Fancy and legend, which have combined to represent as
possible appearances of the supernatural, agree also in considering them
as more likely to occur at certain times and places than at others; and
it is possible that the missing pages of the diary contained an account
of the time, place, and other conditions chosen by Temple for some
deadly experiment. Sir John most probably re-enacted the scene under
precisely similar conditions, and the effect on his overwrought
imagination was so vivid as to upset the balance of his mind. The time
chosen was no doubt the night of the 23d of October, and I cannot help
thinking that the place was one of those evil-looking and ruinous
sea-rooms which had so terrifying an effect on Miss Maltravers. Temple
may have used on that night one of the medieval incantations, or
possibly the more ancient invocation of the Isiac rite with which a
man of his knowledge and proclivities would certainly be familiar. The
accessories of either are sufficiently hideous to weaken the mind by
terror, and so prepare it for a belief in some frightful apparition. But
whatever was done, I feel sure that the music of the _Gagliarda_ formed
part of the ceremonial. Medieval philosophers and theologians held that evil is in its essence
so horrible that the human mind, if it could realise it, must perish at
its contemplation. Such realisation was by mercy ordinarily withheld,
but its possibility was hinted in the legend of the _Visio malefica_. The _Visio Beatifica_ was, as is well known, that vision of the Deity
or realisation of the perfect Good which was to form the happiness of
heaven, and the reward of the sanctified in the next world. Tradition
says that this vision was accorded also to some specially elect spirits
even in this life, as to Enoch, Elijah, Stephen, and Jerome. But there
was a converse to the Beatific Vision in the _Visio malefica_, or
presentation of absolute Evil, which was to be the chief torture of the
damned, and which, like the Beatific Vision, had been made visible in
life to certain desperate men. It visited Esau, as was said, when he
found no place for repentance, and Judas, whom it drove to suicide. Cain saw it when he murdered his brother, and legend relates that in his
case, and in that of others, it left a physical brand to be borne by
the body to the grave. It was supposed that the Malefic Vision, besides
being thus spontaneously presented to typically abandoned men, had
actually been purposely called up by some few great adepts, and used by
them to blast their enemies. But to do so was considered equivalent to a
conscious surrender to the powers of evil, as the vision once seen took
away all hope of final salvation. Adrian Temple would undoubtedly be cognisant of this legend, and the
lost experiment may have been an attempt to call up the Malefic Vision. It is but a vague conjecture at the best, for the tree of the knowledge
of Evil bears many sorts of poisonous fruit, and no one can give full
account of the extravagances of a wayward fancy. Conjointly with Miss Sophia, Sir John appointed me his executor and
guardian of his only son. Two months later we had lit a great fire
in the library at Worth. In it, after the servants were gone to bed,
we burnt the book containing the "Areopagita" of Graziani, and the
Stradivarius fiddle. The diaries of Temple I had already destroyed, and
wish that I could as easily blot out their foul and debasing memories
from my mind. I shall probably be blamed by those who would exalt
art at the expense of everything else, for burning a unique violin. This reproach I am content to bear. Though I am not unreasonably
superstitious, and have no sympathy for that potential pantheism to
which Sir John Maltravers surrendered his intellect, yet I felt so great
an aversion to this violin that I would neither suffer it to remain at
Worth, nor pass into other hands. Miss Sophia was entirely at one with
me on this point. It was the same feeling which restrains any except
fools or braggarts from wishing to sleep in "haunted" rooms, or to live
in houses polluted with the memory of a revolting crime. No sane mind
believes in foolish apparitions, but fancy may at times bewitch the best
of us. So the Stradivarius was burnt. It was, after all, perhaps not so
serious a matter, for, as I have said, the bass-bar had given way. There
had always been a question whether it was strong enough to resist the
strain of modern stringing. Experience showed at last that it was not. With the failure of the bass-bar the belly collapsed, and the wood broke
across the grain in so extraordinary a manner as to put the fiddle
beyond repair, except as a curiosity. Its loss, therefore, is not to be
so much regretted. Sir Edward has been brought up to think more of a
cricket-bat than of a violin-bow; but if he wishes at any time to buy a
Stradivarius, the fortunes of Worth and Royston, nursed through two long
minorities, will certainly justify his doing so. Miss Sophia and I stood by and watched the holocaust. My heart misgave
me for a moment when I saw the mellow red varnish blistering off the
back, but I put my regret resolutely aside. As the bright flames jumped
up and lapped it round, they flung a red glow on the scroll. It was
wonderfully wrought, and differed, as I think Miss Maltravers has
already said, from any known example of Stradivarius. As we watched it,
the scroll took form, and we saw what we had never seen before, that it
was cut so that the deep lines in a certain light showed as the profile
of a man. It was a wizened little paganish face, with sharp-cut features
and a bald head. As I looked at it I knew at once (and a cameo has since
confirmed the fact) that it was a head of Porphyry. Thus the second
label found in the violin was explained and Sir John's view confirmed,
that Stradivarius had made the instrument for some Neo-Platonist
enthusiast who had dedicated it to his master Porphyrius. *       *       *       *       *

A year after Sir John's death I went with Miss Maltravers to Worth
church to see a plain slab of slate which we had placed over her
brother's grave. We stood in bright sunlight in the Maltravers chapel,
with the monuments of that splendid family about us. Among them were the
altar-tomb of Sir Esmoun, and the effigies of more than one Crusader. As I looked on their knightly forms, with their heads resting on their
tilting helms, their faces set firm, and their hands joined in prayer,
I could not help envying them that full and unwavering faith for which
they had fought and died. It seemed to stand out in such sharp contrast
with our latter-day sciolism and half-believed creeds, and to be flung
into higher relief by the dark shadow of John Maltravers's ruined life. At our feet was the great brass of one Sir Roger de Maltravers.