Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1464 page)

‘Very well,’ said Mr Wray, rising, with a sort of desperate calmness; ‘I’ve promised, and, come what may, I’ll keep my promise. Wait here; I’ll be back directly.’ And he left the room, in a great hurry.

He returned immediately, with the cash box. A very battered, shabby affair, to make such a mystery about! thought Annie, as he put the box on the table, and solemnly laid his hands across it.

‘Now, then,’ said old Wray, in his deepest tragedy tones, and with very serious looks; ‘Promise me, on your word of honour — both of you — that you’ll never say a word of what I’m going to tell, to anybody, on any account whatever — I don’t care what happens — on any account whatever!’

Annie and her lover gave their promises directly, and very seriously. They were getting a little agitated by all these elabourate preparations for the coming disclosure.

‘Shut the door!’ said Mr Wray, in a stage whisper. ‘Now sit close and listen; I’m ready to explain the mystery.’

IV

‘I suppose,’ said old Reuben, ‘you have neither of you forgotten that, on the second day of our visit to Stratford, I went out in the afternoon to dine with an intimate friend of mine, whom I’d known from a boy, and who lived at some little distance from the town — ’

‘Forget that!’ cried Annie! ‘I don’t think we ever shall — I was frightened about you, all the time you were gone.’

‘Frightened about what?’ asked Mr Wray sharply. ‘Do you mean to tell me, Annie, you suspected — ’

‘I don’t know what I suspected, grandfather; but I thought your going away by yourself, to sleep at your friend’s house (as you told us), and not to come back till the next morning, something very extraordinary. It was the first time we had ever slept under different roofs — only think of that!’

‘I’m ashamed to say, my dear’ — rejoined Mr Wray, suddenly beginning to look and speak very uneasily — ’that I turned hypocrite, and something worse, too, on that occasion. I deceived you. I had no friend to go and dine with; and I didn’t pass that night in any house at all.’

‘Grandfather!’ — cried Annie, jumping up in a fright — ’What can you mean!’

‘Beg pardon, sir,’ added ‘Julius Caesar’, turning very red, and slowly clenching both his enormous fists as he spoke — ’Beg pardon; but if you was put upon, or made fun of by any chaps that night, I wish you’d just please tell me where I could find ‘em.’

‘Nobody ill-used me,’ said the old man, in steady, and even solemn tones. ‘I passed that night by the grave of William Shakespeare, in Stratford-upon-Avon Church!’

Annie sank back into her seat, and lost all her pretty complexion in a moment. The worthy carpenter gave such a start, that he broke the back rail of his chair. It was a variation on his usual performances of this sort, which were generally confined to cups, saucers, and wine-glasses.

Mr Wray took no notice of the accident. This was of itself enough to show that he was strongly agitated by something. After a momentary silence, he spoke again, completely forgetting the Kemble manner and the Kemble elocution, as he went on.

‘I say again, I passed all that night in Stratford Church; and you shall know for what. You went with me, Annie, in the morning — it was Tuesday: yes, Tuesday morning — to see Shakespeare’s bust in the church.
You
looked at it, like other people, just as a curiosity —
I
looked at it, as the greatest treasure in the world; the only true likeness of Shakespeare! It’s been done from a mask, taken from his own face, after death — I know it: I don’t care what people say, I know it. Well, when we went home, I felt as if I’d seen Shakespeare himself, risen from the dead! Strangers would laugh if I told them so; but it’s true — I
did
feel it. And this thought came across me, quick, like the shooting of a sudden pain: — I must make that face of Shakespeare mine; my possession, my companion, my great treasure that no money can pay for! And I’ve got it! — Here! — the only cast in the world from the Stratford bust is locked up in this old cash box!’

He paused a moment. Astonishment kept both his auditors silent.

‘You both know,’ he continued, ‘that I was bred apprentice to a statuary. Among other things, he taught me to take casts: it was part of our business — the easiest part. I knew I could take a mould off the Stratford bust, if I had the courage; and the courage came to me: on the Tuesday, it came. I went and bought some plaster, some soft soap, and a quart basin — those were my materials — and tied them up together in an old canvas bag. Water was all I wanted besides; and that I saw in the church vestry, in the morning — a jug of it, left I suppose since Sunday, where it had been put for the clergyman’s use. I could carry my bag under my cloak quite comfortably, you understand. The only thing that troubled me now was how to get into the church again, without being suspected. While I was thinking, I passed the inn door. Some people were on the steps, talking to some other people in the street: they were making an appointment to go all together, and see Shakespeare’s bust and grave that very afternoon. This was enough for me: I determined to go into the church with them.’

‘What! and stop there all night, grandfather?’

‘And stop there all night, Annie. Taking a mould, you know, is not a very long business; but I wanted to take mine unobserved; and the early morning, before anybody was up, was the only time to do that safely in the church. Besides, I wanted plenty of leisure, because I wasn’t sure I should succeed at first, after being out of practice so long in making casts. But you shall hear how I did it, when the time comes. Well, I made up the story about dining and sleeping at my friend’s, because I didn’t know what might happen, and because — because, in short, I didn’t like to tell you what I was going to do. So I went out secretly, near the church; and waited for the party coming. They were late — late in the afternoon, before they came. We all went in together; I with my bag, you know, hid under my cloak. The man who showed us over the church in the morning, luckily for me, wasn’t there: an old woman took his duty for him in the afternoon. I waited till the visitors were all congregated round Shakespeare’s grave, bothering the poor woman with foolish questions about him. I knew that was my time, and slipped off into the vestry, and opened the cupboard, and hid myself among the surplices, as quiet as a mouse. After a while, I heard one of the strangers in the church (they were very rude, boisterous people) asking the other, what had become of the ‘old fogey with the cloak?’ and the other answered that he must have gone out, like a wise man, and that they had all better go after him, for it was precious cold and dull in the church. They went away: I heard the doors shut, and knew I was locked in for the night.’

‘All night in a church! Oh, grandfather, how frightened you must have been!’

‘Well, Annie, I was a little frightened; but more at what I was going to do, than at being alone in the church. Let me get on with my story though. Being autumn weather, it grew too dark after the people went, for me to do anything then; so I screwed my courage up to wait for the morning. The first thing I did was to go and look quietly, all by myself, at the bust; and I made up my mind that I could take the mould in about three or four pieces. All I wanted was what they call a
mask
: that means just a forehead and face, without the head. It’s an easy thing to take a mask off a bust — I knew I could do it; but, somehow, I didn’t feel quite comfortable just then. The bust began to look very awful to me, in the fading light, all alone in the church. It was almost like looking at the ghost of Shakespeare, in that place, and at that time. If the door hadn’t been locked, I think I should have run out of the church; but I couldn’t do that; so I knelt down and kissed the grave-stone — a curious fancy coming over me as I did so, that it was like wishing Shakespeare good night — and then I groped my way back to the vestry. When I got in, and had shut the door between me and the grave, I grew bolder, I can tell you; and thought to myself — I’m doing no harm; I’m not going to hurt the bust; I only want what an Englishman and an old actor may fairly covet, a copy of Shakespeare’s face; why shouldn’t I eat my bit of supper here, and say my prayers as usual, and get my nap into the bargain, if I can? Just as I thought that — BANG went the clock, striking the hour! It almost knocked me down, bold as I felt the moment before. I was obliged to wait till it was all still again, before I could pull the bit of bread and cheese I had got with me out of my pocket. And when I did, I couldn’t eat: I was too impatient for the morning; so I sat down in the parson’s armchair; and tried, next, whether I could sleep at all.’

‘And could you, grandfather?’

‘No — I couldn’t sleep either; at least, not at first. It was quite dark now; and I began to feel cold and awe-struck again. The only thing I could think of to keep up my spirits at all, was first saying my prayers, and then quoting Shakespeare. I went at it, Annie, like a dragon; play after play — except the tragedies; I was afraid of them, in a church at night, all by myself. Well: I think I had got half through the
Midsummer Night’s Dream,
whispering over bit after bit of it; when I whispered myself into a doze. Then I fell into a queer sleep; and then I had such a dream! I dreamt that the church was full of moonlight — brighter moonlight than ever I saw awake. I walked out of the vestry; and there were the fairies of the
Midsummer Night’s Dream
— all creatures like sparks of silver light — dancing round the Shakespeare bust! The moment they caught sight of me, they all called out in their sweet nightingale voices: — ’Come along, Reuben! sly old Reuben! we know what you’re here for, and we don’t mind you a bit! You love Shakespeare, and so do we — dance, Reuben, and be happy! Shakespeare likes an old actor; he was an actor himself — nobody sees us! we’re out for the night! foot it, old Reuben — foot it away!’ And we all danced like mad: now, up in the air; now, down on the pavement; and now, all round the bust five hundred thousand times at least without stopping, till — BANG went the clock! and I woke up in the dark, in a cold perspiration.’

‘I’m in one too!’ gasped ‘Julius Caesar’, dabbing his brow vehemently with a ragged cotton pocket handkerchief.

‘Well, after that dream I fell to reciting again; and got another doze; and had another dream — a terrible one, about ghosts and witches, that I don’t recollect so well as the other. I woke up once more, cold, and in a great fright that I’d slept away all the precious morning daylight. No! all dark still! I went into the church again, and then back to the vestry, not being able to stay there. I suppose I did this a dozen times without knowing why. At last, never going to sleep again, I got somehow through the night — the night that seemed never to be done. Soon after daybreak, I began to walk up and down the church briskly, to get myself warm, keeping at it for a long time. Then, just as I saw through the windows that the sun was rising, I opened my bag at last, and got ready for work. I can tell you my hand trembled and my sight grew dim — I think the tears were in my eyes; but I don’t know why — as I first soaped the bust all over to prevent the plaster I was going to put on it from sticking. Then I mixed up the plaster and water in my quart basin, taking care to leave no lumps, and finding it come as natural to me as if I had only left the statuary’s shop yesterday; then — but it’s no use telling you, little Annie, about what you don’t understand; I’d better say shortly I made the mould, in four pieces, as I thought I should — two for the upper part of the face, and two for the lower. Then, having put on the outer plaster case to hold the mould, I pulled all off clean together, and looked, and knew that I had got a mask of Shakespeare from the Stratford bust!’

‘Oh, grandfather, how glad you must have been then!’

‘No, that was the odd part of it. At first, I felt as if I had robbed the bank, or the King’s jewels, or had set fire to a train of gunpowder to blow up all London; it seemed such a thing to have done! Such a tremendously daring, desperate thing! But, a little while after, a frantic sort of joy came over me: I could hardly prevent myself from shouting and singing at the top of my voice. Then I felt a perfect fever of impatience to cast the mould directly; and see whether the mask would come out without a flaw. The keeping down that impatience was the hardest thing I had had to do since I first got into the church.’

‘But, please, sir, whenever did you get out at last? Do pray tell us that!’ asked ‘Julius Caesar’.

‘Not till after the clock had struck twelve, and I’d eaten all my bread and cheese,’ said Mr Wray, rather piteously. ‘I was glad enough when I heard the church door open at last, from the vestry where I had popped in but a moment before. It was the same woman came in who had shown the bust in the afternoon. I waited my time; and then slipped into the church; but she turned round sharply, just as I’d got half way out, and came up to me. I never was frightened by an old woman before; but I can tell you,
she
frightened me. “Oh! there are you again!” says she: “Come, I say! this won’t do. You sneaked out yesterday afternoon without paying anything; and you sneak in again after me, as soon as I open the door this morning — ain’t you ashamed of being so shabby as that, at your age? — ain’t you?” I never paid money in my life, Annie, with pleasure, till I gave that old woman some to stop her mouth! And I don’t recollect either that I’d ever tried to run since leaving the stage (where we had a good deal of running, first and last, in the battle scenes); but I ran as soon as I got well away from the church, I can promise you — ran almost the whole way home.’