“I observed it as you entered the room,” said Holmes.
“It is an old manuscript.”
“How can you say that, sir?”
“You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my little monograph3 upon the subject. I put that at 1730.”
“The exact date is 1742.” Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket. “This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic4 death some three months ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him.”
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened5 it upon his knee. “You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date.”
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At the head was written: “Baskerville Hall,” and below in large, scrawling7 figures: “1742.”
“It appears to be a statement of some sort.”
“Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskerville family.”
“But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon which you wish to consult me?”
“Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided8 within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you.”
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following curious, old-world narrative9:
“Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even as is here set forth10. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and repentance11 it may be removed. Learn then from this story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to be circumspect12 in the future, that those foul13 passions whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not again be loosed to our undoing14.
“Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor15 of Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be gainsaid16 that he was a most wild, profane17, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned, seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a by-word through the West. It chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden18, being discreet19 and of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper chamber20, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long carouse21, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that which might have daunted22 the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy23 which covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor24, there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her father’s farm.
“It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests to carry food and drink—with other worse things, perchance—to his captive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table, flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud before all the company that he would that very night render his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the wench. And while the revellers stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms26 that they should saddle his mare27 and unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of the maid’s, he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.
“Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable to understand all that had been done in such haste. But anon their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar28, some calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for another flask29 of wine. But at length some sense came back to their crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and they rode swiftly abreast30, taking that course which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home.
“They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if he had seen the hunt. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. ‘But I have seen more than that,’ said he, ‘for Hugo Baskerville passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels.’ So the drunken squires31 cursed the shepherd and rode onward32. But soon their skins turned cold, for there came a galloping33 across the moor, and the black mare, dabbled34 with white froth, went past with trailing bridle35 and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close together, for a great fear was on them, but they still followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad to have turned his horse’s head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them.
“The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you may guess, than when they started. The most of them would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fear and of fatigue37. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it was that, standing38 over Hugo, and plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws39 upon them, the three shrieked40 with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days.
“Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have set it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which have been sudden, bloody41, and mysterious. Yet may we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence42, which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy Writ6. To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted43.
“[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their sister Elizabeth.]”
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire.
“Well?” said he.
“Do you not find it interesting?”
“To a collector of fairy tales.”
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.
“Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a short account of the facts elicited44 at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that date.”
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:
“The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose name has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county. Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville Hall for a comparatively short period his amiability45 of character and extreme generosity46 had won the affection and respect of all who had been brought into contact with him. In these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing47 to find a case where the scion48 of an old county family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur49 of his line. Sir Charles, as is well known, made large sums of money in South African speculation50. More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns against them, he realised his gains and returned to England with them. It is only two years since he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction51 and improvement which have been interrupted by his death. Being himself childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the whole countryside should, within his own lifetime, profit by his good fortune, and many will have personal reasons for bewailing his untimely end. His generous donations to local and county charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns.
“The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles cannot be said to have been entirely52 cleared up by the inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours53 to which local superstition54 has given rise. There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower55, and a man who may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of a married couple named Barrymore, the husband acting56 as butler and the wife as housekeeper57. Their evidence, corroborated58 by that of several friends, tends to show that Sir Charles’s health has for some time been impaired59, and points especially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous depression. Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect.
“The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the famous yew60 alley36 of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the Barrymores shows that this had been his custom. On the fourth of May Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day for London, and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That night he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned. At twelve o’clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open, became alarmed, and, lighting61 a lantern, went in search of his master. The day had been wet, and Sir Charles’s footmarks were easily traced down the alley. Halfway62 down this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. There were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some little time here. He then proceeded down the alley, and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered. One fact which has not been explained is the statement of Barrymore that his master’s footprints altered their character from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared from thence onward to have been walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears by his own confession63 to have been the worse for drink. He declares that he heard cries but is unable to state from what direction they came. No signs of violence were to be discovered upon Sir Charles’s person, and though the doctor’s evidence pointed64 to an almost incredible facial distortion—so great that Dr. Mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who lay before him—it was explained that that is a symptom which is not unusual in cases of dyspnœa and death from cardiac exhaustion65. This explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing organic disease, and the coroner’s jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence. It is well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost importance that Sir Charles’s heir should settle at the Hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly interrupted. Had the prosaic66 finding of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant67 for Baskerville Hall. It is understood that the next of kin2 is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he be still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville’s younger brother. The young man when last heard of was in America, and inquiries68 are being instituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune.”
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket. “Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the death of Sir Charles Baskerville.”
“I must thank you,” said Sherlock Holmes, “for calling my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied69 by that little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch with several interesting English cases. This article, you say, contains all the public facts?”
“It does.”
“Then let me have the private ones.” He leaned back, put his finger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial70 expression.
“In doing so,” said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some strong emotion, “I am telling that which I have not confided71 to anyone. My motive72 for withholding73 it from the coroner’s inquiry74 is that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought that I was justified75 in telling rather less than I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there is no reason why I should not be perfectly76 frank.
“The moor is very sparsely77 inhabited, and those who live near each other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist78, there are no other men of education within many miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests in science kept us so. He had brought back much scientific information from South Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy79 of the Bushman and the Hottentot.
“Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that Sir Charles’s nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart—so much so that, although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and certainly the records which he was able to give of his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with excitement.
“I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening some three weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had descended80 from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder and stare past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black calf81 passing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he that I was compelled to go down to the spot where the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when first I came. I mention this small episode because it assumes some importance in view of the tragedy which followed, but I was convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his excitement had no justification82.
“It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London. His heart was, I knew, affected83, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical84 the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health. I thought that a few months among the distractions85 of town would send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual86 friend who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe87.
“On the night of Sir Charles’s death Barrymore the butler, who made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom25 on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the prints after that point, I noted88 that there were no other footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel89, and finally I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did—some little distance off, but fresh and clear.”
“Footprints?”
“Footprints.”
“A man’s or a woman’s?”
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered.
“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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monograph
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| n.专题文章，专题著作 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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flattened
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writ
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scrawling
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的现在分词 ) | |
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decided
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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forth
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repentance
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circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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gainsaid
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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carouse
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| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ivy
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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groom
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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mare
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uproar
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flask
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abreast
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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onward
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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dabbled
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bridle
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alley
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fatigue
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standing
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jaws
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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providence
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exalted
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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