The Irish writer of horror fiction, J. T. Sheridan LeFanu (1814-1873), was much admired by M. R. James, author of "A Warning To the Curious," as well as several other Ghost Stories for Christmas made popular by Michael Hordern and the BBC. "I do not claim for this author any very exalted place," James admitted in a lecture on LeFanu, "but I desire to advance the claim that he has attained supremacy in one particular line: he succeeds in inspiring a mysterious terror better than any other writer." James wasn't necessarily a trustworthy authority on the subject, having already discounted the quality of the writings of Poe, which he attributed to the remoteness of their settings. Horror fiction attracted many great writers, probably because of its popularity as a genre.
Reading LeFanu lately, however, makes one wonder if anyone would be attracted to the following specimen of writing:
"To his dying day Schalken was satisfied of the reality of the vision which he had witnessed, and he has left behind him a curious evidence of the impression which it wrought upon his fancy, in a painting executed shortly after the event we have narrated, and which is valuable as exhibiting not only the peculiarities which have made Schalken’s pictures sought after, but even more so as presenting a portrait, as close and faithful as one taken from memory can be, of his early love, Rose Velderkaust, whose mysterious fate must ever remain matter of speculation.
The picture represents a chamber of antique masonry, such as might be found in most old cathedrals, and is lighted faintly by a lamp carried in the hand of a female figure, such as we have above attempted to describe; and in the background, and to the left of him who examines the painting, there stands the form of a man apparently aroused from sleep, and by his attitude, his hand being laid upon his sword, exhibiting considerable alarm: this last figure is illuminated only by the expiring glare of a wood or charcoal fire."
This excerpt is from the story, "Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter," which was one of his first short stories collected much later in The Purcell Papers, accounts by a fictitious 18th-century Catholic priest called Father Purcell. There was an actual painter from the 17th century named Gottfried Schalcken, who specialized in portraits and intimate scenes that are lit entirely by a single candle. LeFanu seems to have been acquainted with his specialty, and was familiar with certain details of his life. The story, however, is pure invention. The painting that LeFanu describes in detail doesn't exist.
LeFanu's limitations as a writer pose no problem for anyone attempting to adapt one of his stories to film. In 1979, Leslie Megahey adapted LeFanu's story for Schalcken the Painter (with the corrected spelling of the painter's name) for the BBC's Omnibus series. It approaches the story as if it were a docu-drama from the life of Schalcken. He was apprenticed to the painter Gerrit Douw, who was himself an apprentice of Rembrandt. Rembrandt even appears in the film (an actor made up to resemble the self-portrait from 1663, with Rembrandt wearing a painter's hat) as a sort of historical detail adding authenticity to the otherwise fictional account the film dramatizes. In love with Douw's young niece, Rose, but penniless, Schalcken is witness to a transaction between Douw and a wealthy old man from Rotterdam in which a small casket of fine gold is exchanged for his niece in marriage. But this is no ordinary old man. The scene of his face to face meeting with Rose is filmed exactly as LeFanu's relates it:
"Nine o’clock at length came, and with it a summons at the street-door, which, being speedily answered, was followed by a slow and emphatic tread upon the staircase; the steps moved heavily across the lobby, the door of the room in which the party which we have described were assembled slowly opened, and there entered a figure which startled, almost appalled, the phlegmatic Dutchmen, and nearly made Rose scream with affright; it was the form, and arrayed in the garb, of Mynher Vanderhausen; the air, the gait, the height was the same, but the features had never been seen by any of the party before.
The stranger stopped at the door of the room, and displayed his form and face completely. He wore a dark-coloured cloth cloak, which was short and full, not falling quite to the knees; his legs were cased in dark purple silk stockings, and his shoes were adorned with roses of the same colour. The opening of the cloak in front showed the under-suit to consist of some very dark, perhaps sable material, and his hands were enclosed in a pair of heavy leather gloves which ran up considerably above the wrist, in the manner of a gauntlet. In one hand he carried his walking-stick and his hat, which he had removed, and the other hung heavily by his side. A quantity of grizzled hair descended in long tresses from his head, and its folds rested upon the plaits of a stiff ruff, which effectually concealed his neck.
So far all was well; but the face! — all the flesh of the face was coloured with the bluish leaden hue which is sometimes produced by the operation of metallic medicines administered in excessive quantities; the eyes were enormous, and the white appeared both above and below the iris, which gave to them an expression of insanity, which was heightened by their glassy fixedness; the nose was well enough, but the mouth was writhed considerably to one side, where it opened in order to give egress to two long, discoloured fangs, which projected from the upper jaw, far below the lower lip; the hue of the lips themselves bore the usual relation to that of the face, and was consequently nearly black. The character of the face was malignant, even satanic, to the last degree; and, indeed, such a combination of horror could hardly be accounted for, except by supposing the corpse of some atrocious malefactor, which had long hung blackening upon the gibbet, to have at length become the habitation of a demon — the frightful sport of Satanic possession.
It was remarkable that the worshipful stranger suffered as little as possible of his flesh to appear, and that during his visit he did not once remove his gloves.
Having stood for some moments at the door, Gerard Douw at length found breath and collectedness to bid him welcome, and, with a mute inclination of the head, the stranger stepped forward into the room.
There was something indescribably odd, even horrible, about all his motions, something undefinable, that was unnatural, un-human — it was as if the limbs were guided and directed by a spirit unused to the management of bodily machinery.
The stranger said hardly anything during his visit, which did not exceed half an hour; and the host himself could scarcely muster courage enough to utter the few necessary salutations and courtesies: and, indeed, such was the nervous terror which the presence of Vanderhausen inspired, that very little would have made all his entertainers fly bellowing from the room. They had not so far lost all self-possession, however, as to fail to observe two strange peculiarities of their visitor.
During his stay he did not once suffer his eyelids to close, nor even to move in the slightest degree; and further, there was a death-like stillness in his whole person, owing to the total absence of the heaving motion of the chest, caused by the process of respiration.
These two peculiarities, though when told they may appear trifling, produced a very striking and unpleasant effect when seen and observed. Vanderhausen at length relieved the painter of Leyden of his inauspicious presence; and with no small gratification the little party heard the street-door close after him.
‘Dear uncle,’ said Rose, ‘what a frightful man! I would not see him again for the wealth of the States!’
‘Tush, foolish girl!’ said Douw, whose sensations were anything but comfortable. ‘A man may be as ugly as the devil, and yet if his heart and actions are good, he is worth all the pretty-faced, perfumed puppies that walk the Mall. Rose, my girl, it is very true he has not thy pretty face, but I know him to be wealthy and liberal; and were he ten times more ugly ——’
‘Which is inconceivable,’ observed Rose.
‘These two virtues would be sufficient,’ continued her uncle, ‘to counterbalance all his deformity; and if not of power sufficient actually to alter the shape of the features, at least of efficacy enough to prevent one thinking them amiss.’
‘Do you know, uncle,’ said Rose, ‘when I saw him standing at the door, I could not get it out of my head that I saw the old, painted, wooden figure that used to frighten me so much in the church of St. Laurence of Rotterdam.’
Gerard laughed, though he could not help inwardly acknowledging the justness of the comparison. He was resolved, however, as far as he could, to check his niece’s inclination to ridicule the ugliness of her intended bridegroom, although he was not a little pleased to observe that she appeared totally exempt from that mysterious dread of the stranger which, he could not disguise it from himself, considerably affected him, as also his pupil Godfrey Schalken."
In one respect, the LeFanu story has a relevance for contemporary readers that wasn't lost on Megahey:
"Marriages were then and there matters of traffic and calculation; and it would have appeared as absurd in the eyes of the guardian to make a mutual attachment an essential element in a contract of marriage, as it would have been to draw up his bonds and receipts in the language of chivalrous romance."
Marriages in the 17th century were financial transactions among men, in which women had little or no say. The arranged marriages that we hear about in some Asian and African countries today are widely deplored, but such practices were common in Europe well into the 20th century.
Despite Rose's misgivings and protests, Douw bundles her off to her wedding in Rotterdam and she is literally carried away in an ornate litter with her husband. Days, weeks pass without word from Rose. Then, without warning, she returns to her uncle's house in obvious terror, dissheveled and distraught, begging him and Schalcken to save her. Believing her to be hysterical, they put her to bed and send for a minister. But she keeps babbling incoherently, the words "The dead and the living cannot be one — God has forbidden it!" and "Rest to the wakeful — sleep to the sleep-walkers." She calls for more candles, the room is too dark, and claims that "he" is already there. But Douw and Schalcken see no one. Finally the minister arrives, but a gust of air blows out the candle and Douw, who had been holding her hand, lets go of it and steps through the chamber door. Instantly the doors of the chamber slam shut, with Rose alone within. They hear screams of terror coming from behind the closed door, then one final shriek. Douw and Schalcken finally wrest open the door, but Rose has vanished. They look out of the window to the canal below, but there is nothing to see except "the waters of the broad canal beneath settling ring after ring in heavy circular ripples, as if a moment before disturbed by the immersion of some large and heavy mass."
I won't give away the ending (closely following LeFanu's tale) but the film elaborates on Schalcken's career after Rose's disappearance, on his obsession with painting models resembling Rose, and on his work on the (fictitious) painting that inspired the tale. It would be an understatement to point out how much care was taken to capture the look of the paintings of the time, especially paintings by Vermeer. We watch as Gerrit Douw oversees his students at life drawing and a still life, but what we see of Douw's house, with its parquet floors and latticed windows, is directly reminiscent of the interiors in Vermeer's painting. On a much more intimate scale, Schalcken the Painter repeats what Stanley Kubrick achieved with Barry Lyndon - recreating the past by painstakingly copying period artworks. The end credits of Schalcken thank several European art galleries for their contributions to the production, not just by supplying the originals of paintings by Gottfried Schalcken, but by providing the director, designer, and cinematographer with inspiration for their work on the film. Christine Rawlins designed the sumptuous costumes, Anna Ridley was the production designer, and John Hooper is credited as the "lighting cameraman" - presumably in charge of the cinematography and lighting. Leslie Megahey, the film's director, deserves the highest praise. As I have already pointed out, he reportedly accepted the post as editor of the BBC documentary series Omnibus on condition that he make Schalcken the Painter. Omnibus is a documentary program, but Megahey shot his film as if it were a docudrama about events in the lives of historical personages, making LeFanu's tale seem authentic. The excellent cast includes Jeremy Clyde as Schalcken, Cheryl Kennedy as Rose, Maurice Denham as Dou, and John Justin, who was the handsome hero in the 1940 (!) The Thief of Baghdad, plays the dreadful Mynher Vanderhausen.
Reading LeFanu lately, however, makes one wonder if anyone would be attracted to the following specimen of writing:
"To his dying day Schalken was satisfied of the reality of the vision which he had witnessed, and he has left behind him a curious evidence of the impression which it wrought upon his fancy, in a painting executed shortly after the event we have narrated, and which is valuable as exhibiting not only the peculiarities which have made Schalken’s pictures sought after, but even more so as presenting a portrait, as close and faithful as one taken from memory can be, of his early love, Rose Velderkaust, whose mysterious fate must ever remain matter of speculation.
The picture represents a chamber of antique masonry, such as might be found in most old cathedrals, and is lighted faintly by a lamp carried in the hand of a female figure, such as we have above attempted to describe; and in the background, and to the left of him who examines the painting, there stands the form of a man apparently aroused from sleep, and by his attitude, his hand being laid upon his sword, exhibiting considerable alarm: this last figure is illuminated only by the expiring glare of a wood or charcoal fire."
This excerpt is from the story, "Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter," which was one of his first short stories collected much later in The Purcell Papers, accounts by a fictitious 18th-century Catholic priest called Father Purcell. There was an actual painter from the 17th century named Gottfried Schalcken, who specialized in portraits and intimate scenes that are lit entirely by a single candle. LeFanu seems to have been acquainted with his specialty, and was familiar with certain details of his life. The story, however, is pure invention. The painting that LeFanu describes in detail doesn't exist.
LeFanu's limitations as a writer pose no problem for anyone attempting to adapt one of his stories to film. In 1979, Leslie Megahey adapted LeFanu's story for Schalcken the Painter (with the corrected spelling of the painter's name) for the BBC's Omnibus series. It approaches the story as if it were a docu-drama from the life of Schalcken. He was apprenticed to the painter Gerrit Douw, who was himself an apprentice of Rembrandt. Rembrandt even appears in the film (an actor made up to resemble the self-portrait from 1663, with Rembrandt wearing a painter's hat) as a sort of historical detail adding authenticity to the otherwise fictional account the film dramatizes. In love with Douw's young niece, Rose, but penniless, Schalcken is witness to a transaction between Douw and a wealthy old man from Rotterdam in which a small casket of fine gold is exchanged for his niece in marriage. But this is no ordinary old man. The scene of his face to face meeting with Rose is filmed exactly as LeFanu's relates it:
"Nine o’clock at length came, and with it a summons at the street-door, which, being speedily answered, was followed by a slow and emphatic tread upon the staircase; the steps moved heavily across the lobby, the door of the room in which the party which we have described were assembled slowly opened, and there entered a figure which startled, almost appalled, the phlegmatic Dutchmen, and nearly made Rose scream with affright; it was the form, and arrayed in the garb, of Mynher Vanderhausen; the air, the gait, the height was the same, but the features had never been seen by any of the party before.
The stranger stopped at the door of the room, and displayed his form and face completely. He wore a dark-coloured cloth cloak, which was short and full, not falling quite to the knees; his legs were cased in dark purple silk stockings, and his shoes were adorned with roses of the same colour. The opening of the cloak in front showed the under-suit to consist of some very dark, perhaps sable material, and his hands were enclosed in a pair of heavy leather gloves which ran up considerably above the wrist, in the manner of a gauntlet. In one hand he carried his walking-stick and his hat, which he had removed, and the other hung heavily by his side. A quantity of grizzled hair descended in long tresses from his head, and its folds rested upon the plaits of a stiff ruff, which effectually concealed his neck.
So far all was well; but the face! — all the flesh of the face was coloured with the bluish leaden hue which is sometimes produced by the operation of metallic medicines administered in excessive quantities; the eyes were enormous, and the white appeared both above and below the iris, which gave to them an expression of insanity, which was heightened by their glassy fixedness; the nose was well enough, but the mouth was writhed considerably to one side, where it opened in order to give egress to two long, discoloured fangs, which projected from the upper jaw, far below the lower lip; the hue of the lips themselves bore the usual relation to that of the face, and was consequently nearly black. The character of the face was malignant, even satanic, to the last degree; and, indeed, such a combination of horror could hardly be accounted for, except by supposing the corpse of some atrocious malefactor, which had long hung blackening upon the gibbet, to have at length become the habitation of a demon — the frightful sport of Satanic possession.
It was remarkable that the worshipful stranger suffered as little as possible of his flesh to appear, and that during his visit he did not once remove his gloves.
Having stood for some moments at the door, Gerard Douw at length found breath and collectedness to bid him welcome, and, with a mute inclination of the head, the stranger stepped forward into the room.
There was something indescribably odd, even horrible, about all his motions, something undefinable, that was unnatural, un-human — it was as if the limbs were guided and directed by a spirit unused to the management of bodily machinery.
The stranger said hardly anything during his visit, which did not exceed half an hour; and the host himself could scarcely muster courage enough to utter the few necessary salutations and courtesies: and, indeed, such was the nervous terror which the presence of Vanderhausen inspired, that very little would have made all his entertainers fly bellowing from the room. They had not so far lost all self-possession, however, as to fail to observe two strange peculiarities of their visitor.
During his stay he did not once suffer his eyelids to close, nor even to move in the slightest degree; and further, there was a death-like stillness in his whole person, owing to the total absence of the heaving motion of the chest, caused by the process of respiration.
These two peculiarities, though when told they may appear trifling, produced a very striking and unpleasant effect when seen and observed. Vanderhausen at length relieved the painter of Leyden of his inauspicious presence; and with no small gratification the little party heard the street-door close after him.
‘Dear uncle,’ said Rose, ‘what a frightful man! I would not see him again for the wealth of the States!’
‘Tush, foolish girl!’ said Douw, whose sensations were anything but comfortable. ‘A man may be as ugly as the devil, and yet if his heart and actions are good, he is worth all the pretty-faced, perfumed puppies that walk the Mall. Rose, my girl, it is very true he has not thy pretty face, but I know him to be wealthy and liberal; and were he ten times more ugly ——’
‘Which is inconceivable,’ observed Rose.
‘These two virtues would be sufficient,’ continued her uncle, ‘to counterbalance all his deformity; and if not of power sufficient actually to alter the shape of the features, at least of efficacy enough to prevent one thinking them amiss.’
‘Do you know, uncle,’ said Rose, ‘when I saw him standing at the door, I could not get it out of my head that I saw the old, painted, wooden figure that used to frighten me so much in the church of St. Laurence of Rotterdam.’
Gerard laughed, though he could not help inwardly acknowledging the justness of the comparison. He was resolved, however, as far as he could, to check his niece’s inclination to ridicule the ugliness of her intended bridegroom, although he was not a little pleased to observe that she appeared totally exempt from that mysterious dread of the stranger which, he could not disguise it from himself, considerably affected him, as also his pupil Godfrey Schalken."
In one respect, the LeFanu story has a relevance for contemporary readers that wasn't lost on Megahey:
"Marriages were then and there matters of traffic and calculation; and it would have appeared as absurd in the eyes of the guardian to make a mutual attachment an essential element in a contract of marriage, as it would have been to draw up his bonds and receipts in the language of chivalrous romance."
Marriages in the 17th century were financial transactions among men, in which women had little or no say. The arranged marriages that we hear about in some Asian and African countries today are widely deplored, but such practices were common in Europe well into the 20th century.
Despite Rose's misgivings and protests, Douw bundles her off to her wedding in Rotterdam and she is literally carried away in an ornate litter with her husband. Days, weeks pass without word from Rose. Then, without warning, she returns to her uncle's house in obvious terror, dissheveled and distraught, begging him and Schalcken to save her. Believing her to be hysterical, they put her to bed and send for a minister. But she keeps babbling incoherently, the words "The dead and the living cannot be one — God has forbidden it!" and "Rest to the wakeful — sleep to the sleep-walkers." She calls for more candles, the room is too dark, and claims that "he" is already there. But Douw and Schalcken see no one. Finally the minister arrives, but a gust of air blows out the candle and Douw, who had been holding her hand, lets go of it and steps through the chamber door. Instantly the doors of the chamber slam shut, with Rose alone within. They hear screams of terror coming from behind the closed door, then one final shriek. Douw and Schalcken finally wrest open the door, but Rose has vanished. They look out of the window to the canal below, but there is nothing to see except "the waters of the broad canal beneath settling ring after ring in heavy circular ripples, as if a moment before disturbed by the immersion of some large and heavy mass."
I won't give away the ending (closely following LeFanu's tale) but the film elaborates on Schalcken's career after Rose's disappearance, on his obsession with painting models resembling Rose, and on his work on the (fictitious) painting that inspired the tale. It would be an understatement to point out how much care was taken to capture the look of the paintings of the time, especially paintings by Vermeer. We watch as Gerrit Douw oversees his students at life drawing and a still life, but what we see of Douw's house, with its parquet floors and latticed windows, is directly reminiscent of the interiors in Vermeer's painting. On a much more intimate scale, Schalcken the Painter repeats what Stanley Kubrick achieved with Barry Lyndon - recreating the past by painstakingly copying period artworks. The end credits of Schalcken thank several European art galleries for their contributions to the production, not just by supplying the originals of paintings by Gottfried Schalcken, but by providing the director, designer, and cinematographer with inspiration for their work on the film. Christine Rawlins designed the sumptuous costumes, Anna Ridley was the production designer, and John Hooper is credited as the "lighting cameraman" - presumably in charge of the cinematography and lighting. Leslie Megahey, the film's director, deserves the highest praise. As I have already pointed out, he reportedly accepted the post as editor of the BBC documentary series Omnibus on condition that he make Schalcken the Painter. Omnibus is a documentary program, but Megahey shot his film as if it were a docudrama about events in the lives of historical personages, making LeFanu's tale seem authentic. The excellent cast includes Jeremy Clyde as Schalcken, Cheryl Kennedy as Rose, Maurice Denham as Dou, and John Justin, who was the handsome hero in the 1940 (!) The Thief of Baghdad, plays the dreadful Mynher Vanderhausen.
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