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202 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1923
It will be said, perhaps, and not unjustly, that this is no more than a variation on a former story of mine called “The Mezzotint.” I can only hope that there is enough of variation in the setting to make the repetition of the motif tolerable.For many years, I actively disliked this story, and my reasons for this are suggested by the note above.The Mezzotint” is one of my favorite M.R. James stories. It was also the first M.R. James story I read, and its conception—that the images which present themselves in an old etching could be transformed in such a way that various individuals who glanced at it during the course of a day could see the individual stages of an horrific of crime. This was something in this that my teenage self found both terrifying and compelling.
[I]t would have been difficult to find a more perfect and attractive specimen of a Dolls’ House in Strawberry Hill Gothic than that which now stood on Mr. Dillet’s large kneehole table, lighted up by the evening sun which came slanting through three tall slash-windows.
It was quite six feet long, including the Chapel or Oratory which flanked the front on the left as you faced it, and the stable on the right. The main block of the house was, as I have said, in the Gothic manner: that is to say, the windows had pointed arches and were surmounted by what are called ogival hoods, with crockets and finials such as we see on the canopies of tombs built into church walls. At the angles were absurd turrets covered with arched panels. The Chapel had pinnacles and buttresses, and a bell in the turret and coloured glass in the windows. When the front of the house was open you saw four large rooms, bedroom, dining-room, drawing-room and kitchen, each with its appropriate furniture in a very complete state.
The stable on the right was in two storeys, with its proper complement of horses, coaches and grooms, and with its clock and Gothic cupola for the clock bell.
. . . “Quintessence of Horace Walpole, that’s what it is: he must have had something to do with the making of it.” Such was Mr. Dillet’s murmured reflection as he knelt before it in a reverent ecstasy. “Simply wonderful! this is my day and no mistake. . . . Well, well! It almost makes one afraid something’ll happen to counter it.”