Stories with a Vengeance — page 96: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

92 SOME AUTHENTICATED GHOST STORIES. ‘Bon Dieu, I look here, there, every- where, but I observe nothing.” “NoP There—on the sofa—there!”’ Seated on that couch, his head resting on his arm, was the figure of a young man in the costume of Mercutio, with slashed doublet, hose, bonnet, and plume, and the empty scabbard of a sword belted by his side. His face was calm; every feature of it placid, but wearing, oh, so sad and melan- cholic an expression! I can never forget that look so long as I live! Although my eyes dwelt but for an instant upon the form, yet every lineament, every line, every curve of it was graven upon my brain as if by magic. I could sketch it now as well as if it were on that settee in this room before me. Seemingly as if it but waited my coming, the figure rose and stood before me. Then it pointed with its right hand towards the stage, slowly shook its head, and vanished. “ Fifine, Fifine, it is gone!” I cried; and then I rushed out, I know not where. * % * % * I was.forced to throw up the rest of my engagement with Costa-Monga, and go into retirement at Nice, Mentone, and other places, until my nerves had recovered from the shock they had received. Afterwards I slipped over to the United States, and the practical matter-of-fact Yankees soon dispelled the illusion—if it were Ulusion—but to which idea I distinctly Bay no. Then I returned home, and resumed my professional career, having, as you know, been pretty busy and pretty successful in it. “Yes, Signorina. Witness last night's furore at Covent Garden in your per- sonification of Rosina in “ Il Barbiere.” “True, my friend; but whether I rise still higher in my noble and beloved art, or whether I sink to the level of the music- hall, or café chantant, never again, believe me, will a single passage of Bellini’s “I Montecchi e I Capuletti” pass my lips. Mercutio’s spirit haunts every bar of it.” ee If. THE QUADROON NURSE’S STORY. “ JisT nodder piece of Massa ’Arry’s im- perance. Tinks—he do, ’cause he sojer ossifer and wear red coat—he can do what him please. Hi, my king! I make him know, otreey cotreey, as Martinique peoples say. And you, sar, I "peaking to; for wharra you takes de—de liberty ob coming Google here widout introduce, and boddering most respectable quadroon lady like me wid your question *bout ghost story? ’Cause dat piccaninnee ’Arry, who is your brudder ossifer in de Dirty-Second, say you go up to Reculber estate in de Saint ’Lizabeth mountain ob dis Jamaikee, and hab talkee talkee wid Araminta Diana, my ole nuss; she can tell you first-rate story bout one duppy (ghost) she see wid her own two eye. And ’cause dat leelie-leelie boy tell you go, and you comes, why for I to make fool ob myself, for you and your mess to laugh? No, sar; nebber! I not going to do any ting ob de kind; I not tell one single, single word ob any story—and I bids you good morning, sar !”’ “But, Araminta——” I exclaim. “Well, by Job! I nebber in all my born days hear such presumpting! Araminta, indeed! I gives you to understand, sar, dat when you dress lady ob colour ob my style, you please ’dress her not like one fish-fag-ordinary-Kingston nigger gal. My name, sar, is Miss Araminta Diana Smit’; and again I-’as de honor to wish you ajew !” “But Miss Araminta Diana Smith, pre- adamite spinster,” I said—the word “ pre- adamite ” tickled her fancy, as I was sure it would. She had not the least conception what it meant, and took it for a pretty compliment—“ Harry sent me all the way from Up-Park Camp to gather your narra- tive from your own lips, ‘for,’ said he, ‘although I could tell you the outline, there is no one can relate the particulars so well or so correctly as the senile, garrulous, and grandiloquent harridan’”—again the long — words pleased her, and she smirked and smiled as I repeated them—‘“‘up at Re- culvers; therefore, old man, journey there, | and hear them. And—Id nearly for- gotten it in the pleasure of seeing you—he | sent you this dollar as a Christmas-box, to | which do permit me adding another on my own account.” “Youre berry good, sar, and so is my child ’Arry. Ah, well, considering de business a second time, and wid dese two dollar pieces in me hand, I tink—yes, I tink | I will ‘me round and varnish tale re- libber,’ as I once heard a play-actor say in de Kingston Teater.” | And then the old nurse told me the fol-_ lowing story, but which, for the sake of | more facile recounting, I shall transpose ° from her somewhat unintelligible tongue | into plainer English, giving only now and again, by way of polish, words or sentences | of her negro jargon :— 3 In the good old West Indian time (said | JOO @ © = a S CO)