to say. Until a 
 very short time before his death neither Miss 
 Maltravers nor I had any idea how that instru- 
 ment had come into his possession, or I think 
 something might perhaps have been done to save 
 him. 
 
 Though towards the end of his hfe he spoke 
 freely to his sister of the finding of the violin, he 
 only told her half the story, for he concealed 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 201 
 
 from lier entirely tliat there was any thing else 
 in the hidden cupboard at Oxford. But as a 
 matter of fact, he found there also two manu- 
 script books containing an elaborate diary of 
 some years of a man's life. That man was 
 Adrian Temple, and I believe that in the perusal 
 of this diary must be sought the origin of John 
 Maltravers's ruin. The manuscript was beauti- 
 fully written in a clear but cramped eighteenth 
 century hand, and gave the idea of a man writing 
 with deliberation, and wishing to transcribe his 
 impressions with accuracy for further reference. 
 The style was excellent, and the minute details 
 given were often of high antiquarian interest ; 
 but the record throughout was marred by gross 
 license. Adrian Temple's life had undoubtedly 
 so definite an iofluence on Sir John's that a brief 
 outhne of it, as gathered from his diaries, is neces- 
 sary for the understanding of what followed. 
 
 Temple went up to Oxford in 1737. He was 
 seventeen years old, without parents, brothers, or 
 sisters ; and he possessed the Eoyston estates in 
 Derbyshire, which were then, as now, a most 
 valuable property. With the year 1738 his dia- 
 ries begin, and though then little more than a 
 boy, he had tasted every illicit pleasure that Ox- 
 
202 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 ford had to ofEer. His temptations were no 
 doubt great ; for besides being wealthy he was 
 handsome, and had probably never known any 
 proper control, as both his parents had died when 
 he was still very young. But in spite of other 
 failings, he was a brilliant scholar, and on taking 
 his degree, was made at once a fellow of St. 
 John's. He took up his abode in that College in 
 a fine set of rooms looking on to the gardens, and 
 from this period seems to have used Royston but 
 little, Hving always either at Oxford or on the 
 Continent. He formed at this time the acquaint- 
 ance of one Jocelyn, whom he engaged as com- 
 panion and amanuensis. Jocelyn was a man of 
 talent, but of irregular life, and was no doubt an 
 accomplice in many of Temple's excesses. In 
 1743 they both undertook the so-called "grand 
 tour," and though it was not his first visit, it was 
 then probably that Temple first felt the fascina- 
 tion of pagan Italy, — a fascination which in- 
 creased with every year of his after-life. 
 
 On his return from foreign travel he found 
 himself among the stirring events of 1745. He 
 was an ardent supporter of the Pretender, and 
 made no attempt to conceal his views. Jacobite 
 tendencies were indeed generally prevalent in the 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 203 
 
 College at tlie time, and liad this been the sum of 
 his offending, it is probable that little notice would 
 have been taken by the College authorities. But 
 his notoriously wild life told against the young 
 man, and certain dark suspicions were not easily 
 passed over. After the fiasco of the KebelHon 
 Dr. Holmes, then President of the College, seems 
 to have made a scapegoat of Temple. He was 
 deprived of his fellowship, and though not for- 
 mally expelled, such pressure was put upon him as 
 resulted in his leaving St. John's and removing to 
 Magdalen Hall. There his great wealth evidently 
 secured him consideration, and he was given the 
 best rooms in the Hall, that very set looking on 
 to New College Lane which Sir John Maltravers 
 afterwards occupied. 
 
 In the first half of the eighteenth century the 
 romance of the middle ages, though dying, was 
 not dead, and the occult sciences still found fol- 
 lowers among the Oxford towers. From his early 
 years Temple's mind seems to have been set 
 strongly towards mysticism of all kinds, and he 
 and Jocelyn were versed in the jargon of the 
 alchemist and astrologer, and practised according 
 to the ancient rules. It was his reputation as a 
 
 necromancer, and the stories current of illicit rites 
 14 
 
204 THE LOST STRADIVARIDS. 
 
 performed in the garden-rooms at St. John's, that 
 contributed largely to his being dismissed from 
 that College. He had also become acquainted 
 with Francis Dashwood, the notorious Lord le 
 Despencer, and many a winter's night saw him 
 riding through the misty Thames meadows to the 
 door of the sham Franciscan abbey. In his diaries 
 were more notices than one of the " Franciscans " 
 and the nameless orgies of Medmenham. 
 
 He was devoted to music. It was a rare 
 enough accomplishment then, and a rarer thing 
 stUl to find a wealthy landowner performing on 
 the violin. Yet so he did, though he kept his 
 passion very much to himself, as fiddling was 
 thought Hghtly of in those days. His musical 
 skiU was altogether exceptional, and he was the 
 first possessor of the Stradivarius violin which 
 afterwards fell so unfortunately into Sir John's 
 hands. This violin Temple bought in the autumn 
 of 1738, on the occasion of a first visit to Italy. 
 In that year died the nonagenarian Antonius 
 Stradivarius, the greatest violin-maker the world 
 has ever seen. After Stradivarius's death the 
 stock of fiddles in his shop was sold by auction. 
 Temple happened to be travelling in Cremona at 
 the time with a tutor, and at the auction he bought. 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI DS. 205 
 
 that rerj mstniment whicli we afterwards had 
 cause to know so well. A note in his diary gave 
 its cost at four louis, and said that a curious his- 
 tory attached to it. Though it was of his golden 
 period, and probably the finest instrument he ever 
 made, Stradivarius would never sell it, and it had 
 hung for more than thirty years in his shop. It 
 was said that from some whim as he lay dying 
 he had given orders that it should be burnt ; but 
 if that were so, the instructions were neglected, 
 and after his death it came under the hammer. 
 Adrian Temple from the first recognised the great 
 value of the instrument. His notes show that he 
 only used it on certain special occasions, and it 
 was no doubt for its better protection that he de- 
 vised the hidden cupboard where Sir John even- 
 tually f oimd it. 
 
 The later years of Temple's life were spent 
 for the most part in Italy. On the Scoglio di 
 Venere, near Naples, he built the Yilla de Ange- 
 Ks, and there henceforth passed all except the 
 hottest months of the year. Shortly after the 
 completion of the villa Jocelyn left him suddenly, 
 and became a Carthusian monk. A caustic note 
 in the diary hinted that even this foul parasite 
 was shocked into the austerest form of religion 
 
206 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 by sometlimg lie had seen going forward. At 
 ISTaples Temple's dark life became still darker. 
 He dallied, it is true, witb Neo-Platonism, and 
 boasts that be, like Plotinus, bad twice passed tbe 
 circle of tbe nous and enjoyed tbe fruition of tbe 
 deity ; but tbe ideals of even tbat easy doctrine 
 grew in bis evil life still more miserably debased. 
 More tban once in tbe manuscript be made men- 
 tion by name of tbe QagUa/rda of Graziani as hav- 
 ing been played at pagan mysteries wbicb tbese 
 enthusiasts revived at Naples, and tbe air bad 
 evidently impressed itself deeply on his memory. 
 Tbe last entry in bis diary is made on tbe 16th of 
 December, 1752. He was then in Oxford for a 
 few days, but shortly afterwards returned to Na- 
 ples. Tbe accident of his having just completed a 
 second volume, induced him, no doubt, to leave 
 it behind him in the secret cupboard. It is prob- 
 able that he commenced a third, but if so it was 
 never found. 
 
 In reading tbe manuscript I was struck with 
 the author's clear and easy style, and found the 
 interest of tbe narrative increase rather thaft di- 
 minish. At the same time its study was inexpress- 
 ibly painful to me. Nothing could have sup- 
 ported me in my determination to thoroughly 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 207 
 
 master it but the conviction that if I was to be of 
 any real assistance to my poor friend Maltravers, 
 I must know as far as possible every circumstance 
 connected with his malady. As it was I felt my- 
 seK breathing an atmosphere of moral contagion 
 during the perusal of the manuscript, and certain 
 passages have since returned at times to haunt 
 me in spite of all efforts to dislodge them from 
 my memory. When I came to "Worth at Miss 
 Maltravers's urgent invitation, I found my friend 
 Sir John terribly altered. It was not only that 
 he was ill and physically weak, but he had en- 
 tirely lost the manner of youth, which, though 
 indefinable, is yet so appreciable, and draws so 
 sharp a distinction between the first period of life 
 and middle age. But the most striking feature 
 of his illness was the extraordinary pallor of his 
 complexion, which made his face resemble a sub- 
 tle counterfeit of white wax rather than that of a 
 living man. He welcomed me undemonstrative- 
 ly, but with evident sincerity ; and there was an 
 entire absence of the constraint which often ac- 
 companies the meeting again of friends whose 
 cordial relations have suffered interruption. 
 Prom the time of my arrival at "Worth until his 
 death we were constantly together ; indeed I was 
 
208 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 much struck by the almost childish dislike which 
 he showed to be left alone even for a few mo- 
 ments. As night approached this feeling became 
 intensified. Pamham slept always in his master's 
 room; but if anything called the servant away 
 even for a minute, he would send for Carotenuto 
 or myself to be with him until his return. His 
 nerves were weak ; he started violently at any 
 unexpected noise, and, above all, he dreaded be- 
 ing in the dark. When night feU he had addi- 
 tional lamps brought into his room, and even 
 when he composed himself to sleep, insisted on a 
 strong light being kept by his bedside. 
 
 I had often read in books of people wearing 
 a " hunted " expression, and had laughed at the 
 phrase as conventional and unmeaning. But 
 when I came to Worth I knew its truth ; for if 
 any face ever wore a hunted — I had almost writ- 
 ten a haunted — ^look, it was the white face of Sir 
 John Maltravers. His air seemed that of a man 
 who was constantly expecting the arrival of some 
 evil tidings, and at times reminded me painfully 
 of the guilty expectation of a felon who knows 
 that a warrant is issued for his arrest. 
 
 During my visit he spoke to me frequently 
 about his past life, and instead of showing any 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARITJS. 209 
 
 reluctance to discuss tlie subject, seemed glad of 
 the opportunity of disburdening bis mind. I 
 gathered from him tbat tbe reading of Adrian 
 Temple's memoirs bad made a deep impression 
 on bis mind, wbicb was no doubt intensified by 
 tbe vision wbicb be tbougbt be saw in bis rooms 
 at Oxford, and by tbe discovery of tbe portrait at 
 Eoyston. Of tbose singular phenomena I have 
 no explanation to offer. 
 
 Tbe romantic element in bis disposition ren- 
 dered him peculiarly susceptible to the fascination 
 of tbat mysticism wbicb breathed through Tem- 
 ple's narrative. He told me that almost from tbe 
 first time be read it be was filled with a longing 
 to visit tbe places and to revive tbe strange life of 
 which it spoke. This inclination be kept at first 
 in check, but by degrees it gathered strength 
 enough to master him. 
 
 There is no doubt in my mind that the music 
 of the OagUa/rda qi Graziani helped materially 
 in this process of mental degradation. It is cu- 
 rious that Michael Prsetorius in the " Syntagma 
 musicum " should speak of tbe Galliard generally 
 as an " invention of the devil, full of shameful and 
 licentious gestures and immodest movements," 
 and tbe singular melody of tbe OagUa/rda in 
 
210 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 the "Areopagita" siiite certainly exercised from 
 tlie first a strange influence over me. I shall not 
 do more than touch on the question here, because 
 I see Miss Maltravers has spoken of it at length, 
 and will only say, that though since the day of 
 Sir John's death I have never heard a note of it, 
 the air is stiU fresh in my mind, and has at times 
 presented itself to me unexpectedly and always 
 with an unwholesome effect. This I have found 
 happen generally in times of physical depression, 
 and the same air no doubt exerted a similar influ- 
 ence on Sir John, which his impressionable na- 
 ture rendered from the first more deleterious to 
 him. 
 
 I say this advisedly, because I am sure that if 
 some music is good for man and elevates him, 
 other melodies are equally bad and enervating. 
 An experience far wider than any we yet possess 
 is necessary to enable us to say how far this influ- 
 ence is capable of extension. How far, that is, 
 the mind may be directed on the one hand to 
 asfietic abnegation by the systematic use of certain 
 music, or on the other to illicit and dangerous 
 pleasures by melodies of an opposite tendency. 
 Biit this much is, I think, certain, that after a 
 comparatively advanced standard of culture has 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 211 
 
 once been attained, music is the readiest^ if not 
 the only key which admits to the yet narrower 
 circle of the highest imaginative thought. 
 
 On the occasion for travel afforded him by his 
 honeymoon, an impulse which he could not at the 
 time explain, but which after-events have con- 
 vinced me was the haunting suggestion of the 
 Gaglia^da, drove him to visit the scenes men- 
 tioned so often in Temple's diary. He had always 
 been an excellent scholar, and a classic of more 
 than ordinary ability. Rome and Southern Italy 
 filled him with a strange deKght. His education 
 enabled him to appreciate to the full what he 
 saw ; he peopled the stage with the figures of the 
 original actors, and tried to assimilate his thought 
 to theirs. He began reading classical literature 
 widely, no longer from the scholarly but the 
 literary standpoint. In Eome he spent much 
 time in the librarians' shops, and there met with 
 copies of the numerous authors of the later em- 
 pire and of those Alexandrine philosophers which 
 are rarely seen in England. In these he found 
 a new delight and fresh food for his mysticism. 
 
 Such study, if carried to any extent, is prob- 
 ably dangerous to the English character, and 
 certainly was to a man of Maltravers's romantic 
 
212 THE LOST STRADIVAEIUS. 
 
 sympathies. This reading produced in time so 
 real an effect upon his mind that if he did not 
 definitely abandon Christianity, as I fear he did, 
 he at least adulterated it with other doctrines till 
 it became to him Neo-Platbnism. That most 
 seductive of philosophies, which has enthralled so 
 many minds from Proclus and Julian to Augus- 
 tine and the Eenaissancists, found an easy con- 
 vert in John Maltravers. Its passionate longing 
 for the vague and undefined good, its tolerance of 
 sesthetic impressions, the pleasant superstitions of 
 its dynamic pantheism, all touched responsive 
 chords in his nature. His mind, he told me, 
 became filled with a measureless yearning for the 
 old culture of pagan philosophy, and as the past 
 became clearer and more real, so the present 
 grew dimmer, and his thoughts were gradually 
 weaned entirely from all the natural objects of 
 affection and interest which should otherwise 
 have occupied them. To what a terrible extent 
 this process went on. Miss Maltravers's narrative 
 shows. Soon after reaching Naples he visited the 
 YiLla de Angelis, which Temple had bxiilt on the 
 ruins of a sea-house of Pomponius. The later 
 building had in its turn become dismantled and 
 ruinnous, and Sir John foxmd no difficulty in 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 213 
 
 buying the site outright. He afterwards rebuilt 
 it on an elaborate scale, endeavouring to repro- 
 duce in its equipment the luxury of the later 
 empire. I had occasion to visit the house more 
 than once in my capacity of executor, and foimd 
 it full of priceless works of art, which though 
 neither so difficult to procure at that time nor so 
 costly as they would be now, were yet sufficiently 
 valuable to have necessitated an unjustifiable 
 outlay. 
 
 The situation of the building fostered his 
 infatuation for the past. It lay between the Bay 
 of Naples and the Bay of Baia, and from its win- 
 dows commanded the same exquisite views which 
 had charmed Cicero and Lucullus, Severus and 
 the Antonines. Hard by stood Baia, the princely 
 seaside resort of the empire. That most lux- 
 urious and wanton of aU cities of antiquity sur- 
 vived the cataclysms of ages, and only lost its 
 civic continuity and became the ruined village of 
 to-day in the sack of the fifteenth century. But 
 a continuity of wickedness is not so easily broken, 
 and those who know the spot best say that it is 
 still instinct with memories of a shameful past. 
 
 For miles along that haunted coast the foot 
 cannot be put down except on the ruins of some 
 
214 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 splendid villa, and over all there broods a spirit of 
 corruption and debasement actually sensible and 
 oppressive. Of tlie dawns and sunsets, of the 
 noonday sun tempered by the sea-breeze and the 
 shade of scented groves, those who have been 
 there know the charm, and to those who have not 
 no words can describe it. But there are malefic 
 vapours rising from the corpse of a past not 
 altogether buried, and most cultivated English- 
 men who tarry there long feel their influence as 
 did John Maltravers. Like so many decepU 
 deceptores of the Neo-Platonic school, he did not 
 practise the abnegation enjoined by the very cult 
 he professed to follow. Though his nature was 
 far too refined, I believe, ever to sink into the 
 sensualism revealed in Temple's diaries, yet it was 
 through the gratification of corporeal tastes that 
 he endeavoured to achieve the divine extasis ; and 
 there were constantly lavish and sumptuous en- 
 tertainments at the villa, at which strange guests 
 were present. 
 
 In such a nightmare of a life it was not to be 
 expected that any mind would find repose, and 
 Maltravers certainly found none. All those cares 
 which usually occupy men's minds, all thoughts 
 of wife, child, and home, were, it is true, aban- 
 
THE LOST STEADIVARIUS. 215 
 
 doned; but a wild unrest liad hold of him, and 
 never suffered him to be at ease. Though he 
 never told me as much, yet I believe he was 
 under the impression that the form which he had 
 seen at Oxford and Eoyston had reappeared to 
 him on more than one subsequent occasion. It 
 must have been, I fancy, with a vague hope of 
 "laying" this spectre that he now set himself 
 with eagerness to discover where or how Temple 
 had died. He remembered that Royston tradi- 
 tion said he had succumbed at Naples in the 
 plague of 1752, but an idea seized him that this 
 was not the case ; indeed I half suspect his fancy 
 unconsciously pictured that evil man as still alive. 
 The methods by which he eventually discovered 
 the skeleton, or learnt the episodes which pre- 
 ceded Temple's death, I do not know. He prom- 
 ised to teU me some day at length, but a sudden 
 death prevented his ever doing so. The facts as 
 he narrated them, and as I have little doubt they 
 actually occurred, were these. Adrian Temple, 
 after Jocelyn's departure, had made a confidant 
 of one Palamede Domacavalli, a scion of a splen- 
 did Parthenopean family of that name. Pala- 
 mede had a palace in the heart of Naples, and 
 was Temple's equal in age and also in his great 
 
216 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 wealtli. The two men became boon companions, 
 associating in all kinds of wickedness and excess. 
 At lengtb Palamede married a beautiful girl 
 named Olimpia Aldobrandini, wlio was also of the 
 noblest lineage ; but the intimacy between him 
 and Temple was not interrupted. About a year 
 subsequent to this marriage dancing was going on 
 after a splendid banquet in the great hall of the 
 Palazzo Domacavalli. Adrian, who was a favoured 
 guest, called to the musicians in the gallery to 
 play the " Areopagita " suite, and danced it with 
 Olimpia, the wife of his host. The GagUa/rda 
 ' was reached but never finished, for near the end 
 of the second movement Palamede from behind 
 drove a stiletto into hifi friend's heart. He had 
 found out that day that Adrian had not spared 
 even Olimpia's honour. 
 
 I have endeavoured to. condense into a con- 
 nected story the facts learnt piecemeal from Sir 
 John in conversation. To a certain extent they 
 supplied, if not an explanation, at least an account 
 of the change that had come over my friend. But 
 only to a certain extent; there the explanation 
 broke down and I was left baffled. I could im- 
 agine that a Kfe of unwholesome surroundings 
 and disordered studies might in time produce 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAJRIUS. 217 
 
 such a loss of mental tone as would lead in turn 
 to moral acolasia, sensual excess, and physical 
 ruin. But in Sir John's case the cause was not 
 adequate ; he had, so far as I know, never wholly 
 given the reins to sensuality, and the change was 
 too abrupt and the break-down of body and mind 
 too complete to be accounted for by such events 
 as those of which he had spoken. 
 
 I had, too, an uneasy feeling which grew upon 
 me the more I saw of him, that while he spoke 
 freely enough on certain topics, and obviously 
 meant to give a complete history of his past life, 
 there was ia reality something in the backgroxmd 
 which he always kept from my view. He was, it 
 seemed, like a young man asked by an indulgent 
 father to disclose his debts in order that they may 
 be discharged, who although he knows his par- 
 ent's leniency, and that any debt not now dis- 
 closed will be afterwards but a weight upon his 
 own neck, yet hesitates for very shame to tell the 
 full amount, and keeps some items back. So poor 
 Sir John kept something back from me his friend, 
 whose only aim was to afford him consolation and 
 rehef, and whose compassion would have made 
 me listen vrithout rebuke to the narration of the 
 blackest crimes. I caimot say how much this con- 
 
218 THE LOST STRADIVARira. 
 
 viction grieved me. I would most ■willingly have 
 given my all, my very life, to save my friend and 
 Miss Maltravers's brother ; but my efforts were 
 paralysed by the feeling that I did not know what 
 I had to combat, that some evil influence was at 
 work on him which continually evaded my grasp. 
 Once or twice it seemed as though he were within 
 an ace of telling me all ; once or twice, I believe, 
 he had definitely made up his mind to do so ; but 
 then the mood changed, or more probably his 
 courage failed him. 
 
 It was on one of these occasions that he asked 
 me, somewhat suddenly, whether I thought that 
 a man could by any conscious act committed in 
 the flesh take away from himself all possibihty of 
 repentance and ultimate salvation. Though, I 
 trust, a sincere Christian, I am nothing of a theo- 
 logian, and the question touching on a topic 
 which had not occurred to my mind since child- 
 hood, and which seemed to savour rather of med- 
 ieval romance than of practical religion, took me 
 for a moment aback, I hesitated for an instant, 
 and then replied that the means of salvation 
 offered man were undoubtedly so sufficient as to 
 remove from one truly penitent the guilt of any 
 crime however dark. My hesitation had been but 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 219 
 
 momentary ; but Sir Jolm seemed to have noticed 
 it, and sealed Ids lips to any confession, if he had 
 indeed intended to make any, by changing the 
 subject abruptly. This question naturally gave 
 me food for serious reflection and anxiety. It 
 was the first occasion on which he appeared to 
 me to be undoubtedly suffering from definite hal- 
 lucination, and I was aware that any illusions 
 connected with religion are generally most diffi- 
 cult to remove. At the same time, anything of 
 this sort was the more remarkable in Sir John's 
 case, as he had, so far as I knew, for a con- 
 siderable time entirely abandoned the Christian 
 belief. 
 
 Unable to elicit any further information from 
 him, and being thus thrown entirely upon my 
 own resources, I determined that I would read 
 through again the whole of Temple's diaries. 
 The task was a very distasteful one, as I have 
 abeady explained, but I hoped that a second 
 reading might perhaps throw some light on the 
 dark misgiving that was troubling Sir John. I 
 read the manuscript again with the closest atten- 
 tion. Ifothing, however, of any importance 
 seemed to have escaped rs)^ on the former occa- 
 sions, and I had reached nearly the end of the 
 15 
 
220 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 second volume when a comparatively sligHt mat- 
 ter arrested my attention. I have said that the 
 pages were all carefully nnmbered, and the events 
 of each day recorded separately; even where 
 Temple had found nothing of moment to notice 
 on a given day, he had stiU inserted the. date with 
 the word nil written against it. But as I sat one 
 evening iu the library at "Worth after Sir John 
 had gone to bed, and was finally glancing through 
 the days of the months in Temple's diary to make 
 sure that all were complete, I found one day was 
 missing. It was towards the end of the second 
 volume, and the day was the 23d of October in 
 the year 1T62. A glance at the numbering of 
 the pages revealed the fact that three leaves had 
 been entirely removed, and that the pages num- 
 bered 349 to 354 were not to be found. Again I 
 ran through the diaries to see whether there were 
 any leaves removed in other places, but found no 
 other single page missing. All was complete ex- 
 cept at this one place, the manuscript beautifully 
 written, with scarcely an error or erasure through- 
 out. A closer examination showed that these 
 three leaves had been cut out close to the back, 
 and the cut edges of the paper appeared too fresh 
 to admit of this being done a century ago. A 
 
THE LOST STRADIVAKIUS. 221 
 
 very short reflection convinced me, in fact, that 
 the excision was not likely to have been Tem- 
 ple's, and that it must have been made by Sir 
 John. 
 
 My first intention was to ask him at once 
 what the lost pages had contained, and why they 
 had been cut out. The matter might be a mere 
 triviality which he could explain in a moment. 
 But on softly opening his bedroom door I found 
 him sleeping, and Parnham (whom the strong 
 light always burnt in the room rendered more 
 wakeful) informed me that his master had been 
 in a deep sleep for more than an hour. I knew 
 how sorely his wasted energies needed such re- 
 pose and stepped back to the Hbrary without 
 awaMng him. A few minutes before, I had been 
 feeling sleepy at the conclusion of my task, but 
 now all wish for sleep was suddenly banished 
 and a painful wakefulness took its place. I was 
 under a species of mental excitement which re- 
 minded me of my feelings some years before at 
 Oxford on the first occasion of our ever playing 
 the GagUm-da together, and an idea struck me 
 with the force of intuition that in these three 
 lost leaves lay the secret of my friend's ruin. 
 
 I turned to the context to see whether there 
 
222 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 was anything in the entries preceding or following 
 the lacuna that would afEord a clue to the missing 
 passage. The record of the few days immediately 
 preceding the 23d of October was short and con- 
 tained nothing of hnj moment whatever. Adrian 
 and Jocelyn were alone together at the Villa de 
 AngeHs. The entry on the 22d was very unim- 
 portant and apparently quite complete, ending at 
 the bottom of page 348. Of the 23d there was, 
 as I have said, no record at all, and the entry for 
 the 24th began at the top of page 355. This last 
 memorandum was also brief, and written when 
 the author was annoyed by Jocelyn leaving 
 him. 
 
 The defection of his companion had been ap- 
 parently entirely unexpected. There was at least 
 no previous hint of any such intention. Temple 
 wrote that Jocelyn had left the Yilla de Angelis 
 that day and taken up his abode with the Carthu- 
 sians of San Martino. No reason for such an ex- 
 traordinary change was given ; but there was a 
 hint that Jocelyn had professed himself shocked 
 at something that had happened. The entry con- 
 cluded with a few bitter remarks : " So farewell 
 to my holy anchoret / amd if I oarmot speed hmn 
 with a lepToaie as one EUsha did his servant, yet 
 
THE LOST STKADIVARIUS. 223 
 
 at least he went mitfrom rwy presence with a face 
 white as snow." 
 
 I liad read this sentence more than once be- 
 fore without its attracting other than a passing at- 
 tention. The curious expre^ion, that Jocelyn 
 had gone out from his presence with a face white 
 as snow, had hitherto seemed to me to mean noth- 
 ing more than that the two men had parted in 
 violent anger, and that Temple had abused or 
 bullied his companion. But as I sat alone that 
 night in the library the words seemed to assume 
 an entirely new force, and a strange suspicion be- 
 gan to creep oyer me. 
 
 I have said that one of the most remarkable 
 features of Sir John's iUness was his deadly pallor. 
 Though I had now spent some time at "Worth, 
 and had been daily struck by this lack of colour, 
 I had never before remembered in this connection 
 that a strange paleness had also been an attribute 
 of Adrian Temple, and was indeed very clearly 
 marked in the picture painted of biTn by Battoni. 
 In Sir John's account, moreover, of the vision 
 which he thought he had seen in his rooms at 
 Oxford, he had always spoken of the white and 
 waxen face of his spectral visitant. The family 
 tradition of Koyston said that Temple had lost his 
 
224 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 colour in some deadly magical experiment, and a 
 conviction now flashed upon me that Jocelyn's fafee 
 " as white as snow " could refer only to this same 
 unnatural paUor, and that he too had been smitten 
 with it as with the mark of the beast. 
 
 In a drawer of my despatch-box I kept 
 by me all the letters which the late Lady 
 Maltravers had written home during her ill- 
 fated honeymoon. Miss Maltravers had placed 
 them in my hands in order that I might be ac- 
 quainted with every fact that could at all eluci- 
 date the progress of Sir John's malady. I re- 
 membered that in one of these letters mention 
 was made of a sharp attack of fever in Naples, 
 and of her noticing in him for the first time this 
 singular pallor. I found the letter again without 
 difficulty and read it with a new light. Every line 
 breathed of surprise and alarm. Lady Maltravers 
 feared that her husband was very seriously ill. 
 On the "Wednesday, two days before she wrote, 
 he had suffered all day from a strange restlessness, 
 which had increased after they had retired in the 
 evening. He could not sleep and had dressed 
 again, saying he would walk a Httle in the night 
 air to compose himself. He had not returned till 
 near six in the morning, and then seemed so ex- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS, 225 
 
 hausted that he had since been confined to his 
 bed. He was terribly pale, and the doctors 
 feared he had been attacked by some strange 
 fever. 
 
 The date of the letter was the 25th of Oc- 
 tober, fixing the night of the 23d as the time of 
 Sir John's first attack. The coincidence of the 
 date with that of the day missing in Temple's 
 diary was significant, but it was not needed now 
 to convince me that Sir John's ruin was due to 
 something that occurred on that fatal night at 
 Naples. 
 
 The question thiat Dr. Frobisher had asked 
 Miss Maltravers when he was first called to see 
 her brother in London returned to my memory 
 with an overwhelming force. " Had Sir John 
 been subjected to any mental shock ; had he re- 
 ceived any severe fright ? " I knew now that 
 the question should have been answered in the 
 affirmative, for I felt as certain as if Sir John had 
 told me himself that he had received a violent 
 shock, probably some terrible fright, on the night 
 of the 23d of October. What the nature of that 
 shock could have been my imagination was pow- 
 erless to conceive, only I knew that whatever Sir 
 John had done or seen, Adrian Temple and 
 
226 THE LOST STEADIVAEITTS. 
 
 Jocelyn had done or seen also a century before 
 and at tlie same place. That horror which had 
 blanched the face of all three men for life had 
 perhaps fallen with a less overwhelming force on 
 Temple's seasoned wickedness, but had driven the 
 worthless Jocelyn to the cloister, and was driving 
 Sir John to the grave. 
 
 These thoughts as they passed through my 
 mind filled me with a vague alarm. ,The lateness 
 of the hour, the stillness and the subdued light, 
 made the library in which I sat seem so vast and 
 lonely that I began to feel the same dread of 
 being alone that I had observed so often in my 
 friend. Though only a door separated me from 
 his bedroom, and I could hear his deep and regu- 
 lar breathing, I felt as though I must go in and 
 waken him or Parnham to keep me company 
 and save me from mj own reflections. By a 
 strong effort I restrained myself, and sat down to 
 think the matter over and endeavour to frame 
 some hypothesis that might explain the mystery. 
 But it was all to no purpose. I merely wearied 
 myself without being able to arrive at even a 
 plausible conjecture, except that it seemed as 
 though the strange coincidence of date might 
 point to some ghastly charm or incantation which 
 
THE LOST STBADIVARIUS. 227 
 
 could only be carried out on one certain night of 
 the year. 
 
 It must have been near morning when, quite 
 exhausted, I fell into an uneasy slumber in the 
 arm-chair where I sat. My sleep, however brief, 
 was peopled with a succession of fantastic visions, 
 in which I continually saw Sir John, not ill and 
 wasted as now, but vigorous and handsome as I 
 had known him at Oxford, standing beside a 
 glowing brazier and reciting words I could not 
 understand, while another man with a sneering 
 white face sat in a corner playing the air of the 
 OagUarda on a viohn. Pamham woke me in 
 my chair at seven o'clock; his master, he said, 
 was still sleeping easily. 
 
 I had made up my mind that as soon as he 
 awoke I would inqtiire of Sir John as to the 
 pages missing from the diary ; but though my 
 expectation and excitement were at a high pitch, 
 I was forced to restrain my curiosity, for Sir 
 John's slumber continued late into the day. Dr. 
 Bruton called in the morning, and said that this 
 sleep was what the patient's condition most re- 
 quired and was a distinctly favourable symptom ; 
 he was on no account to be disturbed. Sir John 
 did not leave his bed, but continued dozing all 
 
228 THE LOST STRADIVAR1U8. 
 
 day till the evening. When at last he shook off 
 his drowsiness, the hour was already so late that, 
 in spite of my anxiety, I hesitated to talk with 
 him about the diaries lest I should unduly excite 
 him before the night. 
 
 As the evening advanced he became very un- 
 easy, and rose more than once from his bed. 
 This restlessness following on the repose of the 
 day, ought perhaps to have made me anxious, for 
 I have since observed that when death is very 
 near an apprehensive unrest often sets in both 
 with men and animals. It seems as if they 
 dreaded to resign themselves to sleep, lest as they 
 slumber the last enemy should seize them una- 
 wares. They try to fling off the bedclothes, they 
 sometimes must leave their beds and walk. So it 
 was with poor John Maltravers on his last Christ- 
 mas Eve. I had sat with him grieving for his 
 disquiet until he seemed to grow more tranquil, 
 and at length fell asleep. I was sleeping that 
 night in his room instead of Pamham, and tired 
 with sitting up through the previous night, I 
 flung myself, dressed 'as I was, upon the bed. I 
 had scarcely dozed off, I think, before the sound 
 of his violin awoke me. I found he had risen 
 from his bed, had taken his favourite instrument, 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 229 
 
 and was playing in Ms sleep. The air was tlie 
 OagUa/rda of the "Areopagita" suite, which I 
 had not heard since we had played it last together 
 at Oxford, and it brought back with it a crowd of 
 far-off memories and infinite regrets. I cursed 
 the sleepiness which had overcome me at my 
 watchman's post, and allowed Sir John to play 
 once more that melody which had always been 
 fraught with such evil for him ; and I was about 
 to wake him gently when he was startled from 
 sleep by a strange accident. As I walked towards 
 him the violin seemed entirely to collapse in his 
 hands, and, as a matter of fact, the belly then 
 gave way and broke under the strain of the 
 strings. As the strings slackened, the last note 
 became an unearthly discord. If I were supersti- 
 tious I should say that some evil spirit then went 
 out of the violin, and broke in his parting throes 
 the wooden tabernacle which had so long shel- 
 tered him. It was the last time the instrument 
 was ever used, and that hideous chord was the last 
 that Maltravers ever played. 
 
 I had feared that the shock of waking thus 
 suddenly from sleep would have a very prejudi- 
 cial effect upon the sleepwalker, but this seemed 
 not to be the case. I persuaded him to go back 
 
230 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 at once to bed, and in a few minutes he fell asleep 
 again. In the morning he seemed for the first 
 time distinctly better ; there was indeed something 
 of his old self in his manner. It seemed as though 
 the breaking of the violin had been an actual re- 
 hef to him ; and I believe that on that Christmas 
 morning his better instincts woke, and that his old 
 religious training and the associations of his boy- 
 hood then made their last appeal. I was pleased 
 at such a change, however temporary it might 
 prove. He wished to go to church, and I deter- 
 mined that again I would subdue my curiosity 
 and defer -the questions I was burning to put till 
 after our return from the morning service. Miss 
 Maltravers had gone indoors to make some prepa- 
 ration, Sir John was in his wheelchair on the ter- 
 race, and I was sitting by him in the sun. For a 
 few moments he appeared immersed in silent 
 thought, and then bent over towards me till his 
 head was close to mine and said, " Dear William, 
 there is something I must tell you. I feel I can- 
 not even go to church till I have told you all." 
 His manner shocked me beyond expression. I 
 knew that he was going to tell me the secret of 
 the lost pages, but instead of wishing any longer 
 to have my curiosity satisfied, I felt a horrible 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 231 
 
 dread of what he might say next. He took my 
 hand in his and held it tightly, as a man who was 
 about to undergo severe physical para and sought 
 the consolation of a friend's support. Then he 
 went on, "You will be shocked at what I am 
 going to tell you ; but listen, and do not give me 
 up. You must stand by me and comfort me and 
 help me to turn again." He paused for a mo- 
 ment and continued, " It was one night ia Octo- 
 ber, when Constance and I were at lifaples. I 
 took that violin and went by myself to the ruined 
 villa on the Scoglio di Yenere." He had been 
 speaking with difficulty. His hand clutched mine 
 convulsively, but still I felt it trembling, and I 
 could see the moisture standing thick on his fore- 
 head. At this point the effort seemed too much 
 for him and he broke off. " I cannot go on, I 
 cannot tell you, but you can read it for yourself. 
 In that diary which I gave you there are some 
 pages missing." The suspense was becoming in- 
 tolerable to me, and I broke in, "Yes, yes, I 
 know, you cut them out. Tell me where they 
 are." He went on, "Yes, I cut them out lest 
 they should possibly fall into any one's hands 
 unaware. But before you read them you must 
 swear, as you hope for salvation, that you will 
 
232 THE LOST STBADIVARIUS, 
 
 never try to do what is written in them. Swear 
 this to me now or I never can let you see them." 
 My eagerness was too great to stop now to discuss 
 trifles, and to humour him I swore as desired. 
 He had been speaking with a continual increasing 
 effort ; he cast a hurried and fearful glance round 
 as though he expected to see some one listening, 
 and it was almost in a whisper that he went on, 
 
 " You will find them in " His agitation had 
 
 become most painful to watch, and as he spoke 
 the last words a convulsion passed over his face, 
 and speech fa.iling him, he sank back on his pil- 
 low. A strange fear took hold of me. For a 
 moment I thought there were others on the ter- 
 race beside myself, and turned round expecting to 
 see Miss Maltravers returned; but we were stiU 
 alone. I even fancied that just as Sir John spoke 
 his last words I felt something brush swiftly by 
 me. He put up his hands, beating the air with a 
 most painful gesture as though he were trying to 
 keep off an antagonist who had gripped him by 
 the throat, and made a final struggle to speak. 
 But the spasm was too strong for him ; a dreadful 
 stUlness followed, and he was gone. 
 
 There is little more to add; for Sir John's 
 guilty secret perished with him. Though I was 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 233 
 
 sure from Ms manner that the missing leaves 
 were concealed somewhere at "Worth, and though 
 as executor I caused the most diligent search to 
 be made, no trace of them was afterwards found ; 
 nor did any circumstance ever transpire to fling 
 further light upon the matter. I must confess 
 that I should have felt the discovery of these 
 pages as a rehef ; for though I dreaded what I 
 might have had to read, yet I was more anxious 
 lest, being found at a later period and falling into 
 other hands, they should cause a recrudescence 
 of that plague which had bhghted Sir John's life. 
 
 Of the nature of the events which took place 
 on that night at Naples I can form no conjecture. 
 But as certain physical sights have ere now 
 proved so revolting as to unhinge the intellect, 
 so I can imagine that the mind may in a state of 
 extreme tension conjure up to itself some forms 
 of moral evil so hideous as metaphysically to sear 
 it : and this, I believe, happened in the case both 
 of Adrian Temple and of Sir John Maltravers. 
 
 It is difficult to imagine the accessories used 
 to produce the mental excitation in which alone 
 such a presentment of evil could become imagi- 
 nable. Fancy and legend, which have combined 
 to represent as possible appearances, of the su- 
 
234 THE LOST STEADIVAEIUS. 
 
 pernatural, agree also in considering them as 
 more likely to occur at certain times and places 
 than at others ; and it is possible that the missing 
 pages of the diary contained an account of the 
 time, place, and other conditions chosen hy 
 Temple for some deadly experiment. Sir John 
 most probably re-enacted the scene under pre- 
 cisely similar conditions, and the effect on his 
 overwrought imagination was so vivid as to upset 
 the balance of his mind. The time chosen was no 
 doubt the night of the 23d of October, and I can- 
 not help thinking that the place was one of those 
 evil-looking and ruinous sea-rooms which had so 
 terrifying an effect on Miss Maltravers. Temple 
 may have used on that night one of the medieval 
 incantations, or possibly the more ancient invoca- 
 tion of the Isiac rite with which a man of his 
 knowledge and proclivities would certainly be 
 familiar. The accessories of either are sufficiently 
 hideous to weaken the mind by terror, and so pre- 
 pare it for a belief in some frightful apparition. 
 Bnt whatever was done, I feel sure that the music 
 of the QagUa/rda formed part of the ceremonial. 
 Medieval philosophers and theologians held 
 that evil is in its essence so horrible that the 
 human mind, if it could realise it, must perish at 
 
 \ 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 235 
 
 its contemplation. Sucli realisation was by 
 mercy ordinarily withheld, but its possibility was 
 hinted in the legend of the Visio malefica. The 
 Yisio Beathfica was, as is well known, that 
 vision of the Deity or realisation of the perfect 
 Good which was to form the happiness of 
 heaven, and the reward of the sanctified in 
 the next world. Tradition says that this vision 
 was accorded also to some specially elect spirits 
 even in this life, as to Enoch, Elijah, Stephen, 
 and Jerome. But there was a converse to the 
 Beatific Vision in the Yisio malefica, or presenta- 
 tion of absolute Evil, which was to be the chief 
 torture of the damned, and which, like the 
 Beatific Yision, had been made visible in life to 
 certain desperate men. It visited Esau, as was 
 said, when he found no place for repentance, and 
 Judas, whom it drove to suicide. Cain saw it 
 when he murdered his brother, and legend relates 
 that in his case, and in that of others, it left a 
 physical brand to be borne by the body to the 
 grave. It was supposed that the Malefic Vision, 
 besides being thus spontaneously presented to 
 typically abandoned men, had actually been pur- 
 posely called up by some few great adepts, and 
 
 used by them to blast their enemies. But to do 
 16 
 
236 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 so was considered equivalent to a conscious sur- 
 render to the powers of evil, as the vision once 
 seen took away all hope of final salvation. 
 
 Adrian Temple would undoubtedly be cog- 
 nisant of tliis legend, and the lost experiment 
 may have been an attempt to call up the Malefic 
 Vision. It is but a vague conjecture at the best, 
 for the tree of the knowledge of Evil bears 
 many sorts of poisonous fruit, and no one can 
 give full account of the extravagances of a way- 
 ward fancy. 
 
 Conjointly with Miss Sophia, Sir John ap- 
 pointed me his executor and guardian of his only 
 son. Two months later we had lit a great fire in 
 the library at Worth. In it, after the servants 
 were gone to bed, we burnt the book containing 
 the " Areopagita " of Graziani, and the Stradi- 
 varius fiddle. The diaries of Temple I had al- 
 ready destroyed, and wish that I could as easily 
 blot out their foul and debasing memories from 
 my mind. I shall probably be blamed by those 
 who would exalt art at the expense of everything 
 else, for burning a unique violin. This reproach 
 I am content to bear. Though I am not unrea- 
 sonably superstitious, and have no sympathy for 
 that potential pantheism to which Sir John Mai- 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARI US. 237 
 
 travers surrendered his intellect, yet I felt so 
 great an aversion to this violin that I would 
 neither suffer it to remain at "Worth, nor pass 
 into other hands. Miss Sophia was entirely at 
 one with me on this point. It was the same feel- 
 ing which restrains any except fools or braggarts 
 from wishing to sleep in " haunted " rooms, or to 
 Uve ia houses polluted with the memory of a re- 
 volting crime. No sane mind believes in foolish 
 apparitions, but fancy may at times bewitch the 
 best of us. So the Stradivarius was burnt. It 
 was, after aU, perhaps not so serious a matter, 
 for, as I have said, the bass-bar had given way. 
 There had always been a question whether it was 
 strong enough to resist the strain of modem 
 stringing. Experience showed at last that it was 
 not. With the failure of the bass-bar the belly 
 coUapsed, and the wood broke across the grain in 
 so extraordinary a manner as to put the fiddle 
 beyond repair, except as a curiosity. Its loss, 
 therefore, is not to be so much regretted. Sir 
 Edward has been brought up to think more of a 
 cricket-bat than of a violin-bow ; but if he wjshes 
 at any time to buy a Stradivarius, the fortunes of 
 Worth and Eoyston, nursed tiirough two long 
 minoritieSj will certainly justify his doing so. 
 
238 THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 Miss Sophia and I stood by and watched the 
 holocaust. My heart misgave me for a moment 
 when I saw the mellow red varnish blistering off 
 the back, but I put my regret resolutely aside. 
 As the bright flames jumped up and lapped it 
 round, they flung a red glow on the scroll. It 
 was wonderfully wrought, and differed, as I think 
 Miss Maltravers has already said, from any known 
 example of Stradivarius. As we watched it, the 
 scroll took form, and we saw what we had never 
 seen before, that it was out so that the deep lines 
 in a certain light showed as the profile of a man. 
 It was a wizened little paganish face, with sharp- 
 cut features and a bald head. As I looked at it I 
 knew at once (and a cameo has since confirmed 
 the fact) that it was a head of Porpyhry. Thus 
 the second label found in the violin was explained 
 and Sir John's view confirmed, that Stradivarius 
 had made the instrument for some Neo-Platonist 
 enthusiast who had dedicated it to his master 
 Porphyrius. 
 
 A year after Sir John's death I went with 
 Miss Maltravers to Worth church to see a plain 
 slab of slate which we had placed over her broth- 
 er's grave. "We stood in bright sunUght in the 
 
THE LOST STRADIVARIUS. 239 
 
 Maltravers cliapel, with tlie monuments of that 
 splendid family about ns. Among them were the 
 altar-tomb of Sir Esmoun, and the effigies of 
 more than one Crusader. As I looked on their 
 knightly forms, with their heads resting on their 
 tilted helms, their faces set firm, and their hands 
 joined in prayer, I could not help envying them 
 that full and unwavering faith for which they had 
 fought and died. It seemed to stand out in such 
 sharp contrast with our latter-day sciolism and 
 half -believed creeds, and to be flung into higher 
 relief by the dark shadow of John Maltravers's 
 ruined life. At our feet was the great brass of 
 one Sir Roger de Maltravers. I pointed out the 
 end of the inscription to my companion — " Cvjvs 
 
 ANIM^, ATQVE AlflMABVS OMNIVM FIDELIVM DE- 
 EVNOTOEVM, ATQVE ]5rOSTKIS ANIMABVS QWM EX 
 HAG LVCE TEANSIVEEIMVS, PEOPITIETVK DeVS." 
 
 Though no Cathohc, I could not refuse to add a 
 sincere Amen. Miss Sophia, who is not ignorant 
 of Latin, read the inscription after me. " Ex hac 
 luce," she said, as though speaking to herself, 
 " out of this light ; alas ! alas ! for some the light 
 is darkness." 
 
 THE -END.