Read the book “The Canterville Ghost” online. The Canterville Ghost (collection)

23.04.2019

Chapter first

When Mr. Hiram B. Oatis, the American envoy, decided to buy Canterville Castle, everyone began to assure him that he was doing a terrible stupidity: it was reliably known that the castle was haunted. Lord Canterville himself, an extremely scrupulous man, even when it came to trifles, did not fail to warn Mr. Oatis about this when drawing up the bill of sale.

We try to come here as little as possible,” said Lord Canterville. “And this has been ever since my great-aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, had a nervous attack from which she never recovered.” She was changing clothes for dinner, and suddenly two bony hands fell on her shoulders. I will not hide from you, Mr. Oatis, that this ghost has appeared to many living members of my family. He was also seen by our parish priest, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. After this trouble with the duchess, all the junior servants left us, and Lady Canterville completely lost sleep: every night she heard some strange rustling sounds in the corridor and the library.

Well, my lord,” replied the messenger, “I take the ghost along with the furniture.” I came from an advanced country, where there is everything that money can buy. In addition, keep in mind that our youth is lively, capable of upending your entire Old World. Our young people are taking the best actresses and opera divas away from you. So, if there were even one ghost in Europe, it would instantly end up in some museum or traveling panopticon.

“I’m afraid that the Canterville Ghost still exists,” said Lord Canterville, smiling, “even though it apparently was not tempted by the offers of your enterprising impresarios.” Its existence has been known for a good three hundred years, or, to be precise, since one thousand five hundred and eighty fourth year, - and it invariably appears shortly before the death of one of our family members.

Well, Lord Canterville, the family doctor also always appears in such cases. I assure you, sir, there are no ghosts, and the laws of nature, I believe, are the same for everyone - even for the English aristocracy.

You Americans are still so close to nature! - responded Lord Canterville, apparently not quite understanding Mr. Otis's last remark. - Well, if you're okay with a haunted house, then that's okay. Just don't forget, I warned you.

A few weeks later the deed of sale was signed, and at the end of the London season the envoy and his family moved to Canterville Castle. Mrs. Oatis, who had once been famous in New York for her beauty as Miss Lucretia R. Tappen of West 53rd Street, was now a middle-aged lady, still very attractive, with wonderful eyes and a chiseled profile. Many American women, when leaving their homeland, pretend to be chronically ill, considering this one of the signs of European sophistication, but Mrs. Oatis was not guilty of this. She was distinguished by excellent health and an absolutely fantastic excess of energy. Indeed, it was not easy to distinguish her from a real Englishwoman, and her example once again confirmed that there is surprisingly much in common between us and America - almost everything, except, of course, the language.

The eldest of the sons, to whom his parents, in a fit of patriotism, gave the name Washington - a decision he never ceased to regret - was a fair-haired young man of rather pleasant appearance, preparing to take his rightful place in American diplomacy, as evidenced by the fact that he famously danced the cotillion in the Newport casino, invariably performing in the first couple, and even in London earned a reputation as an excellent dancer. He had two weaknesses - gardenias and heraldry, but in everything else he was distinguished by amazing sanity.

Miss Virginia E. Oatis was in her sixteenth year. She was a slender, graceful, doe-like girl with large, clear blue eyes. She rode beautifully and once, having persuaded old Lord Bilton to race her twice around Hyde Park, the first ended up at the statue of Achilles, beating the lord on her pony by a full length and a half, which delighted the young Duke of Cheshire so much that he immediately proposed to her and that evening, in tears, he was sent back to Eton by his guardians.

Virginia also had two younger twin brothers, who were nicknamed "Stars and Stripes" because they were endlessly flogged - very nice boys, and also the only staunch Republicans in the family, unless, of course, you count the envoy himself.

From Canterville Castle to the nearest railway station Ascot was a full seven miles away, but Mr. Oatis telegraphed in advance for a carriage to be sent, and the family set off for the castle in the best spirits. It was a beautiful July evening, and the air was filled with the warm aroma of pine forest. From time to time they could hear the gentle cooing of a wood dove, reveling in its own voice, and the colorful chest of a pheasant flashed every now and then through the rustling thickets of ferns. From the tall beech trees, squirrels looked at them, seeming very tiny from below, and the rabbits hiding in the low growth, seeing them, ran away over the mossy hummocks, twitching their short white tails.

But before they had time to drive out onto the alley leading to Canterville Castle, the sky suddenly became cloudy and a strange silence shackled the air. A huge flock of rooks flew silently over their heads, and as they approached the house, rain began to fall in large, sparse drops.

A neat old woman in a black silk dress, white cap and apron was waiting for them on the steps. It was Mrs. Umney, the housekeeper, whom Mrs. Oatis, at Lady Canterville's urgent request, had retained in her former position. She made a deep curtsey to each of the family members and ceremoniously, in the old-fashioned way, said:

Welcome to Canterville Castle!

They followed her into the house and, passing the majestic Tudor hall, found themselves in the library - a long and low room, paneled in black oak, with a large stained glass window opposite the door. Here everything was already prepared for tea. Throwing off their cloaks and shawls, they sat down at the table and, while Mrs. Umney poured tea, began to look around.

Suddenly Mrs. Oatis noticed a red spot on the floor near the fireplace, darkened with time, and, unable to explain to herself where it could have come from, asked Mrs. Umney:

Perhaps something was spilled there?

Yes, madam,” answered the old housekeeper in a hushed voice, “blood was shed at this place.”

Horrible! - Mrs. Oatis exclaimed. “I wouldn’t want blood stains in my living room.” It needs to be removed now!

The old woman smiled and answered in the same mysterious half-whisper:

You see the blood of Lady Eleanor de Canterville, who was killed on this very spot in the year one thousand five hundred and seventy-five by her husband Sir Simon de Canterville. Sir Simon survived her by nine years, and then suddenly disappeared under very mysterious circumstances. His body was never found, but his sinful spirit still haunts the castle. Tourists and other visitors to the castle inspect this stain with constant admiration, and it is impossible to wash it off.

Nonsense! - Washington Oatis said confidently. - Pinkerton's Exemplary Stain Remover and Cleaner will remove it in no time.

And before the frightened housekeeper had time to stop him, he dropped to his knees and began to scrub the floor with a small round bar that looked like lipstick, only black. Not even a minute passed and there was no trace left of the stain.

- “Pinkerton” will never let you down! - the young man exclaimed with a triumphant look, turning to the admiring family. But scarcely had he uttered these words when a terrifying flash of lightning illuminated the darkened room, and the ensuing deafening clap of thunder made everyone jump to their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.

“What a disgusting climate here,” the American envoy said with a calm expression, lighting a cigar. “Good old England is so overpopulated that there isn’t even enough decent weather for everyone.” I have always been of the opinion that emigration is the only salvation for Britain.

“Dear Hiram,” said Mrs. Otis, “what should we do with her if she begins to faint?”

Withhold from her salary, as for breaking dishes,” the envoy replied, “and soon she will get rid of this habit.”

Indeed, after two or three seconds Mrs. Umney woke up. However, she looked clearly offended, and, stubbornly pursing her lips, she told Mr. Oatis that trouble would soon come to this house.

Sir,” she said, “I have seen things here that would make the hair of any Christian stand on end, and the terrible things that happen here have kept me awake many, many nights.”

But Mr. Oatis and his wife assured the venerable lady that they were not afraid of ghosts, and, invoking the blessing of God on their new masters, and also hinting that it would be nice to increase her salary, the old housekeeper with unsteady steps retired to her room.

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When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American Ambassador, decided to buy Canterville Castle, everyone assured him that he was doing a terrible stupidity - it was reliably known that the castle was haunted.

Lord Canterville himself, an extremely scrupulous man, even when it came to mere trifles, did not fail to warn Mr. Otis when drawing up the bill of sale.

“We haven’t been drawn to this castle,” said Lord Canterville, “ever since my great-aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, had a nervous attack from which she never recovered.” She was changing for dinner when suddenly two bony hands fell on her shoulders. I will not hide from you, Mr. Otis, that this ghost also appeared to many living members of my family. Our parish priest, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, Master of King's College, Cambridge, also saw him. After this trouble with the duchess, all the junior servants left us, and Lady Canterville completely lost sleep: every night she heard some strange rustling sounds in the corridor and the library.

“Well, my lord,” replied the ambassador, “let the ghost go with the furniture.” I came from an advanced country, where there is everything that money can buy. In addition, our youth is lively, capable of upending your entire Old World. Our young people are taking the best actresses and opera divas away from you. So, if there were even one ghost in Europe, it would instantly end up in some museum or traveling panopticon.

“I’m afraid that the Canterville ghost still exists,” said Lord Canterville, smiling, “although it may not have been tempted by the offers of your enterprising impresarios.” It has been famous for a good three hundred years - more precisely, since the year one thousand five hundred and eighty-four - and invariably appears shortly before the death of one of the members of our family.

– Usually, Lord Canterville, in such cases the family doctor comes. There are no ghosts, sir, and the laws of nature, I dare say, are the same for everyone - even for the English aristocracy.

– You Americans are still so close to nature! - Lord Canterville responded, apparently not quite understanding Mr. Otis’s last remark. “Well, if you're happy with a haunted house, that's okay.” Just don't forget, I warned you.

A few weeks later the deed of sale was signed, and at the end of the London season the ambassador and his family moved to Canterville Castle. Mrs. Otis, who had once been famous in New York for her beauty as Miss Lucretia R. Tappen of West 53rd Street, was now a middle-aged lady, still very attractive, with wonderful eyes and a chiseled profile. Many American women, when leaving their homeland, pretend to be chronically ill, considering this one of the signs of European sophistication, but Mrs. Otis was not guilty of this. She had a magnificent physique and an absolutely fantastic excess of energy. Really, it was not easy to distinguish her from a real Englishwoman, and her example once again confirmed that now everything is the same between us and America, except, of course, the language. The eldest of the sons, whom his parents, in a fit of patriotism, christened Washington - a decision he always regretted - was a rather handsome young blond who promised to become a good American diplomat, since he conducted the German square dance at the Newport casino for three seasons in a row and even in London earned a reputation for excellent dancer He had a weakness for gardenias and heraldry, being otherwise distinguished by perfect sanity. Miss Virginia E. Otis was in her sixteenth year. She was a slender girl, graceful as a doe, with large, clear blue eyes. She rode a pony beautifully, and having once persuaded old Lord Bilton to race her twice around Hyde Park, she beat him by a length and a half at the very statue of Achilles; with this she delighted the young Duke of Cheshire so much that he immediately proposed to her and in the evening of the same day, covered in tears, was sent back to Eton by his guardians. There were two more twins in the family, younger than Virginia, who were nicknamed “Stars and Stripes” because they were endlessly spanked. Therefore, the dear boys were, apart from the venerable ambassador, the only convinced republicans in the family.

It was a full seven miles from Canterville Castle to the nearest railway station at Ascot, but Mr. Otis had telegraphed in advance for a carriage to be sent, and the family set off for the castle in excellent spirits.

It was a beautiful July evening, and the air was filled with a warm aroma pine forest. Occasionally they could hear the gentle cooing of a wood dove, reveling in its own voice, or the motley breast of a pheasant flashing through the rustling thickets of ferns. Tiny squirrels looked at them from tall beeches, and rabbits hid in low growth or, raising their white tails, scampered away over mossy hummocks. But before they had time to enter the alley leading to Canterville Castle, the sky suddenly became cloudy, and a strange silence shackled the air. A huge flock of jackdaws flew silently overhead, and as they approached the house, rain began to fall in large, sparse drops.

A neat old woman in a black silk dress, white cap and apron was waiting for them on the porch. It was Mrs. Umney, the housekeeper, whom Mrs. Otis, at Lady Canterville's urgent request, had retained in her former position. She crouched low in front of each of the family members and ceremoniously, in the old-fashioned way, said:

– Welcome to Canterville Castle!

They followed her into the house and, passing a real Tudor hall, found themselves in the library - a long and low room, paneled in black oak, with a large stained glass window opposite the door. Here everything was already prepared for tea. They took off their cloaks and shawls and, sitting down at the table, began to look around the room while Mrs. Umney was pouring tea.

Suddenly Mrs. Otis noticed a red stain, darkened with time, on the floor near the fireplace, and, not understanding where it came from, asked Mrs. Umney:

- Perhaps something was spilled here?

“Yes, madam,” answered the old housekeeper in a whisper, “blood was shed here.”

- Horrible! - Mrs. Otis exclaimed. “I don’t want bloody stains in my living room.” Let them wash it off now!

The old woman smiled and answered in the same mysterious whisper:

“You see the blood of Lady Eleanor Canterville, who was killed on this very spot in the year one thousand five hundred and seventy-five by her husband Sir Simon de Canterville. Sir Simon survived her by nine years and then suddenly disappeared under very mysterious circumstances. His body was never found, but his sinful spirit still haunts the castle. Tourists and other visitors to the castle inspect this eternal, indelible stain with constant admiration.

- What nonsense! - exclaimed Washington Otis. “Pinkerton's Unsurpassed Stain Remover and Exemplary Cleaner will destroy it in a minute.”

And before the frightened housekeeper had time to stop him, he knelt down and began scrubbing the floor with a small black stick that looked like lipstick. In less than a minute the stain and trace were gone.

- “Pinkerton” will not let you down! – he exclaimed, turning in triumph to the admiring family. But before he had time to finish this, a bright flash of lightning illuminated the dim room, a deafening clap of thunder made everyone jump to their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.

“What a disgusting climate,” the American ambassador calmly remarked, lighting a long cigar with a cut off end. – Our ancestral country is so overpopulated that there is not even enough decent weather for everyone. I have always believed that emigration is the only salvation for England.

“Dear Hiram,” said Mrs. Otis, “what if she starts to faint?”

“Deduct one time from her salary, like for breaking dishes,” the ambassador replied, and she won’t want it anymore.

Sure enough, after two or three seconds Mrs. Umney came back to life. However, as it was easy to see, she had not yet fully recovered from the shock she had experienced and with a solemn look announced to Mr. Otis that his house was in danger.

“Sir,” she said, “I have seen things that would make every Christian’s hair stand on end, and the horrors of these places have kept me awake many nights.”

The storm raged all night, but nothing special happened. However, when the family went down to breakfast the next morning, everyone again saw a terrible blood stain on the floor.

“There is no doubt about the Exemplary Purifier,” said Washington. – I haven’t tried it on anything. Apparently, a ghost was really at work here.

And he removed the stain again, and the next morning it appeared in the same place. It was there on the third morning, although the night before Mr. Otis, before going to bed, had personally locked the library and taken the key with him. Now the whole family was busy with ghosts. Mr. Otis began to wonder whether he had been dogmatic in denying the existence of spirits; Mrs. Otis expressed her intention to join the Spiritualist Society, and Washington composed long letter to Messrs. Myers and Podmore regarding the longevity of the bloodstains generated by the crime. But if they had any doubts about the reality of ghosts, they were dispelled forever that same night.

The day was hot and sunny, and with the onset of evening coolness the family went for a walk. They returned home only at nine o'clock and sat down to a light dinner. There was no mention of ghosts, so everyone present was by no means in that state of heightened receptivity that so often precedes the materialization of spirits. They said, as Mr. Otis later told me, what enlightened Americans from high society always talk about; about the undeniable superiority of Miss Fanny Davenport as an actress over Sarah Bernhardt; about the fact that even in the best English houses they do not serve corn, buckwheat cakes and hominy; about the significance of Boston for the formation of the world soul; about the advantages of the ticket system for transporting baggage across railway; about the pleasant softness of New York pronunciation compared to the drawl of London. There was no talk of anything supernatural, and no one even mentioned Sir Simon de Canterville. At eleven in the evening the family retired, and half an hour later the lights in the house were turned off. Very soon, however, Mr. Otis woke up from strange sounds in the corridor outside his door. He thought he heard, more and more clearly every minute, the grinding of metal. He stood up, struck a match and looked at his watch. It was exactly one o'clock in the morning. Mr. Otis remained completely unperturbed and felt his pulse, rhythmic as always. The strange sounds did not cease, and Mr. Otis could now clearly distinguish the sound of footsteps. He put his feet into his shoes, took out an oblong bottle from his travel bag and opened the door. Right in front of him, in the ghostly light of the moon, stood an old man of terrible appearance. His eyes burned like hot coals, long White hair fell in patties onto his shoulders, his dirty dress of an ancient cut was all in tatters, and heavy rusty chains hung from his hands and feet, which were shackled.

“Sir,” said Mr. Otis, “I must earnestly ask you to oil your chains in future.” To this end, I have grabbed for you a bottle of Rising Sun Democratic Party lubricant oil. The desired effect after the first use. The latter is confirmed by our most famous clergy, which you can verify for yourself by reading the label. I will leave the bottle on the table near the candelabra and I will be honored to supply you with the above-mentioned remedy as needed.

With these words, the United States Ambassador placed the bottle on the marble table and, closing the door behind him, went to bed.

The Canterville Ghost froze in indignation. Then, in anger, grabbing the bottle on the parquet floor, it rushed down the corridor, emitting an ominous green glow and groaning muffledly. But as soon as it stepped onto the top landing of the wide oak staircase, two white figures jumped out of the opening door, and a huge pillow whistled past its head. There was no time to waste and, having resorted to the fourth dimension for salvation, the spirit disappeared into the wooden panel of the wall. Everything in the house became quiet.

Having reached a secret closet in the left wing of the castle, the ghost leaned against the moonbeam and, after catching his breath a little, began to think about his position. Never in all his glorious and impeccable service of three hundred years had he been so insulted. The spirit remembered the Dowager Duchess, whom he scared to death when she looked in the mirror, all in lace and diamonds; about the four maids who became hysterical when he merely smiled at them from behind the curtains in the guest bedroom; about the parish priest who is still being treated by Sir William Gull for a nervous breakdown because one evening, as he was leaving the library, someone blew out his candle; about old Madame de Tremuillac, who, waking up one day at dawn and seeing a skeleton sitting in a chair by the fireplace and reading her diary, fell ill for six weeks with inflammation of the brain, reconciled with the church and decisively broke with the famous skeptic Monsieur de Voltaire. He remembered the terrible night when the evil Lord Canterville was found suffocating in the dressing room with the jack of diamonds in his throat. Dying, the old man confessed that with the help of this card he had beaten Crockford Charles James Fox for fifty thousand pounds and that the Canterville ghost had shoved this card down his throat. He recalled each of the victims of his great deeds, starting with the butler, who shot himself as soon as the green hand knocked on the pantry window, and ending with beautiful lady Stutfield. who was forced to always wear black velvet around her neck to hide the prints of five fingers left on her snow-white skin. She then drowned herself in the pond, famous for its carp, at the end of the Royal Avenue. Captivated by that feeling of self-intoxication that everyone knows true artist, he turned over in his mind his best roles, and a bitter smile curled his lips when he recalled his last performance as Red Raben, or the Strangled Child, his debut as Jibon Skin and Bones, or the Bloodsucker of Bexley Marsh; I also remembered how I shocked the audience simply by playing bowls with my dice on the lawn tennis court on a pleasant June evening.

The next morning, at breakfast, the Otises talked at length about the ghost. The United States Ambassador was a little hurt that his gift was rejected.

“I don’t mean to offend the ghost,” he said, “but I can’t keep silent in this regard about the fact that it is extremely impolite to throw pillows at someone who has lived in this house for so many years.” “Unfortunately, I have to add that the twins greeted this absolutely fair remark with loud laughter. “However,” the ambassador continued, “if the spirit persists and does not want to use the Rising Sun Democratic Party lubricant, it will have to be unchained.” It's impossible to sleep when there's such noise outside your door.

However, they were not disturbed again until the end of the week, only the bloody stain in the library reappeared for everyone to see every morning. There was an explanation for this. not easy, because Mr. Otis himself locked the door in the evening, and the windows were closed with shutters with strong bolts. The chameleon-like nature of the spot also required explanation. Sometimes it was dark red, sometimes cinnabar, sometimes purple, and once, when they came down to family prayer according to the simplified ritual of the Free American Reformed Episcopal Church, the stain turned out to be emerald green. These kaleidoscopic changes, of course, greatly amused the family, and every evening bets were made in anticipation of the morning. Only little Virginia did not participate in these fun; For some reason, she was upset every time she saw the bloody stain, and on the day when it turned green, she almost burst into tears.

The second exit of the spirit took place on Monday night. The family had just settled down when suddenly a terrible roar was heard in the hall. When the frightened inhabitants of the castle ran downstairs, they saw that large knightly armor that had fallen from the pedestal was lying on the floor, and the Canterville ghost was sitting in a high-backed chair and, wincing in pain, rubbing his knees. The twins, with the accuracy that is acquired only by long and persistent practice on the person of the calligraphy teacher, immediately fired a charge at him from their slingshots, and the United States Ambassador took aim with his revolver and,

Californian custom, he commanded “hands up!” The spirit jumped up with a furious cry and the fog rushed between them, extinguishing Washington's candle and leaving everyone in complete darkness. On the upper platform he caught his breath a little and decided to burst out with his famous devilish laughter, which had brought him success more than once. It is said that it turned Lord Raker's wig gray overnight, and this laughter was undoubtedly the reason why Lady Canterville's three French governesses announced their resignations without having served in the house for even a month. And he burst out with his most terrible laughter, so that the old vaults of the castle echoed loudly. But as soon as the terrible echo died down, the door opened, and Mrs. Otis came out to him in a pale blue hood.

“I’m afraid you’ve fallen ill,” she said. “I brought you Dr. Dobell’s medicine.” If you suffer from indigestion, it will help you.

The spirit cast a furious glance at her and prepared to turn into a black dog - a talent that brought him well-deserved fame and the influence of which the family physician explained the incurable dementia of Lord Canterville's uncle, the Honorable Thomas Horton. But the sound of approaching steps forced him to abandon this intention. He contented himself with becoming faintly phosphorescent, and at that moment, when the twins had already overtaken him, he managed, as he disappeared, to let out a heavy cemetery groan.

Having reached his refuge, he finally lost his composure and fell into severe melancholy. The twins' bad manners and Mrs. Otis's crude materialism shocked him greatly; but what upset him most was that he was unable to put on armor. He believed that even modern Americans would feel shy at the sight of a ghost in armor, if only out of respect for their national poet, Longfellow, over whose graceful and delectable poetry he sat for hours when the Cantervilles moved to town. Besides, it was his own armor. He looked very handsome in them at the tournament in Kenilworth and then received extremely flattering praise from the Virgin Queen herself. But now the massive breastplate and steel helmet were too heavy for him, and, having donned the armor, he fell to the stone floor, breaking his knees and the fingers of his right hand.

He became seriously ill and did not leave the room for several days, except at night, to maintain the bloody stain in proper order. But thanks to skillful self-healing, he soon recovered and decided that for the third time he would try to scare the ambassador and his household. He set his sights on Friday, the seventeenth of August, and on the eve of that day he spent the night going through his wardrobe, finally settling on a tall wide-brimmed hat with a red feather, a shroud with ruffles at the collar and on the sleeves, and a rusty dagger. In the evening it began to rain, and the wind was so raging that all the windows and doors of the old house were shaking. However, this weather was just right for him. His plan was this: first of all, he would quietly sneak into Washington Otis’s room and stand at his feet, muttering something under his breath, and then, to the sounds of mournful music, he would stab himself three times in the throat with a dagger. He had a special dislike for Washington, since he knew very well that it was he who had taken it into the habit of erasing the famous Canterville Blood Stain with the Model Pinkerton Cleaner. Having reduced this reckless and disrespectful youth to complete prostration, he will then proceed to the conjugal bedchamber of the United States Ambassador and lay his hand, covered with cold sweat, on the forehead of Mrs. Otis, meanwhile whispering to her trembling husband the terrible secrets of the crypt. He hasn’t yet come up with anything definite about little Virginia. She never offended him and was a beautiful and kind girl. Here a few muffled groans from the closet could do, and if she didn't wake up, he would tug at her blanket with trembling, gnarled fingers. But he will teach the twins a good lesson. First of all, he will sit on their chest so that they will rush about from the nightmares they have seen, and then, since their beds are almost next to each other, he will freeze between them in the form of a cold, green corpse and will stand there until they are dead with fear. Then he will throw off his shroud and, exposing his white bones, begin to walk around the room, rolling one eye, as expected in the role of Eyeless Daniel, or the Skeleton Suicide. It was a very strong role, no weaker than his famous Mad Martin, or the Hidden Secret, and it made a strong impression on the audience more than once.

At half past ten he guessed from the sounds that the whole family had retired. For a long time he was disturbed by wild bursts of laughter - apparently the twins were frolicking with the carelessness of schoolchildren before going to bed, but at a quarter past eleven silence reigned in the house, and, as soon as midnight struck, he went out to work. Owls beat against the glass, a raven croaked in an old yew tree, and the wind wandered, moaning like a restless soul, around the old house. But the Otises slept peacefully, not suspecting anything; the ambassador’s snoring was drowned out by the rain and storm. The spirit with an evil grin on its wrinkled lips carefully walked out of the panel. The moon hid her face behind a cloud as he crept past the window with a lantern on which his coat of arms and the coat of arms of his murdered wife were inscribed in gold and azure. Further and further he slid like an ominous shadow; the darkness of the night and she seemed to look at him with disgust.

Suddenly it seemed to him that someone called to him, and he froze in place, but it was only the dog barking at the Red Farm. And he continued on his way, muttering now incomprehensible curses of the 16th century and waving a rusty dagger in the air. Finally he reached the turn where the corridor leading to the room of the ill-fated Washington began. Here he waited a little. The wind blew his gray hair and twisted his grave shroud into indescribably terrible folds. The quarter struck and he felt the time had come. He chuckled smugly and turned the corner; but as soon as he took a step, he recoiled with a pitiful cry and covered his pale face with his long, bony hands. stood right in front of him scary ghost, motionless, like a statue, monstrous, like the delirium of a madman. His head was bald and smooth, his face was thick and deathly pale; a vile laugh brought his features into an eternal smile. Rays of scarlet light streamed from his eyes, his mouth was like a wide well of fire, and ugly clothes, so similar to his own, shrouded his powerful figure in a snow-white shroud. On the ghost’s chest hung a board with an incomprehensible inscription written in ancient letters. She must have been talking about terrible shame, about dirty vices, about wild atrocities. In the raised right hand he was clutched by a sword of shining steel.

Having never seen a ghost before, the spirit of Canterville, needless to say, was terribly frightened and, glancing once again out of the corner of his eye at the terrible ghost, rushed away. He ran, unable to feel his feet under him, getting tangled in the folds of his shroud, and on the way he dropped the rusty dagger into the ambassador’s shoe, where the butler found it in the morning. Having reached his room and feeling safe, the spirit threw himself onto his hard bed and hid his head under the blanket. But soon his former Canterville courage awoke in him, and he decided, as soon as dawn broke, to go and talk to another ghost. And as soon as the dawn painted the hills with silver, he returned to where he met the terrible ghost. He understood that, in the end, the more ghosts the better, and he hoped, with the help of a new companion, to deal with the twins. But when he found himself in the same place, a terrible sight met his eyes. Apparently something bad happened to the ghost. The light went out in his empty eye sockets, the shiny sword fell out of his hands, and he leaned awkwardly and unnaturally against the wall. The spirit of Canterville ran up to him, wrapped his arms around him, when suddenly - oh, horror! - his head rolled on the floor, his body was broken in half, and he saw that he was holding a piece of white canopy in his arms, and a broom was lying at his feet, kitchen knife and an empty pumpkin. Not knowing how to explain this strange transformation, with trembling hands he lifted the board with the inscription and in the gray morning light he made out these terrible words:

SPIRIT OF THE OTIS COMPANY!

The only true and original ghost. Beware of fakes! All the rest are not real!

Everything became clear to him. He was deceived, outwitted, tricked! His eyes lit up with the old Canterville fire; he gnashed his toothless gums and, raising his emaciated hands to the sky, swore, following the best examples of ancient style, that before Chauntecleer had time to blow his horn twice, bloody deeds would be accomplished and murder would pass through this house with an inaudible step.

As soon as he uttered this terrible oath, a rooster crowed in the distance from a red tiled roof. The spirit burst into a long, dull and evil laugh and began to wait. He waited for many hours, but for some reason the rooster did not crow again. Finally, around half past seven, the steps of the maids brought him out of his stupor, and he returned to his room, grieving over unfulfilled plans and vain hopes. There, at home, he looked through several of his favorite books about ancient chivalry and learned from them that every time this oath was pronounced, the rooster crowed twice.

- May death destroy the unscrupulous bird! - he muttered. “The day will come when my spear will plunge into your trembling throat and I will hear your death rattle.”

Then he lay down in a comfortable lead coffin and remained there until dark.

The next morning the spirit felt completely broken. The enormous stress of the whole month was beginning to take its toll. His nerves were completely shaken, he shuddered at the slightest rustle. For five days he did not leave the room and finally gave up on the bloody stain. If the Otises don't need it, then they don't deserve it. Obviously, they are pathetic materialists, completely incapable of appreciating symbolic meaning supersensible phenomena. The question of celestial signs and the phases of astral bodies was, of course, a special area and, in truth, was beyond his competence. But his sacred duty was to appear weekly in the corridor, and on the first and third Wednesdays of each month to sit at the window that looks out like a lantern into the park and mutter all sorts of nonsense, and he did not see the opportunity to refuse these duties without damage to his honor. And although he lived his earthly life immorally, he showed extreme integrity in everything that related to the other world. Therefore, for the next three Saturdays, as usual, from midnight to three, he walked along the corridor, taking every care not to be heard or seen. He walked without boots, trying to step as lightly as possible on the worm-eaten floor; wore a wide black velvet cloak and never forgot to thoroughly wipe his chains with the Rising Sun of the Democratic Party. It must be said that it was not easy for him to resort to this last means of safety. And yet one evening, while the family was sitting at dinner, he snuck into Mr. Otis's room and stole a bottle of motor oil. True, he felt a little humiliated, but only at first. In the end, prudence prevailed, and he admitted to himself that this invention had its merits and in some respects could serve him well. But no matter how careful he was, he was not left alone. Every now and then he tripped in the dark over the ropes stretched across the corridor, and once, dressed for the role of Black Isaac, or the Hunter of Hogley Woods, he slipped and was badly hurt because the twins had oiled the floor from the entrance to the tapestry hall to the upper landing of the oak room. stairs. This angered him so much that he decided to last time stand up to defend your violated dignity and your rights and appear the next night to the daring pupils of Eton in the famous role of the Brave Ruper, or the Headless Earl.

He had not acted in this role for more than seventy years, since he had so frightened the lovely Lady Barbara Modish that she refused her suitor, the grandfather of the present Lord Canterville, and ran away to Gretna Green with the handsome Jack Castleton; She declared at the same time that there was no way in the world she would enter a family where they considered it permissible for such terrible ghosts to walk around the terrace at dusk. Poor Jack was soon killed on Wandsworth Meadow by Lord Canterville's bullet, and Lady Barbara was heartbroken and died at Tunbridge Wells less than a year later - so the performance was in every sense a huge success. However, this role required very complex makeup - if it is permissible to use theatrical term in relation to one of the deepest mysteries of the supernatural world, or, in scientific terms, the “natural world of the highest order,” and he spent a good three hours preparing. Finally everything was ready, and he was very pleased with his appearance. The large leather boots that came with this suit were, however, a little too big for him, and one of the saddle pistols was missing somewhere, but on the whole, it seemed to him that he had dressed up well. At exactly a quarter past two he slipped out of the panel and crept down the corridor. Having reached the twins’ room (by the way, it was called the “Blue Bedroom”, due to the color of the wallpaper and curtains), he noticed that the door was slightly open. Wanting to stage his exit as effectively as possible, he opened it wide... and a huge jug of water overturned on him, which flew an inch from his left shoulder, soaking him to the skin. At that very moment he heard bursts of laughter from under the canopy of the wide bed.

His nerves could not stand it. He rushed as fast as he could to his room and the next day he came down with a cold. It’s good that he went out without a head, otherwise there would have been serious complications. That was the only thing that consoled him.

Now he had given up all hope of intimidating those rude Americans and was mostly content to wander the corridors in felt shoes, with a thick red scarf wrapped around his neck so as not to catch a cold, and with a small arquebus in his hands in case of attack by the twins. The final blow was dealt to him on September 19th. That day he went down to the hall, where he knew he would not be disturbed, and silently scoffed at the large photographs taken at Saroni's of the United States Ambassador and his wife, which replaced the Canterville family portraits. He was dressed simply but neatly, in a long shroud, spoiled here and there by grave mold. His lower jaw was tied with a yellow scarf, and in his hand he held a lantern and a spade, such as gravediggers use. In fact, he was dressed for the role of Jonah the Unburied, or the Corpse Snatcher of the Chertsey Barn, one of his best creations. This role was well remembered by all the Cantervilles, and not without reason, for it was then that they quarreled with their neighbor Lord Rufford. It was already about a quarter past three, and no matter how hard he listened, not a rustle could be heard. But when he began to slowly make his way to the library to look at what was left of the bloody stain, two figures suddenly jumped out of a dark corner, frantically waved their arms above their heads and screamed in his ear: “Oooh!”

Seized with panic, quite natural under the circumstances, he rushed to the stairs, but there Washington was lying in wait with a large garden sprayer; surrounded on all sides by enemies and literally pinned against the wall, he ducked into a large iron stove, which, fortunately, was not flooded, and made his way through the pipes to his room - dirty, torn to pieces, filled with despair.

He made no more night forays. The twins ambushed him several times and every evening, to the great displeasure of their parents and servants, they sprinkled the floor in the corridor with nutshells, but to no avail. The spirit, apparently, considered himself so offended that he no longer wanted to go out to the inhabitants of the house. Mr. Otis therefore sat down again to his work on the history of the democratic party, on which he had been working for many years; Mrs. Otis organized a magnificent picnic on the seashore that amazed the whole county - all the dishes were prepared from shellfish; the boys became interested in lacrosse, poker, euchre and other American national games. And Virginia rode along the alleys on her pony with the young Duke of Cheshire, who was spending the last week of his holidays at Canterville Castle. Everyone decided that the ghost had left them, and Mr. Otis notified Lord Canterville of this in writing, who, in a reply letter, expressed his joy on this occasion and congratulated the worthy wife of the ambassador.

But the Otises were wrong. The ghost did not leave their house and, although he was now almost an invalid, still did not think of leaving them alone - especially since he learned that among the guests was the young Duke of Cheshire, cousin of the same Lord Francis Stilton, who once bet a hundred guineas with Colonel Carbury that he would play dice with the spirit of Canterville; In the morning, Lord Stilton was found paralyzed on the floor of the card shop, and although he lived to an advanced age, he could only utter two words: “six double.” This story was very sensational at one time, although out of respect for the feelings of both noble families they tried in every possible way to hush it up. Details of it can be found in the third volume of Lord Tattle's work, Memoirs of the Prince Regent and His Friends. The Spirit, naturally, wanted to prove that he had not lost his former influence on the Stiltons, with whom he was also distantly related: his cousin was married for the second time to Monseigneur de Bulkley, and from him, as everyone knows, the Dukes of Cheshire are descended .

He even began working on reviving his famous role as the Vampire Monk, or the Bloodless Benedictine, in which he decided to appear before Virginia's young admirer. He was so terrible in this role that when old Lady Startup saw him one fateful evening on New Year's Day 1764, she uttered several heart-rending screams and had a stroke. Three days later she died, depriving the Cantervilles, her closest relatives, of their inheritance and leaving everything to her London apothecary.

But at the last minute, fear of the twins prevented the ghost from leaving his room, and the little Duke slept peacefully until the morning under a large canopy with plumes in the royal bedchamber. In his dream he saw Virginia.

A few days later, Virginia and her golden-haired gentleman went riding on Brockley Meadows, and she, making her way through the hedge, tore her riding habit so much that, returning home, she decided to quietly climb up the back stairs to her room. As she ran past the tapestry room, the door of which was slightly open, it seemed to her that there was someone in the room, and, believing that it was her mother’s maid, who sometimes sat here sewing, she was about to ask her to sew up the dress. To her unspeakable surprise, it turned out to be the Canterville spirit himself! He sat by the window and watched how the fragile gilding from the yellowed trees flew in the wind and how the red leaves rushed along the long alley in a mad dance. He dropped his head into his hands, and his whole posture expressed hopeless despair. He seemed so lonely, so decrepit to little Virginia that, although she first thought of running away and locking herself in, she took pity on him and wanted to console him. Her steps were so light, and his sadness so deep, that he did not notice her presence until she spoke to him.

“I’m very sorry for you,” she said. “But tomorrow my brothers are going back to Eton, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will hurt you again.”

“It’s stupid to ask me to behave well,” he answered, looking in surprise at the pretty girl who decided to talk to him, “simply stupid!” I'm supposed to rattle chains, moan through keyholes and walk around at night - if that's what you're talking about. But this is the whole meaning of my existence!

- There is no point in this, and you yourself know that you were bad. Mrs. Umney told us on the first day after our arrival that you killed your wife.

“Suppose,” the spirit answered grumpily, “but these are family matters and do not concern anyone.”

“Killing is generally not good,” said Virginia, who sometimes showed the sweet Puritan intolerance she had inherited from some New England ancestor.

– I can’t stand your cheap, pointless rigorism! My wife was very ugly, never managed to adequately starch my buffalo, and knew nothing about cooking. Well, at least this: once I killed a deer in the Khogley forest, a magnificent male of the same year - what do you think they prepared for us from it? But what to interpret now is a thing of the past! And yet, although I killed my wife, in my opinion it was not very kind of my brothers-in-law to starve me to death.

-Did they starve you to death? Oh, Mr. Spirit, that is, I wanted to say, Sir Simon, you are probably hungry? I have a sandwich in my bag. Here you are!

- No thanks. I haven't eaten anything for a long time. But still, you are very kind, and in general you are much better than your entire nasty, ill-mannered, vulgar and dishonest family.

– Don’t you dare say that! – Virginia shouted, stamping her foot. “You yourself are disgusting, ill-mannered, disgusting and vulgar, and as for honesty, you yourself know who stole paints from my drawer to paint this stupid spot.” First you took away all the red paints, even cinnabar, and I could no longer paint sunsets, then you took emerald greens and yellow chrome; and in the end I was left with only indigo and white, and I had to paint only lunar landscapes, and this makes me sad, and it’s very difficult to draw. I didn’t tell anyone, even though I was angry. And in general, all this is just funny: where have you seen blood? emerald color?

– What could I do? - said the spirit, no longer trying to argue. Now it’s not easy to get real blood, and since your brother used his Exemplary Purifier, I thought it possible to use your paints. And the color, you know, who likes what? The Cantervilles, for example, have blue blood, the bluest in all of England. However, you Americans are not interested in this kind of thing.

– You don’t understand anything. It would be better to go to America and learn a little. Dad will be happy to give you a free ticket, and although the duty on alcohol and, probably, spirits is very high, they will let you through customs without any problems. All the officials there are Democrats. And in New York you will have tremendous success. I know many people who would give a hundred thousand dollars for an ordinary grandfather, and even more for a family ghost.

- I'm afraid I won't like your America.

- Because there is nothing antediluvian or outlandish there? – Virginia said sarcastically.

- Anything antediluvian? What about your fleet? Anything outlandish? What about your morals?

- Goodbye! I'll go ask dad to leave the twins at home for another week.

- Don't leave me, Miss Virginia! - the spirit exclaimed. – I’m so lonely, so unhappy! Really, I don’t know what to do. I want to sleep, but I can’t.

- What nonsense! To do this, you just need to lie down in bed and blow out the candle. It is much more difficult to stay awake, especially in church. And falling asleep is quite easy. Even an infant can do this.

“I haven’t slept for three hundred years,” the spirit said sadly, and Virginia’s beautiful blue eyes opened wide in surprise. “I haven’t slept for three hundred years, my soul is so tired!”

Virginia became very sad, and her lips trembled like rose petals. She walked up to him, knelt down and looked into his old, wrinkled face.

“My poor ghost,” she whispered, “don’t you have somewhere to lie down and sleep?”

“Far, far away, behind a pine forest,” he answered in a quiet, dreamy voice, “there is a small garden.” The grass there is thick and tall, the hemlock stars are white there, and the nightingale sings there all night. He sings until dawn, and the cold crystal moon looks from above, and the gigantic yew tree stretches out its arms over the sleeping ones.

Virginia's eyes clouded with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

– Is this the Garden of Death? – she whispered.

- Yes, Death. Death must be beautiful. You lie in the soft damp earth, and the grass sways above you, and you listen to the silence. How good it is not to know either yesterday or tomorrow, to forget time, to forgive life, to experience peace. It's up to you to help me. It is easy for you to open the gates of Death, for Love is with you, and Love is stronger than Death.

Virginia shuddered as if a cold had penetrated her; There was a short silence. She felt as if she was seeing a terrible dream.

– Have you read the ancient prophecy inscribed on the library window?

- Oh, how many times! – the girl exclaimed, throwing up her head. - I know him by heart. It is written in such strange black letters that you can’t make them out right away. There are only six lines:

When she cries, not jokingly,

Here is the golden-haired child,

Prayer will relieve sadness

And almonds will bloom in the garden -

Then this house will rejoice,

And the spirit living in him will fall asleep.

I just don't understand what all this means.

“This means,” the spirit said sadly, “that you must mourn my sins, for I myself have no tears, and pray for my soul, for I have no faith.” And then, if you have always been kind, loving and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me. Terrible monsters will appear to you in the night and begin to whisper evil words, but they will not be able to harm you, because all the malice of hell is powerless before the purity of a child.

Virginia did not answer, and, seeing how low she bowed her golden-haired head, the spirit began to wring its hands in despair. Suddenly the girl stood up. She was pale, and her eyes shone with an amazing fire.

“I’m not afraid,” she said decisively. – I will ask the Angel to have mercy on you.

With a barely audible cry of joy, he rose to his feet, took her hand, and, bending down with old-fashioned grace, brought it to his lips. His fingers were cold as ice, his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not flinch or retreat, and he led her through the darkened hall. Little hunters on faded green tapestries blew their tasseled horns and waved their tiny arms for her to come back. “Come back, little Virginia! - they shouted. “Come back!”

But the spirit squeezed her hand tighter, and she closed her eyes. Bug-eyed monsters with lizard tails, carved on the mantelpiece, looked at her and whispered: “Beware, little Virginia, beware! What if we never see you again? But the spirit slid forward faster and faster, and Virginia did not listen to them.

When they reached the end of the hall, he stopped and quietly said a few unclear words. She opened her eyes and saw that the wall had melted away like fog, and a black abyss had opened up behind it. An icy wind blew in and she felt someone tug at her dress.

- Hurry up, hurry up! - the spirit shouted. - Otherwise it will be too late.

And the wooden panel instantly closed behind them, and the tapestry hall was empty.

When about ten minutes later the gong rang for tea and Virginia did not come down to the library, Mrs. Otis sent one of the footmen for her. When he returned, he announced that he could not find her. Virginia always went out in the evening to buy flowers for the dinner table, and at first Mrs. Otis had no apprehensions. But when six struck and Virginia still wasn’t there, the mother became seriously alarmed and told the boys to look for their sister in the park, and she and Mr. Otis walked around the whole house. At half past seven the boys returned and reported that they had found no trace of Virginia. Everyone was extremely alarmed and did not know what to do when suddenly Mr. Otis remembered that he had allowed a gypsy camp to stay on his estate. He immediately went with his eldest son and two servants to Blackfell Log, where he knew the gypsies were stationed. The little Duke, terribly excited, wanted to go with them at all costs, but Mr. Otis was afraid that there would be a fight, and did not take him. The gypsies were no longer there, and judging by the fact that the fire was still warm and pots were lying on the grass, they left in extreme haste. After dispatching Washington and his men to inspect the surrounding area, Mr. Otis ran home and sent telegrams to police inspectors throughout the county, asking them to look for a little girl who had been kidnapped by vagabonds or gypsies. Then he ordered a horse to be brought and, forcing his wife and boys to sit down to dinner, rode with his groom along the road leading to Ascot. But they had not even gone two miles when they heard the sound of hooves behind them. Looking back, Mr. Otis saw that the little Duke was catching up with him on his pony, without a hat, his face flushed from racing.

“Forgive me, Mr. Otis,” said the boy, catching his breath, “but I cannot dine until Virginia is found.” Don't be angry, but if you had agreed to our engagement last year, none of this would have happened. You won't send me away, will you? I don’t want to go home and I’m not going anywhere!

The ambassador could not help but smile when he looked at this sweet disobedient man. He was deeply touched by the boy's devotion, and, bending down from the saddle, he affectionately patted him on the shoulder.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done,” he said, “if you don’t want to come back, I’ll have to take you with me, only I’ll have to buy you a hat at Ascot.”

- I don’t need a hat! I need Virginia! – the little duke laughed, and they galloped to the railway station.

Mr. Otis asked the station master if anyone had seen a girl on the platform who resembled Virginia, but no one could say anything definite. The stationmaster nevertheless telegraphed over the line and assured Mr. Otis that all measures would be taken for the search; Having bought the little Duke a hat from a shop whose owner was already closing the shutters, the ambassador rode to the village of Bexley, four miles from the station, where, as he was informed, there was a large community grazing and gypsies often gathered. Mr. Otis's companions woke up the village policeman, but got nothing out of him and, having driven around the meadow, turned home. They reached the castle only around eleven o'clock, tired, broken, on the verge of despair. Washington and the twins were waiting for them at the gate with lanterns: it was already dark in the park. They reported that no trace of Virginia had been found. The gypsies were caught up at Brockley Meadows, but the girl was not with them. They explained their sudden departure by saying that they were afraid of being late for the Cherton Fair, as they had mixed up the day of its opening. The gypsies themselves were alarmed when they learned of the girl's disappearance, and four of them remained to help in the search, since they were very grateful to Mr. Otis for allowing them to stay at the estate. They searched the pond, famous for its carps, searched every corner of the castle - all in vain. It was clear that Virginia would not be with them that night at least. Mr. Otis and the boys walked towards the house with their heads down, the groom leading both the horses and ponies behind them. In the hall they were met by several exhausted servants, and in the library on the sofa lay Mrs. Otis, almost mad with fear and anxiety; The old housekeeper was moistening her whiskey with cologne. Mr. Otis persuaded his wife to eat and ordered dinner to be served. It was a sad dinner. Everyone became depressed, and even the twins became quiet and did not play around: they loved their sister very much.

After dinner, Mr. Otis, no matter how much the little Duke begged him, sent everyone to bed, saying that nothing could be done at night anyway, and in the morning he would urgently call detectives from Scotland Yard by telegraph. As they left the dining room, the church clock had just begun to strike midnight, and at the sound of the last strike, something suddenly crackled and a loud exclamation was heard. A deafening clap of thunder shook the house, the sounds of unearthly music poured into the air; and then at the top of the stairs a piece of panel fell off with a crash, and Virginia stepped out of the wall, pale as a sheet, holding a small box in her hands.

In an instant, everyone was near her. Mrs. Otis embraced her tenderly, the little Duke showered her with passionate kisses, and the twins began to circle around in a wild war dance.

-Where have you been, my child? - Mr. Otis asked sternly: he thought that she was playing some kind of cruel joke on them. “Sesle and I traveled halfway across England looking for you, and my mother almost died of fear.” Don't ever joke with us like that again.

– You can only fool the spirit, only the spirit! - the twins screamed, jumping around like crazy.

“My dear, my dear, I was found, thank God,” Mrs. Otis repeated, kissing the trembling girl and smoothing her tangled golden curls, “never leave me again.”

“Dad,” Virginia said calmly, “I spent the whole evening in spirit.” He's dead and you should go look at him. He was very bad during his life, but he repented of his sins and gave me this box with wonderful jewelry as a souvenir.

Everyone looked at her in silent amazement, but she remained serious and unperturbed. And she led them through an opening in the panel along a narrow secret corridor; Washington, with a candle that he grabbed from the table, brought up the rear of the procession. Finally they came to a heavy oak door on large hinges, studded with rusty nails. Virginia touched the door, it swung open, and they found themselves in a low closet with a vaulted ceiling and a barred window. A terrible skeleton was chained to a huge iron ring embedded in the wall, stretched out on the stone floor. It seemed that he wanted to reach with his long fingers the ancient dish and ladle, placed so that they could not be reached. The ladle, covered inside with green mold, was obviously once filled with water. Only a handful of dust remained on the dish. Virginia knelt down next to the skeleton and, folding her small hands, began to quietly pray; amazed, they contemplated the picture of a terrible tragedy, the secret of which was revealed to them.

- Look! - one of the twins suddenly exclaimed, looking out the window to determine in which part of the castle the closet was located. - Look! Dry almond tree blossomed. The moon is shining and I can clearly see the flowers.

- God forgave him! - said Virginia, getting up, and her face seemed to be illuminated with a radiant light.

- You are an angel! - exclaimed the young Duke, hugging and kissing her.

Four days after these amazing events, an hour before midnight, a funeral cortege set off from Canterville Castle. Eight black horses pulled the hearse, and on each head a magnificent ostrich plume swayed; a rich purple cloth with the Canterville coat of arms woven in gold was thrown over the lead coffin, and servants with torches walked on either side of the carriages - the procession made an indelible impression. The closest relative of the deceased, Lord Canterville, who specially arrived for the funeral from Wales, rode with little Virginia in the first carriage. Then came the United States Ambassador and his wife, followed by Washington and three boys. In the last carriage sat Mrs. Umney - without words it was clear that since the ghost had frightened her for more than fifty years, she had the right to accompany him to the grave. In a corner of the churchyard, under a yew tree, a huge grave was dug, and the Reverend Augustus Dampier read the funeral prayer with great feeling. When the pastor fell silent, the servants ancient custom family of the Cantervilles, extinguished their torches, and when the coffin began to be lowered into the grave, Virginia went up to it and placed a large cross woven from white and pink flowers almonds At that moment, the moon quietly emerged from behind the clouds and flooded the small cemetery with silver, and nightingale trills were heard in a distant grove. Virginia remembered the Garden of Death that the spirit had talked about. Her eyes filled with tears, and she barely said a word the whole way home.

The next morning, when Lord Canterville began to prepare to return to London, Mr. Otis started a conversation with him about the jewelry given to Virginia by the ghost. They were magnificent, especially the ruby necklace in a Venetian setting, a rare example of 16th-century work; their value was so great that Mr. Otis did not consider it possible to allow his daughter to accept them.

“My lord,” he said, “I know that in your country the law of the “dead hand” applies both to landed property and to family jewels, and I have no doubt that these things belong to your family, or at any rate , should belong to him. I therefore ask you to take them with you to London and to regard them henceforth as part of your property, returned to you under somewhat unusual circumstances. As for my daughter, she is still a child and, thank God, she is not too interested in all sorts of expensive trinkets. Besides, Mrs. Otis told me—and she, I must say, spent several winters in Boston in her youth and is well versed in art—that these trinkets could fetch a considerable sum. For the above reasons, Lord Canterville, I, as you understand, cannot agree for them to pass to any member of my family. And in general, all this meaningless tinsel, necessary to maintain the prestige of the British aristocracy, is absolutely of no use to those who were brought up in the strict and, I would say, unshakable principles of republican simplicity. I will not hide, however, that Virginia would very much like to keep, with your permission, the box in memory of your unfortunate lost ancestor. This thing is old, dilapidated, and you, perhaps, will fulfill its request. For my part, I must admit, I am extremely surprised that my daughter shows such an interest in the Middle Ages, and I can only explain this by the fact that Virginia was born in one of the suburbs of London, when Mrs. Otis was returning from a trip to Athens.

Lord Canterville listened to the venerable ambassador with due attention, only occasionally beginning to tug at his gray mustache to hide an involuntary smile. When Mr. Otis had finished, Lord Canterville shook his hand firmly.

“My dear sir,” he said, “your fair daughter did much for my ill-fated ancestor, Sir Simon, and I, like all my relatives, am greatly indebted to her for her rare courage and self-sacrifice.” The jewels belong to her alone, and if I took them from her, I would show such heartlessness that this old sinner, at the latest in two weeks, would crawl out of his grave in order to poison me for the rest of my days. As for their belonging to the primogeniture, it does not include anything that is not mentioned in a will or other legal document, and there is not a word about these jewelry anywhere. Believe me, I have as much right to them as your butler, and I have no doubt that when Miss Virginia grows up, she will wear these jewelry with pleasure. Besides, you forgot, Mr. Otis, that you bought a castle with furniture and a ghost, and thereby everything that belonged to the ghost went to you. And although Sir Simon was very active at night, he remained legally dead, and you legally inherited his entire fortune.

Mr. Otis was very upset by Lord Canterville's refusal and asked him to think it over again, but the good-natured peer remained unshaken and finally persuaded the ambassador to leave his daughter the jewelry; When, in the spring of 1890, the young Duchess of Cheshire presented herself to the Queen on the occasion of her marriage, her jewelry became the subject of everyone's attention. For Virginia received the ducal crown, which all good American girls receive as a reward. She married her young suitor as soon as he came of age, and they were both so sweet and so in love with each other that everyone rejoiced at their happiness, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who tried to marry one of her seven unmarried daughters to the Duke, for which gave her no less than three dinners, which cost her very much. Oddly enough, Mr. Otis also joined the dissatisfied crowd at first. For all his love for the young Duke, he remained, on theoretical grounds, an Enemy of all titles and, as he declared, "feared that the enervating influence of a pleasure-loving aristocracy might shake the immutable principles of republican simplicity." But he was soon persuaded, and when he led his daughter by the hand to the altar of St. George's Church, in Hanover Square, in all England, it seems to me, there could not have been a prouder man of himself.

At the end of their honeymoon, the Duke and Duchess went to Canterville Castle and on the second day went to an abandoned cemetery near a pine grove. For a long time they could not come up with an epitaph for Sir Simon’s tombstone and in the end they decided to simply carve out his initials and poems inscribed on the library window. The Duchess cleaned the grave with roses that she had brought with her, and, after standing over it for a while, they entered the dilapidated old church. The Duchess sat down on a fallen column, and her husband, sitting at her feet, smoked a cigarette and looked into her clear eyes. Suddenly he threw away the cigarette, took the duchess by the hand and said:

– Virginia, a wife should not have secrets from her husband.

– And I don’t have any secrets from you, dear Sesl.

“No, there is,” he answered with a smile. “You never told me what happened when you locked yourself in with the ghost.”

“I didn’t tell this to anyone, Cecil,” Virginia said seriously.

“I know, but you could have told me.”

“Don’t ask me about it, Cesle, I really can’t tell you.” Poor Sir Simon! I owe him so much! No, don't laugh, Sesl, it's really like that. He revealed to me what Life is, and what Death is, and why Love is stronger than Life and Death.

The Duke stood up and kissed his wife tenderly.

“Let this secret remain yours, as long as your heart belongs to me,” he whispered.

“It was always yours, Cesle.”

“But will you ever tell our children everything?” Is it true?

Virginia blushed with embarrassment.

Fairy tale The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde read

When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American ambassador, decided to buy Canterville Castle, everyone assured him that he was doing a terrible stupidity - it was reliably known that the castle was haunted.

Lord Canterville himself, an extremely scrupulous man, even when it came to mere trifles, did not fail to warn Mr. Otis when drawing up the bill of sale.

“We haven’t been drawn to this castle,” said Lord Canterville, “ever since my great-aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, had a nervous attack from which she never recovered.” She was changing clothes for dinner, and suddenly two bony hands fell on her shoulders. I will not hide from you, Mr. Otis, that this ghost also appeared to many living members of my family. Our parish priest, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, Master of King's College, Cambridge, also saw him. After this trouble with the duchess, all the junior servants left us, and Lady Canterville completely lost sleep: every night she heard some strange rustling sounds in the corridor and the library.

Well, my lord,” replied the ambassador, “let the ghost go with the furniture.” I came from an advanced country, where there is everything that money can buy. In addition, our youth is lively, capable of upending your entire Old World. Our young people are taking the best actresses and opera divas away from you. So, if there were even one ghost in Europe, it would instantly end up in some museum or traveling panopticon.

“I’m afraid that the Canterville ghost still exists,” said Lord Canterville, smiling, “although it may not have been tempted by the offers of your enterprising impresarios.” It is famous for a good three hundred years, - more precisely say, since one thousand five hundred and eighty-four - and invariably appears shortly before the death of one of our family members.

Usually, Lord Canterville, in such cases the family doctor comes. There are no ghosts, sir, and the laws of nature, I dare to think, are the same for everyone - even for the English aristocracy.

You Americans are still so close to nature! - responded Lord Canterville, apparently not quite understanding Mr. Otis's last remark. - Well, if you're happy with a haunted house, then that's okay. Just don't forget, I warned you.

A few weeks later the deed of sale was signed, and at the end of the London season the ambassador and his family moved to Canterville Castle. Mrs. Otis, who had once been famous in New York for her beauty as Miss Lucretia R. Tappen of West 53rd Street, was now a middle-aged lady, still very attractive, with wonderful eyes and a chiseled profile. Many American women, when leaving their homeland, pretend to be chronically ill, considering this one of the signs of European sophistication, but Mrs. Otis was not guilty of this. She had a magnificent physique and an absolutely fantastic excess of energy. Really, it was not easy to distinguish her from a real Englishwoman, and her example once again confirmed that now everything is the same between us and America, except, of course, the language. The eldest of the sons, whom his parents, in a fit of patriotism, christened Washington - a decision he always regretted - was a rather handsome young blond man who promised to become a good American diplomat, since he conducted a German square dance at the Newport casino for three seasons in a row and even in London earned a reputation as an excellent dancer He had a weakness for gardenias and heraldry, being otherwise distinguished by perfect sanity. Miss Virginia E. Otis was in her sixteenth year. She was a slender girl, graceful as a doe, with large, clear blue eyes. She rode a pony beautifully, and having once persuaded old Lord Bilton to race her twice around Hyde Park, she beat him by a length and a half at the very statue of Achilles; with this she delighted the young Duke of Cheshire so much that he immediately proposed to her and in the evening of the same day, covered in tears, was sent back to Eton by his guardians. There were two more twins in the family, younger than Virginia, who were nicknamed “Stars and Stripes” because they were endlessly spanked. Therefore, the dear boys were, apart from the venerable ambassador, the only convinced republicans in the family.

It was a beautiful July evening, and the air was filled with the warm aroma of the pine forest. Occasionally they could hear the gentle cooing of a wood dove, reveling in its own voice, or the motley breast of a pheasant flashing through the rustling thickets of ferns. Tiny squirrels looked at them from tall beeches, and rabbits hid in low growth or, raising their white tails, scampered away over mossy hummocks. But before they had time to enter the alley leading to Canterville Castle, the sky suddenly became cloudy, and a strange silence shackled the air. A huge flock of jackdaws flew silently overhead, and as they approached the house, rain began to fall in large, sparse drops.

Welcome to Canterville Castle! They followed her into the house and, passing a real Tudor hall, found themselves in the library - a long and low room, paneled in black oak, with a large stained glass window opposite the door. Here everything was already prepared for tea. They took off their cloaks and shawls and, sitting down at the table, began to look around the room while Mrs. Umney was pouring tea.

Suddenly Mrs. Otis noticed a red stain, darkened with time, on the floor near the fireplace, and, not understanding where it came from, asked Mrs. Umney:

Perhaps something was spilled here?

Yes, madam,” answered the old housekeeper in a whisper, “blood was shed here.”

“What a horror!” exclaimed Mrs. Otis. “I don’t want bloody stains in my living room.” Let them wash it off now!

The old lady smiled and answered with the same mysterious? in a whisper: “You see the blood of Lady Eleanor Canterville, who was killed on this very spot in one thousand five hundred and seventy-five by her husband Sir Simon de Canterville.” Sir Simon survived her by nine years and then suddenly disappeared under very mysterious circumstances. His body was never found, but his sinful spirit still haunts the castle. Tourists and other visitors to the castle inspect this eternal, indelible stain with constant admiration.

What nonsense! - exclaimed Washington Otis. - Pinkerton's Unsurpassed Stain Remover and Exemplary Cleaner will destroy it in one minute.

- “Pinkerton” will not let you down! - he exclaimed, turning in triumph to the admiring family. But before he had time to finish this, a bright flash of lightning illuminated the dim room, a deafening clap of thunder made everyone jump to their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.

What a disgusting climate,” the American ambassador calmly remarked, lighting a long cigar with a cut off end. “Our ancestral country is so overpopulated that there is not even enough decent weather for everyone.” I have always believed that emigration is the only salvation for England.

“Dear Hiram,” said Mrs. Otis, “what if she starts to faint?”

“Deduct one time from her salary, like for breaking dishes,” the ambassador replied, and she won’t want it anymore.

“Sir,” she said, “I have seen things that would make every Christian’s hair stand on end, and the horrors of these places have kept me awake many nights.”

But Mr. Otis and his wife assured the venerable lady that they were not afraid of ghosts, and, invoking the blessing of God on their new owners, and also hinting that it would be nice to increase her salary, the old housekeeper with unsteady steps retired to her room. The storm raged all night, but nothing special happened. However, when the family went down to breakfast the next morning, everyone again saw a terrible blood stain on the floor.

There is no doubt about the Exemplary Purifier,” said Washington.

I haven't tried it on anything. Apparently, a ghost was really at work here.

And he removed the stain again, and the next morning it appeared in the same place. It was there on the third morning, although the night before Mr. Otis, before going to bed, had personally locked the library and taken the key with him. Now the whole family was busy with ghosts. Mr. Otis began to wonder whether he had been dogmatic in denying the existence of spirits; Mrs. Otis expressed her intention to join the Spiritualist Society, and Washington composed a long letter to Messrs. Myers and Podmore regarding the permanence of the bloody stains generated by the crime. But if they had any doubts about the reality of ghosts, they were dispelled forever that same night.

The day was hot and sunny, and with the onset of evening coolness the family went for a walk. They returned home only at nine o'clock and sat down to a light dinner. There was no mention of ghosts, so everyone present was by no means in that state of heightened receptivity that so often precedes the materialization of spirits. They said, as Mr. Otis later told me, what enlightened Americans from high society always talk about; about the undeniable superiority of Miss Fanny Davenport as an actress over Sarah Bernhardt; about the fact that even in the best English houses they do not serve corn, buckwheat cakes and hominy; about the significance of Boston for the formation of the world soul; about the advantages of the ticket system for transporting luggage by rail; about the pleasant softness of New York pronunciation compared to the drawl of London. There was no talk of anything supernatural, and no one even mentioned Sir Simon de Canterville. At eleven in the evening the family retired, and half an hour later the lights in the house were turned off. Very soon, however, Mr. Otis woke up from strange sounds in the corridor outside his door. It seemed to him that he heard - more and more clearly every minute - the grinding of metal. He stood up, struck a match and looked at his watch. It was exactly one o'clock in the morning. Mr. Otis remained completely unperturbed and felt his pulse, rhythmic as always. The strange sounds did not cease, and Mr. Otis could now clearly distinguish the sound of footsteps. He put his feet into his shoes, took out an oblong bottle from his travel bag and opened the door. Right in front of him, in the ghostly light of the moon, stood an old man of terrible appearance. His eyes burned like hot coals, his long gray hair fell in patties over his shoulders, his dirty dress of an old cut was all in tatters, and heavy rusty chains hung from his hands and feet, which were shackled.

Sir,” said Mr. Otis, “I must earnestly ask you to oil your chains henceforth.” To this end, I have grabbed for you a bottle of Rising Sun Democratic Party lubricant oil. The desired effect after the first use. The latter is confirmed by our most famous clergy, which you can verify for yourself by reading the label. I will leave the bottle on the table near the candelabra and I will be honored to supply you with the above-mentioned remedy as needed.

With these words, the United States Ambassador placed the bottle on the marble table and, closing the door behind him, went to bed.

Having reached a secret closet in the left wing of the castle, the ghost leaned against the moonbeam and, after catching his breath a little, began to think about his position. Never in all his glorious and impeccable service of three hundred years had he been so insulted. The spirit remembered the Dowager Duchess, whom he scared to death when she looked in the mirror, all in lace and diamonds; about the four maids who became hysterical when he merely smiled at them from behind the curtains in the guest bedroom; about the parish priest who is still being treated by Sir William Gull for a nervous breakdown because one evening, as he was leaving the library, someone blew out his candle; about old Madame de Tremuillac, who, waking up one day at dawn and seeing a skeleton sitting in a chair by the fireplace and reading her diary, fell ill for six weeks with inflammation of the brain, reconciled with the church and decisively broke with the famous skeptic Monsieur de Voltaire. He remembered the terrible night when the evil Lord Canterville was found suffocating in the dressing room with the jack of diamonds in his throat. Dying, the old man confessed that with the help of this card he had beaten Crockford Charles James Fox for fifty thousand pounds and that this card had been shoved down his throat by the Canterville ghost. He recalled each of the victims of his great deeds, starting with the butler, who shot himself as soon as a green hand knocked on the pantry window, and ending with the beautiful Lady Stutfield, who was forced to always wear black velvet around her neck to hide the prints of five fingers left on her snow-white skin. She then drowned herself in the pond, famous for its carp, at the end of the Royal Avenue. Seized by that feeling of self-indulgence that every true artist knows, he turned over in his mind his best roles, and a bitter smile curved his lips when he recalled his last performance as the Red Raben, or the Strangled Child, his debut as Jibon Skin and Bones , or the Bloodsuckers of Bexley Fen; I also remembered how he shocked the audience simply by playing skittles with his dice on a lawn tennis court on a pleasant June evening.

And after all this, these vile modern Americans show up at the castle, force motor oil on him and throw pillows at him! This cannot be tolerated! History has never known an example of a ghost being treated this way. And he plotted revenge and remained motionless until dawn, immersed in thought. The next morning, at breakfast, the Otises talked at length about the ghost. The United States Ambassador was a little hurt that his gift was rejected.

“I’m not going to offend the ghost,” he said, and in this regard I cannot keep silent about the fact that it is extremely impolite to throw pillows at someone who has lived in this house for so many years. - Unfortunately, I have to add that the twins greeted this absolutely fair remark with loud laughter. “Nevertheless,” the ambassador continued, “if the spirit shows persistence and does not want to use the Rising Sun Democratic Party lubricant, it will have to be unchained.” It's impossible to sleep when there's such noise outside your door.

However, they were not disturbed again until the end of the week, only the bloody stain in the library reappeared for everyone to see every morning. It was not easy to explain, because Mr. Otis himself locked the door in the evening, and the windows were closed with shutters with strong bolts. The chameleon-like nature of the spot also required explanation. Sometimes it was dark red, sometimes cinnabar, sometimes purple, and once, when they went down for family prayer in the simplified ritual of the Free American Reformed Episcopal Church, the stain was emerald green.

These kaleidoscopic changes, of course, greatly amused the family, and every evening bets were made in anticipation of the morning. Only little Virginia did not participate in these fun; For some reason, she was upset every time she saw the bloody stain, and on the day when it turned green, she almost burst into tears.

The second exit of the spirit took place on Monday night. The family had just settled down when suddenly a terrible roar was heard in the hall. When the frightened inhabitants of the castle ran downstairs, they saw that large knightly armor that had fallen from the pedestal was lying on the floor, and the Canterville ghost was sitting in a high-backed chair and, wincing in pain, rubbing his knees. The twins, with the accuracy that is acquired only by long and persistent practice on the person of the calligraphy teacher, immediately fired a charge from their slingshots at him, and the United States Ambassador took aim with his revolver and, according to Californian custom, commanded “hands up!”

The spirit jumped up with a furious cry and the fog rushed between them, extinguishing Washington's candle and leaving everyone in complete darkness. On the upper platform he caught his breath a little and decided to burst out with his famous devilish laughter, which had brought him success more than once. It is said that it turned Lord Raker's wig gray overnight, and this laughter was undoubtedly the reason why Lady Canterville's three French governesses announced their resignations without having served in the house for even a month. And he burst out with his most terrible laughter, so that the old vaults of the castle echoed loudly. But as soon as the terrible echo died down, the door opened, and Mrs. Otis came out to him in a pale blue hood.

“I’m afraid you’ve fallen ill,” she said. - I brought you Dr. Dobell's medicine. If you suffer from indigestion, it will help you.

The spirit cast a furious glance at her and prepared to turn into a black dog - a talent that brought him well-deserved fame and the influence of which the family doctor explained the incurable dementia of Lord Canterville's uncle, the Honorable Thomas Horton. But the sound of approaching steps forced him to abandon this intention. He contented himself with becoming faintly phosphorescent, and at that moment, when the twins had already overtaken him, he managed, as he disappeared, to let out a heavy cemetery groan.

Besides, it was his own armor. He looked very handsome in them at the tournament in Kenilworth and then received extremely flattering praise from the Virgin Queen herself. But now the massive breastplate and steel helmet were too heavy for him, and, having donned the armor, he fell to the stone floor, breaking his knees and the fingers of his right hand.

His plan was this: first of all, he would quietly sneak into Washington Otis’s room and stand at his feet, muttering something under his breath, and then, to the sounds of mournful music, he would stab himself three times in the throat with a dagger. He had a special dislike for Washington, since he knew very well that it was he who had taken it into the habit of erasing the famous Canterville Blood Stain with the Model Pinkerton Cleaner. Having reduced this reckless and disrespectful youth to complete prostration, he will then proceed to the conjugal bedchamber of the United States Ambassador and lay his hand, covered with cold sweat, on the forehead of Mrs. Otis, meanwhile whispering to her trembling husband the terrible secrets of the crypt.

He hasn’t yet come up with anything definite about little Virginia. She never offended him and was a beautiful and kind girl. Here a few muffled groans from the closet could do, and if she didn't wake up, he would tug at her blanket with trembling, gnarled fingers. But he will teach the twins a good lesson. First of all, he will sit on their chest so that they will rush about from the nightmares they have seen, and then, since their beds are almost next to each other, he will freeze between them in the form of a cold, green corpse and will stand there until they are dead with fear. Then he will throw off his shroud and, exposing his white bones, begin to walk around the room, rolling one eye, as expected in the role of Silent Daniel, or the Suicide Skeleton. It was a very strong role, no weaker than his famous Mad Martin, or The Hidden Secret, and it more than once made a strong impression on the audience.

At half past ten he guessed from the sounds that the whole family had retired. For a long time he was disturbed by wild bursts of laughter - apparently, the twins were frolicking with the carelessness of schoolchildren before going to bed, but at a quarter past eleven silence reigned in the house, and, as soon as midnight struck, he went out to work.

Owls beat against the glass, a raven croaked in an old yew tree, and the wind wandered, moaning like a restless soul, around the old house. But the Otises slept peacefully, not suspecting anything; the ambassador’s snoring was drowned out by the rain and storm. The spirit with an evil grin on its wrinkled lips carefully walked out of the panel. The moon hid her face behind a cloud as he crept past the window with a lantern on which his coat of arms and the coat of arms of his murdered wife were inscribed in gold and azure. Further and further he slid like an ominous shadow; the darkness of the night and she seemed to look at him with disgust.

Suddenly it seemed to him that someone called to him, and he froze in place, but it was only the dog barking at the Red Farm. And he continued on his way, muttering now incomprehensible curses of the 16th century and waving a rusty dagger in the air. Finally he reached the turn where the corridor leading to the room of the ill-fated Washington began. Here he waited a little. The wind blew his gray hair and twisted his grave shroud into indescribably terrible folds. The quarter struck and he felt the time had come. He chuckled smugly and turned the corner; but as soon as he took a step, he recoiled with a pitiful cry and covered his pale face with his long, bony hands. Right in front of him stood a terrible ghost, motionless, like a statue, monstrous, like the delirium of a madman. His head was bald and smooth, his face was thick and deathly pale; a vile laugh brought his features into an eternal smile. Rays of scarlet light streamed from his eyes, his mouth was like a wide well of fire, and ugly clothes, so similar to his own, shrouded his powerful figure in a snow-white shroud. On the ghost’s chest hung a board with an incomprehensible inscription written in ancient letters. She must have been talking about terrible shame, about dirty vices, about wild atrocities. In his raised right hand was clutched a sword of shining steel.

Having never seen a ghost before, the spirit of Canterville, needless to say, was terribly frightened and, glancing once again out of the corner of his eye at the terrible ghost, rushed away. He ran, unable to feel his feet under him, getting tangled in the folds of his shroud, and on the way he dropped the rusty dagger into the ambassador’s shoe, where the butler found it in the morning. Having reached his room and feeling safe, the spirit threw himself onto his hard bed and hid his head under the blanket. But soon his former Canterville courage awoke in him, and he decided, as soon as dawn broke, to go and talk to another ghost. And as soon as the dawn painted the hills with silver, he returned to where he met the terrible ghost. He understood that, in the end, the more ghosts the better, and he hoped, with the help of a new companion, to deal with the twins. But when he found himself in the same place, a terrible sight met his eyes. Apparently something bad happened to the ghost. The light went out in his empty eye sockets, the shiny sword fell out of his hands, and he leaned awkwardly and unnaturally against the wall. The spirit of Canterville ran up to him, wrapped his arms around him, when suddenly - oh, horror! - his head rolled on the floor, his body was broken in half, and he saw that he was holding a piece of white canopy in his arms, and a broom, a kitchen knife and an empty pumpkin were lying at his feet. Not knowing how to explain this strange transformation, with trembling hands he lifted the board with the inscription and in the gray morning light he made out these terrible words:

THE OTIS SPIRIT

The only genuine and original ghost Beware of fakes! All the rest are not real!

There, at home, he looked through several of his favorite books about ancient chivalry and learned from them that every time this oath was pronounced, the rooster crowed twice.

May death destroy the unscrupulous bird! - he muttered. “The day will come when my spear will plunge into your trembling throat and I will hear your death rattle.” Then he lay down in a comfortable lead coffin and remained there until dark. The next morning the spirit felt completely broken. The enormous stress of the whole month was beginning to take its toll. His nerves were completely shaken, he shuddered at the slightest rustle. For five days he did not leave the room and finally gave up on the bloody stain. If the Otises don't need it, then they don't deserve it. Obviously, they are pathetic materialists, completely incapable of appreciating the symbolic meaning of supersensible phenomena. The question of celestial signs and the phases of astral bodies was, of course, a special area and, in truth, was beyond his competence. But his sacred duty was to appear weekly in the corridor, and on the first and third Wednesdays of each month to sit at the window that looks out like a lantern into the park and mutter all sorts of nonsense, and he did not see the opportunity to refuse these duties without damage to his honor.

And although he lived his earthly life immorally, he showed extreme integrity in everything that related to the other world. Therefore, for the next three Saturdays, as usual, from midnight to three, he walked along the corridor, taking every care not to be heard or seen. He walked without boots, trying to step as lightly as possible on the worm-eaten floor; wore a wide black velvet cloak and never forgot to thoroughly wipe his chains with Rising Sun of the Democratic Party machine oil. It must be said that it was not easy for him to resort to this last means of safety. And yet one evening, while the family was sitting at dinner, he snuck into Mr. Otis's room and stole a bottle of motor oil. True, he felt a little humiliated, but only at first. In the end, prudence prevailed, and he admitted to himself that this invention had its merits and in some respects could serve him well. But no matter how careful he was, he was not left alone. Every now and then he tripped in the dark over the ropes stretched across the corridor, and once, dressed for the role of Black Isaac, or the Hunter of Hogley Woods, he slipped and was badly hurt because the twins had oiled the floor from the entrance to the tapestry hall to the upper landing of the oak room. stairs.

This angered him so much that he decided for the last time to defend his trampled dignity and his rights and appear the next night to the daring pupils of Eton in the famous role of the Brave Ruper, or the Headless Earl.

Finally everything was ready, and he was very pleased with his appearance. The large leather boots that went with this suit were, admittedly, a little too big for him, and one of the saddle pistols was missing somewhere, but overall, it seemed to him, he dressed up nicely. At exactly a quarter past two he slipped out of the panel and crept down the corridor. Having reached the twins’ room (by the way, it was called the “Blue Bedroom”, due to the color of the wallpaper and curtains), he noticed that the door was slightly open. Wanting to stage his exit as spectacularly as possible, he opened it wide... and a huge jug of water overturned on him, flying an inch from his left shoulder, soaking him to the skin. At that very moment he heard bursts of laughter from under the canopy of the wide bed.

But the Otises were wrong. The ghost did not leave their house and, although he was now almost an invalid, still did not think of leaving them alone, especially since he learned that among the guests was the young Duke of Cheshire, a cousin of the same Lord Francis Stilton, who once bet a hundred guineas with Colonel Carbury that he would play dice with the spirit of Canterville; In the morning, Lord Stilton was found paralyzed on the floor of the card shop, and although he lived to an advanced age, he could only utter two words: “six double.” This story was very sensational at one time, although out of respect for the feelings of both noble families they tried in every possible way to hush it up. Details of it can be found in the third volume of Lord Tattle's work, Memoirs of the Prince Regent and His Friends. The Spirit, naturally, wanted to prove that he had not lost his former influence on the Stiltons, with whom he was also distantly related: his cousin was married for the second time to Monseigneur de Bulkley, and from him, as everyone knows, the Dukes of Cheshire are descended .

“I am very sorry for you,” she said. “But tomorrow my brothers are returning to Eton, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will hurt you again.”

It’s stupid to ask me to behave well,” he answered, looking in surprise at the pretty girl who decided to talk to him, “simply stupid!” I'm supposed to rattle chains, moan through keyholes and walk around at night - if that's what you're talking about. But this is the whole meaning of my existence!

There is no point here, and you yourself know that you were bad. Mrs. Umney told us on the first day after our arrival that you killed your wife.

Let’s say,” the spirit answered grumpily, “but these are family matters and do not concern anyone.”

“Killing is generally not good,” said Virginia, who sometimes showed the sweet Puritan intolerance she inherited from some ancestor from New England.

I can't stand your cheap, pointless rigorism! My wife was very ugly, never managed to adequately starch my buffalo, and knew nothing about cooking. Well, at least this: once I killed a deer in the Khogley forest, a magnificent male of the same year - what do you think they prepared for us from it? But what to interpret now is a thing of the past! And yet, although I killed my wife, in my opinion it was not very kind of my brothers-in-law to starve me to death.

Did they starve you to death? Oh, Mr. Spirit, that is, I wanted to say, Sir Simon, you are probably hungry? I have a sandwich in my bag. Here you are!

No thanks. I haven't eaten anything for a long time. But still, you are very kind, and in general you are much better than your entire nasty, ill-mannered, vulgar and dishonest family.

Don't you dare say that! - Virginia shouted, stamping her foot. “You yourself are disgusting, ill-mannered, disgusting and vulgar, and as for honesty, you yourself know who stole paints from my drawer to paint this stupid spot.” First you took away all the red paints, even cinnabar, and I could no longer paint sunsets, then you took emerald greens and yellow chrome; and in the end I was left with only indigo and white, and I had to paint only lunar landscapes, and this makes me sad, and it’s very difficult to draw. I didn’t tell anyone, even though I was angry. And in general, all this is just funny: where have you seen emerald-colored blood?

What could I do? - said the spirit, no longer trying to argue. Now it’s not easy to get real blood, and since your brother used his Exemplary Purifier, I found it possible to use your paints. And the color, you know, who likes what? The Cantervilles, for example, have blue blood, the bluest in all of England. However, you Americans are not interested in this kind of thing.

You don't understand anything. It would be better to go to America and learn a little. Dad will be happy to give you a free ticket, and although the duty on alcohol and, probably, spirits is very high, they will let you through customs without any problems. All the officials there are Democrats. And in New York you will have tremendous success. I know many people who would give a hundred thousand dollars for an ordinary grandfather, and even more for a family ghost.

I'm afraid I won't like your America.

Because there is nothing antediluvian or outlandish there? - Virginia said sarcastically.

Anything antediluvian? What about your fleet? Anything outlandish? What about your morals?

Farewell! I'll go ask dad to leave the twins at home for another week.

Don't leave me, Miss Virginia! - exclaimed the spirit. “I am so lonely, so unhappy!” Really, I don’t know what to do. I want to sleep, but I can’t.

What nonsense! To do this, you just need to lie down in bed and blow out the candle. It is much more difficult to stay awake, especially in church. And falling asleep is quite easy. Even an infant can do this.

“I haven’t slept for three hundred years,” the spirit said sadly, and Virginia’s beautiful blue eyes opened wide in surprise. “I haven’t slept for three hundred years, I’m so tired of my soul!”

Virginia became very sad, and her lips trembled like rose petals. She walked up to him, knelt down and looked into his old, wrinkled face.

“My poor ghost,” she whispered, “don’t you have somewhere to lie down and sleep?”

Far, far away, behind a pine forest,” he answered in a quiet, dreamy voice, “there is a small garden.” The grass there is thick and tall, the hemlock stars are white there, and the nightingale sings there all night. He sings until dawn, and the cold crystal moon looks from above, and the gigantic yew tree stretches out its arms over the sleeping ones.

Virginia's eyes clouded with tears, and she hid her face in her hands. - Is this the Garden of Death? - she whispered.

Yes, Death. Death must be beautiful. You lie in the soft damp earth, and the grass sways above you, and you listen to the silence. How good it is not to know either yesterday or tomorrow, to forget time, to forgive life, to experience peace. It's up to you to help me. It is easy for you to open the gates of Death, for Love is with you, and Love is stronger than Death.

Virginia shuddered as if a cold had penetrated her;

There was a short silence. She felt as if she was seeing a terrible dream.

Have you read the ancient prophecy inscribed on the library window? - Oh, how many times! - the girl exclaimed, throwing up her head. “I know him by heart.” It is written in such strange black letters that you can’t make them out right away. There are only six lines:

When she cries, not jokingly,

Here is the golden-haired child

Prayer will relieve sadness

And almonds will bloom in the garden -

Then this house will rejoice,

And the spirit living in him will fall asleep.

I just don't understand what all this means.

This means,” the spirit said sadly, “that you must mourn my sins, for I myself have no tears, and pray for my soul, for I have no faith.” And then, if you have always been kind, loving and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me. Terrible monsters will appear to you in the night and begin to whisper evil words, but they will not be able to harm you, because all the malice of hell is powerless before the purity of a child.

“I’m not afraid,” she said decisively. “I will ask the Angel to have mercy on you.”

When they reached the end of the hall, he stopped and quietly uttered several incomprehensible words. She opened her eyes and saw that the wall had melted away like fog, and a black abyss had opened up behind it. An icy wind blew in and she felt someone tug at her dress.

Hurry, hurry! - the spirit shouted. - Otherwise it will be too late. And the wooden panel instantly closed behind them, and the tapestry hall was empty. When about ten minutes later the gong rang for tea and Virginia did not come down to the library, Mrs. Otis sent one of the footmen for her. When he returned, he announced that he could not find her. Virginia always went out in the evening to buy flowers for the dinner table, and at first Mrs. Otis had no apprehensions.

But when six struck and Virginia still wasn’t there, the mother became seriously alarmed and told the boys to look for their sister in the park, and she and Mr. Otis walked around the whole house. At half past seven the boys returned and reported that they had found no trace of Virginia. Everyone was extremely alarmed and did not know what to do when suddenly Mr. Otis remembered that he had allowed a gypsy camp to stay on his estate. He immediately went with his eldest son and two servants to Blackfell Log, where he knew the gypsies were stationed. The little Duke, terribly excited, wanted to go with them at all costs, but Mr. Otis was afraid that there would be a fight, and did not take him. The gypsies were no longer there, and judging by the fact that the fire was still warm and pots were lying on the grass, they left in extreme haste. After dispatching Washington and his men to inspect the surrounding area, Mr. Otis ran home and sent telegrams to police inspectors throughout the county, asking them to look for a little girl who had been kidnapped by vagabonds or gypsies.

Then he ordered a horse to be brought and, forcing his wife and boys to sit down to dinner, rode with his groom along the road leading to Ascot. But they had not even gone two miles when they heard the sound of hooves behind them. Looking back, Mr. Otis saw that the little Duke was catching up with him on his pony, without a hat, his face flushed from racing.

Forgive me, Mr. Otis,” said the boy, catching his breath, “but I cannot dine until Virginia is found.” Don't be angry, but if you had agreed to our engagement last year, none of this would have happened. You won't send me away, will you? I don’t want to go home and I’m not going anywhere!

Well, there’s nothing to be done,” he said, “if you don’t want to come back, I’ll have to take you with me, only I’ll have to buy you a hat at Ascot.”

I don't need a hat! I need Virginia! - the little duke laughed, and they galloped to the railway station.

The gypsies themselves were alarmed when they learned of the girl's disappearance, and four of them remained to help in the search, since they were very grateful to Mr. Otis for allowing them to stay at the estate. They searched the pond, famous for its carps, searched every corner of the castle - all in vain. It was clear that Virginia would not be with them that night at least. Mr. Otis and the boys walked towards the house with their heads down, the groom leading both the horses and ponies behind them. In the hall they were met by several exhausted servants, and in the library on the sofa lay Mrs. Otis, almost mad with fear and anxiety; The old housekeeper was moistening her whiskey with cologne. Mr. Otis persuaded his wife to eat and ordered dinner to be served. It was a sad dinner. Everyone became depressed, and even the twins became quiet and did not play around: they loved their sister very much.

In an instant, everyone was near her. Mrs. Otis embraced her tenderly, the little Duke showered her with passionate kisses, and the twins began to circle around in a wild war dance.

Where have you been, my child? - Mr. Otis asked sternly: he thought that she was playing some kind of cruel joke on them. “Cess and I traveled halfway across England, looking for you, and mother almost died of fear.” Don't ever joke with us like that again.

You can only fool the spirit, only the spirit! - the twins screamed, jumping around like crazy.

My dear, dear, was found, thank God,” Mrs. Otis repeated, kissing the trembling girl and smoothing her tangled golden curls, “never leave me again.” BIKYU “Dad,” Virginia said calmly, “I spent the whole evening in spirit.” He's dead and you should go look at him. He was very bad during his life, but he repented of his sins and gave me this box with wonderful jewelry as a souvenir.

A terrible skeleton was chained to a huge iron ring embedded in the wall, stretched out on the stone floor. It seemed that he wanted to reach with his long fingers the ancient dish and ladle, placed so that they could not be reached. The ladle, covered inside with green mold, was obviously once filled with water. Only a handful of dust remained on the dish. Virginia knelt down next to the skeleton and, folding her small hands, began to quietly pray; amazed, they contemplated the picture of a terrible tragedy, the secret of which was revealed to them. BIKYU - Look! - one of the twins suddenly exclaimed, looking out the window to determine in which part of the castle the closet was located. - Look! The dry almond tree has blossomed. The moon is shining and I can clearly see the flowers.

God forgave him! - said Virginia, getting up, and her face seemed to be illuminated with a radiant light.

You are an angel! - exclaimed the young Duke, hugging and kissing her.

Four days after these amazing events, an hour before midnight, a funeral cortege set off from Canterville Castle. Eight black horses pulled the hearse, and on each head a magnificent ostrich plume swayed; a rich purple cloth with the Canterville coat of arms woven in gold was thrown over the lead coffin, and servants with torches walked on either side of the carriages - the procession made an indelible impression. The closest relative of the deceased, Lord Canterville, who specially arrived for the funeral from Wales, rode with little Virginia in the first carriage. Then came the United States Ambassador and his wife, followed by Washington and three boys. In the last carriage sat Mrs. Umney - without words it was clear that since the ghost had frightened her for more than fifty years, she had the right to accompany him to the grave. In a corner of the churchyard, under a yew tree, a huge grave was dug, and the Reverend Augustus Dampier read the funeral prayer with great feeling. When the pastor fell silent, the servants, according to the ancient custom of the Canterville family, extinguished their torches, and when the coffin began to be lowered into the grave, Virginia went up to it and placed a large cross woven from white and pink almond flowers on the lid. At that moment, the moon quietly emerged from behind the clouds and filled the small cemetery with silver, and the trills of a nightingale were heard in a distant grove. Virginia remembered the Garden of Death, which the spirit had told about. Her eyes filled with tears, and she barely said a word the whole way home.

My lord,” he said, “I know that in your country the law of the “dead hand” applies both to landed property and to family jewels, and I have no doubt that these things belong to your family, or, at any rate, to should belong to him. I therefore ask you to take them with you to London and to regard them henceforth as part of your property, returned to you under somewhat unusual circumstances. As for my daughter, she is still a child and, thank God, she is not too interested in all sorts of expensive trinkets. Moreover, Mrs. Otis informed me—and she, I must say, spent several winters in Boston in her youth and is well versed in art—that these trinkets could fetch a considerable sum. For the above reasons, Lord Canterville, I, as you understand, cannot agree for them to pass to any member of my family. And in general, all this meaningless tinsel, necessary to maintain the prestige of the British aristocracy, is absolutely of no use to those who were brought up in the strict and, I would say, unshakable principles of republican simplicity. I will not hide, however, that Virginia would very much like to keep, with your permission, the box in memory of your unfortunate lost ancestor. This thing is old, dilapidated, and you, perhaps, will fulfill its request. For my part, I must admit, I am extremely surprised that my daughter shows such an interest in the Middle Ages, and I can only explain this by the fact that Virginia was born in one of the suburbs of London, when Mrs. Otis was returning from a trip to Athens.

“Dear sir,” he said, “your fair daughter did much for my ill-fated ancestor, Sir Simon, and I, like all my relatives, am greatly indebted to her for her rare courage and self-sacrifice.”

The jewels belong to her alone, and if I took them from her, I would show such heartlessness that this old sinner, at the latest in two weeks, would crawl out of his grave in order to poison me for the rest of my days. As for their belonging to the primogeniture, it does not include anything that is not mentioned in a will or other legal document, and there is not a word about these jewelry anywhere. Believe me, I have as much right to them as your butler, and I have no doubt that when Miss Virginia grows up, she will wear these jewelry with pleasure. Besides, you forgot, Mr. Otis, that you bought a castle with furniture and a ghost, and thereby everything that belonged to the ghost went to you. And although Sir Simon was very active at night, he remained legally dead, and you legally inherited his entire fortune.

For Virginia received the ducal crown, which all good American girls receive as a reward. She married her young suitor as soon as he came of age, and they were both so sweet and so in love with each other that everyone rejoiced at their happiness, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who tried to marry one of her seven unmarried daughters to the Duke, for which gave her no less than three dinners, which cost her very much. Oddly enough, Mr. Otis also joined the dissatisfied crowd at first. For all his love for the young Duke, he remained, on theoretical grounds, an Enemy of all titles and, as he declared, "feared that the enervating influence of a pleasure-loving aristocracy might shake the immutable principles of republican simplicity." But he was soon persuaded, and when he led his daughter by the hand to the altar of St. George's Church, in Hanover Square, in all England, it seems to me, there could not have been a prouder man of himself.

Suddenly he threw away the cigarette, took the duchess by the hand and said: “Virginia, a wife should not have secrets from her husband.”

And I don’t have any secrets from you, dear Sesl.

No, there is,” he answered with a smile. “You never told me what happened when you locked yourself in with the ghost.”

“I didn’t tell this to anyone, Cecil,” Virginia said seriously.

I know, but you could have told me.

Don't ask me about it, Cesl, I really can't tell you.

Poor Sir Simon! I owe him so much! No, don't laugh, Sesl, it's really like that. He revealed to me what Life is, and what Death is, and why Love is stronger than Life and Death.

The Duke stood up and kissed his wife tenderly.

Let this secret remain yours, as long as your heart belongs to me, he whispered.

It was always yours, Cesl.

But will you ever tell our children everything? Is it true?

Virginia flushed.

Oscar Wilde

The Canterville Ghost

When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American Ambassador, decided to buy Canterville Castle, everyone assured him that he was doing a terrible stupidity - it was reliably known that the castle was haunted.

Lord Canterville himself, an extremely scrupulous man, even when it came to mere trifles, did not fail to warn Mr. Otis when drawing up the bill of sale.

“We haven’t been drawn to this castle,” said Lord Canterville, “ever since my great-aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, had a nervous attack from which she never recovered.” She was changing clothes for dinner, and suddenly two bony hands fell on her shoulders. I will not hide from you, Mr. Otis, that this ghost also appeared to many living members of my family. Our parish priest, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, Master of King's College, Cambridge, also saw him. After this trouble with the duchess, all the junior servants left us, and Lady Canterville completely lost sleep: every night she heard some strange rustling sounds in the corridor and the library.

– Usually, Lord Canterville, in such cases the family doctor comes. There are no ghosts, sir, and the laws of nature, I dare say, are the same for everyone - even for the English aristocracy.

– Welcome to Canterville Castle!

Suddenly Mrs. Otis noticed a red stain, darkened with time, on the floor near the fireplace, and, not understanding where it came from, asked Mrs. Umney:

- Perhaps something was spilled here?

“Yes, madam,” answered the old housekeeper in a whisper, “blood was shed here.”

“What a horror!” exclaimed Mrs. Otis. “I don’t want bloody stains in my living room.” Let them wash it off now!

The old woman smiled and answered in the same mysterious whisper:

- What nonsense! - exclaimed Washington Otis. “Pinkerton's Unsurpassed Stain Remover and Exemplary Cleaner will destroy it in a minute.”

“Dear Hiram,” said Mrs. Otis, “what if she starts to faint?”

“Deduct one time from her salary, like for breaking dishes,” the ambassador replied, and she won’t want it anymore.

Page 1 of 2

When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American ambassador, decided to buy Canterville Castle, everyone assured him that he was doing a terrible stupidity - it was reliably known that the castle was haunted.

Lord Canterville himself, an extremely scrupulous man, even when it came to mere trifles, did not fail to warn Mr. Otis when drawing up the bill of sale.

“We haven’t been drawn to this castle,” said Lord Canterville, “ever since my great-aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, had a nervous attack from which she never recovered.” She was changing clothes for dinner, and suddenly two bony hands fell on her shoulders. I will not hide from you, Mr. Otis, that this ghost also appeared to many living members of my family. Our parish priest, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, Master of King's College, Cambridge, also saw him. After this trouble with the duchess, all the junior servants left us, and Lady Canterville completely lost sleep: every night she heard some strange rustling sounds in the corridor and the library.

Usually, Lord Canterville, in such cases the family doctor comes. There are no ghosts, sir, and the laws of nature, I dare to think, are the same for everyone - even for the English aristocracy.

A few weeks later the deed of sale was signed, and at the end of the London season the ambassador and his family moved to Canterville Castle. Mrs. Otis, who had once been famous in New York for her beauty as Miss Lucretia R. Tappen of West 53rd Street, was now a middle-aged lady, still very attractive, with wonderful eyes and a chiseled profile. Many American women, when leaving their homeland, pretend to be chronically ill, considering this one of the signs of European sophistication, but Mrs. Otis was not guilty of this. She had a magnificent physique and an absolutely fantastic excess of energy. Really, it was not easy to distinguish her from a real Englishwoman, and her example once again confirmed that now everything is the same between us and America, except, of course, the language. The eldest of the sons, whom his parents, in a fit of patriotism, christened Washington - a decision he always regretted - was a rather handsome young blond man who promised to become a good American diplomat, since he conducted the German square dance at the Newport casino for three seasons in a row and even in London earned a reputation as an excellent dancer He had a weakness for gardenias and heraldry, being otherwise distinguished by perfect sanity. Miss Virginia E. Otis was in her sixteenth year. She was a slender girl, graceful as a doe, with large, clear blue eyes. She rode a pony beautifully, and having once persuaded old Lord Bilton to race her twice around Hyde Park, she beat him by a length and a half at the very statue of Achilles; with this she delighted the young Duke of Cheshire so much that he immediately proposed to her and in the evening of the same day, covered in tears, was sent back to Eton by his guardians. There were two more twins in the family, younger than Virginia, who were nicknamed “Stars and Stripes” because they were endlessly spanked. Therefore, the dear boys were, apart from the venerable ambassador, the only convinced republicans in the family.

Suddenly Mrs. Otis noticed a red stain, darkened with time, on the floor near the fireplace, and, not understanding where it came from, asked Mrs. Umney:

Perhaps something was spilled here?

Yes, madam,” answered the old housekeeper in a whisper, “blood was shed here.”

“What a horror!” exclaimed Mrs. Otis. “I don’t want bloody stains in my living room.” Let them wash it off now!

What nonsense! - exclaimed Washington Otis. - Pinkerton's Unsurpassed Stain Remover and Exemplary Cleaner will destroy it in one minute.

“Dear Hiram,” said Mrs. Otis, “what if she starts to faint?”

“Deduct one time from her salary, like for breaking dishes,” the ambassador replied, and she won’t want it anymore.

“Sir,” she said, “I have seen things that would make every Christian’s hair stand on end, and the horrors of these places have kept me awake many nights.”

II

The storm raged all night, but nothing special happened. However, when the family went down to breakfast the next morning, everyone again saw a terrible blood stain on the floor.

There is no doubt about the Exemplary Purifier,” said Washington.

I haven't tried it on anything. Apparently, a ghost was really at work here.

And he removed the stain again, and the next morning it appeared in the same place. It was there on the third morning, although the night before Mr. Otis, before going to bed, had personally locked the library and taken the key with him. Now the whole family was busy with ghosts. Mr. Otis began to wonder whether he had been dogmatic in denying the existence of spirits; Mrs. Otis expressed her intention to join the Spiritualist Society, and Washington composed a long letter to Messrs. Myers and Podmore regarding the permanence of the bloody stains generated by the crime. But if they had any doubts about the reality of ghosts, they were dispelled forever that same night.

The day was hot and sunny, and with the onset of evening coolness the family went for a walk. They returned home only at nine o'clock and sat down to a light dinner. There was no mention of ghosts, so everyone present was by no means in that state of heightened receptivity that so often precedes the materialization of spirits. They said, as Mr. Otis later told me, what enlightened Americans from high society always talk about; about the undeniable superiority of Miss Fanny Davenport as an actress over Sarah Bernhardt; about the fact that even in the best English houses they do not serve corn, buckwheat cakes and hominy; about the significance of Boston for the formation of the world soul; about the advantages of the ticket system for transporting luggage by rail; about the pleasant softness of New York pronunciation compared to the drawl of London. There was no talk of anything supernatural, and no one even mentioned Sir Simon de Canterville. At eleven in the evening the family retired, and half an hour later the lights in the house were turned off. Very soon, however, Mr. Otis woke up from strange sounds in the corridor outside his door. It seemed to him that he heard - more and more clearly every minute - the grinding of metal. He stood up, struck a match and looked at his watch. It was exactly one o'clock in the morning. Mr. Otis remained completely unperturbed and felt his pulse, rhythmic as always. The strange sounds did not cease, and Mr. Otis could now clearly distinguish the sound of footsteps. He put his feet into his shoes, took out an oblong bottle from his travel bag and opened the door. Right in front of him, in the ghostly light of the moon, stood an old man of terrible appearance. His eyes burned like hot coals, his long gray hair fell in patties over his shoulders, his dirty dress of an old cut was all in tatters, and heavy rusty chains hung from his hands and feet, which were shackled.

With these words, the United States Ambassador placed the bottle on the marble table and, closing the door behind him, went to bed.

Having reached a secret closet in the left wing of the castle, the ghost leaned against the moonbeam and, after catching his breath a little, began to think about his position. Never in all his glorious and impeccable service of three hundred years had he been so insulted. The spirit remembered the Dowager Duchess, whom he scared to death when she looked in the mirror, all in lace and diamonds; about the four maids who became hysterical when he merely smiled at them from behind the curtains in the guest bedroom; about the parish priest who is still being treated by Sir William Gull for a nervous breakdown because one evening, as he was leaving the library, someone blew out his candle; about old Madame de Tremuillac, who, waking up one day at dawn and seeing a skeleton sitting in a chair by the fireplace and reading her diary, fell ill for six weeks with inflammation of the brain, reconciled with the church and decisively broke with the famous skeptic Monsieur de Voltaire. He remembered the terrible night when the evil Lord Canterville was found suffocating in the dressing room with the jack of diamonds in his throat. Dying, the old man confessed that with the help of this card he had beaten Crockford Charles James Fox for fifty thousand pounds and that this card had been shoved down his throat by the Canterville ghost. He recalled each of the victims of his great deeds, starting with the butler, who shot himself as soon as a green hand knocked on the pantry window, and ending with the beautiful Lady Stutfield, who was forced to always wear black velvet around her neck to hide the prints of five fingers left on her snow-white skin. She then drowned herself in the pond, famous for its carp, at the end of the Royal Avenue. Seized by that feeling of self-indulgence that every true artist knows, he turned over in his mind his best roles, and a bitter smile curved his lips when he recalled his last performance as the Red Raben, or the Strangled Child, his debut as Jibon Skin and Bones , or the Bloodsuckers of Bexley Fen; I also remembered how he shocked the audience simply by playing skittles with his dice on a lawn tennis court on a pleasant June evening.

III

The next morning, at breakfast, the Otises talked at length about the ghost. The United States Ambassador was a little hurt that his gift was rejected.

The second exit of the spirit took place on Monday night. The family had just settled down when suddenly a terrible roar was heard in the hall. When the frightened inhabitants of the castle ran downstairs, they saw that large knightly armor that had fallen from the pedestal was lying on the floor, and the Canterville ghost was sitting in a high-backed chair and, wincing in pain, rubbing his knees. The twins, with the accuracy that is acquired only by long and persistent practice on the person of the calligraphy teacher, immediately fired a charge from their slingshots at him, and the United States Ambassador took aim with his revolver and, according to Californian custom, commanded “hands up!”

“I’m afraid you’ve fallen ill,” she said. - I brought you Dr. Dobell's medicine. If you suffer from indigestion, it will help you.

Suddenly it seemed to him that someone called to him, and he froze in place, but it was only the dog barking at the Red Farm. And he continued on his way, muttering now incomprehensible curses of the 16th century and waving a rusty dagger in the air. Finally he reached the turn where the corridor leading to the room of the ill-fated Washington began. Here he waited a little. The wind blew his gray hair and twisted his grave shroud into indescribably terrible folds. The quarter struck and he felt the time had come. He chuckled smugly and turned the corner; but as soon as he took a step, he recoiled with a pitiful cry and covered his pale face with his long, bony hands. Right in front of him stood a terrible ghost, motionless, like a statue, monstrous, like the delirium of a madman. His head was bald and smooth, his face was thick and deathly pale; a vile laugh brought his features into an eternal smile. Rays of scarlet light streamed from his eyes, his mouth was like a wide well of fire, and ugly clothes, so similar to his own, shrouded his powerful figure in a snow-white shroud. On the ghost’s chest hung a board with an incomprehensible inscription written in ancient letters. She must have been talking about terrible shame, about dirty vices, about wild atrocities. In his raised right hand was clutched a sword of shining steel.

Having never seen a ghost before, the spirit of Canterville, needless to say, was terribly frightened and, glancing once again out of the corner of his eye at the terrible ghost, rushed away. He ran, unable to feel his feet under him, getting tangled in the folds of his shroud, and on the way he dropped the rusty dagger into the ambassador’s shoe, where the butler found it in the morning. Having reached his room and feeling safe, the spirit threw himself onto his hard bed and hid his head under the blanket. But soon his former Canterville courage awoke in him, and he decided, as soon as dawn broke, to go and talk to another ghost. And as soon as the dawn painted the hills with silver, he returned to where he met the terrible ghost. He understood that, in the end, the more ghosts the better, and he hoped, with the help of a new companion, to deal with the twins. But when he found himself in the same place, a terrible sight met his eyes. Apparently something bad happened to the ghost. The light went out in his empty eye sockets, the shiny sword fell out of his hands, and he leaned awkwardly and unnaturally against the wall. The spirit of Canterville ran up to him, wrapped his arms around him, when suddenly - oh, horror! - his head rolled on the floor, his body was broken in half, and he saw that he was holding a piece of white canopy in his arms, and a broom, a kitchen knife and an empty pumpkin were lying at his feet. Not knowing how to explain this strange transformation, with trembling hands he lifted the board with the inscription and in the gray morning light he made out these terrible words:

THE OTIS SPIRIT

The only genuine and original ghost Beware of fakes! All the rest are not real!

There, at home, he looked through several of his favorite books about ancient chivalry and learned from them that every time this oath was pronounced, the rooster crowed twice.

Read the book “The Canterville Ghost” online. The Canterville Ghost (collection)

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