Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Great short stories, Volume 2 (of 3) : $b Ghost storiesThe Project Gutenberg eBook of Great short stories, Volume 2 (of 3) This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Great short stories, Volume 2 (of 3) Ghost stories Editor: William Patten Release date: October 10, 2024 [eBook #74549] Language: English Original publication: New York: P. F. Collier, 1906 Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/74549 Credits: Al Haines *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT SHORT STORIES, VOLUME 2 (OF 3) *** [Frontispiece: Theophile Gautier] GREAT SHORT STORIES Edited by William Patten A NEW COLLECTION OF FAMOUS EXAMPLES FROM THE LITERATURES OF FRANCE, ENGLAND AND AMERICA VOLUME II GHOST STORIES P. F. COLLIER & SON NEW YORK [Illustration: Title page] COPYRIGHT, 1906 BY P. F. COLLIER & SON TABLE OF CONTENTS LA MORTE AMOREUSE _By Theophile Gautier_ THE RED ROOM _By H. G. Wells_ THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW _By Rudyard Kipling_ THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF _By A. T. Quiller-Couch_ THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN _By Lord Edward Bulwer-Lytton_ THE DREAM-WOMAN _By Wilkie Collins_ GREEN BRANCHES _By Fiona Macleod_ A BEWITCHED SHIP _By W. Clark Russell_ THE SIGNAL-MAN _By Charles Dickens_ THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS _By Amelia B. Edwards_ OUR LAST WALK _By Hugh Conway_ THRAWN JANET _By Robert Louis Stevenson_ A CHRISTMAS CAROL _By Charles Dickens_ THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM _By Washington Irving_ THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH _By Erckmann-Chatrian_ MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE _By Nathaniel Hawthorne_ THE WHITE OLD MAID _By Nathaniel Hawthorne_ WANDERING WILLIE'S TALE _By Sir Walter Scott_ LA MORTE AMOREUSE BY THEOPHILE GAUTIER _Theophile Gautier (born 1811, died 1872) began life as a painter, turned to poetry and finally adopted prose forms for the expression of his ideas. Always an enthusiastic apostle of romanticism, he lived in an atmosphere of Oriental splendor. His style is unusually rich and sensuous, and has exerted a considerable influence on the present generation of writers._ LA MORTE AMOREUSE THÉOPHILE GAUTIER Have I ever loved, you ask me, my brother? Yes, I have loved! The story is dread and marvelous, and, for all my threescore years, I scarce dare stir the ashes of that memory. To you I can refuse nothing; to a heart less steeled than yours this tale could never be told by me. For these things were so strange that I can scarce believe they came into my own existence. Three long years was I the puppet of a delusion of the devil. Three long years was I a parish priest by day, while by night, in dreams (God grant they were but dreams!), I led the life of a child of this world, of a lost soul! For one kind glance at a woman's face was my spirit to be doomed; but at length, with God to aid and my patron saint, it was given to me to drive away the evil spirit that possessed me. I lived a double life, by night and by day. All day long was I a pure priest of the Lord, concerned only with prayer and holy things; but no sooner did I close my eyes in sleep than I was a young knight, a lover of women, of horses, of hounds, a drinker, a dicer, a blasphemer, and, when I woke at dawn, meseemed that I was fallen on sleep, and did but dream that I was a priest. For those years of dreaming certain memories yet remain with me; memories of words and things that will not down. Ay, though I have never left the walls of my vicarage, he who heard me would rather take me for one that had lived in the world and left it, to die in religion, and end in the breast of God his tumultuous days, than for a priest grown old in a forgotten curé, deep in a wood, and far from the things of this earth. Yes, I have loved as never man loved, with a wild love and a terrible, so that I marvel my heart did not burst in twain. Oh, the nights of long ago! From my earliest childhood had I felt the call to be a priest. This was the end of all my studies, and, till I was twenty-four, my days were one long training. My theological course achieved, I took the lesser orders, and at length, at the end of Holy Week, was to be the hour of my ordination. I had never entered the world; my world was the college close. Vaguely I knew that woman existed, but of woman I never thought. My heart was wholly pure. Even my old and infirm mother I saw but twice a year; of other worldly relations I had none. I had no regrets and no hesitation in taking the irrevocable vow; nay, I was full of an impatient joy. Never did a young bridegroom so eagerly count the hours of his wedding. In my broken sleep I dreamed of saying the Mass. To be a priest seemed to me the noblest thing in the world, and I would have disdained the estate of poet or of king. To be a priest! My ambition saw nothing higher. All this I tell you that you may know how little I deserve that which befell me; that you may know how inexplicable was the fascination by which I was overcome. The great day came, and I walked to church as if I were winged or trod on air. I felt an angelic beatitude, and marveled at the gloomy and thoughtful faces of my companions, for we were many. The night I had passed in prayer. I was all but entranced in ecstasy. The bishop, a venerable old man, was in my eyes like God the Father bowed above His own eternity, and I seemed to see heaven open beyond the arches of the minster. You know the ceremony: the Benediction, the Communion in both kinds, the anointing of the palms of the hands with consecrated oil, and finally the celebration of the Holy Rite, offered up in company with the bishop. On these things I will not linger, but oh, how true is the word of Job, that he is foolish who maketh not a covenant with his eyes! I chanced to raise my head and saw before me, so near that it seemed I could touch her, though in reality she was at some distance, and on the farther side of the railing, a young dame royally clad, and of incomparable beauty. It was as if scales had fallen from my eyes; and I felt like a blind man who suddenly recovers his sight. The bishop, so splendid a moment ago, seemed to fade; through all the church was darkness, and the candles paled in their sconces of gold, like stars at dawn. Against the gloom that lovely thing shone out like a heavenly revelation, seeming herself to be the fountain of light, and to give it rather than receive it. I cast down my eyes, vowing that I would not raise them again; my attention was failing, and I scarce knew what I did. The moment afterward, I opened my eyes, for through my eyelids I saw her glittering in a bright penumbra, as when one has stared at the sun. Ah! how beautiful she was! The gre |