The Complete Fiction of H. P. Lovecraft. H. P. Lovecraft

will breede in ye Outside Spheres.

      And of ye Seede of Olde shal One be borne who shal looke Backe, tho’ know’g not what he seekes.

      Yett will this availe Nothing if there be no Heir, and if the Saltes, or the Way to make the Saltes, bee not Readie for his Hande; and here I will owne, I have not taken needed Stepps nor founde Much.Ye Process is plaguy harde to come neare; and it uses up such a Store of Specimens, I am harde putte to it to get Enough, notwithstand’g the Sailors I have from ye Indies.Ye People aboute are become curious, but I can stande them off.Ye Gentry are worse than the Populace, be’g more Circumstantiall in their Accts.and more believ’d in what they tell.That Parson and Mr.Merritt have talk’d some, I am fearfull, but no Thing soe far is Dangerous.Ye Chymical substances are easie of get’g, there be’g II.goode Chymists in Towne, Dr.Bowen and Sam: Carew.I am foll’g oute what Borellus saith, and haue Helpe in Abdool Al-Hazred his VII.Booke.Whatever I gette, you shal haue.And in ye meane while, do not neglect to make use of ye Wordes I haue here giuen.I haue them Righte, but if you Desire to see HIM, imploy the Writings on ye Piece of —— that I am putt’g in this Packet.Saye ye Uerses every Roodmas and Hallow’s Eue; and if yr Line runn out not, one shall bee in yeares to come that shal looke backe and use what Saltes or Stuff for Saltes you shal leaue him.Job XIV.XIV.

      I rejoice you are again at Salem, and hope I may see you not longe hence.I have a goode Stallion, and am think’g of get’g a Coach, there be’g one (Mr.Merritt’s) in Prouidence already, tho’ ye Roades are bad.If you are dispos’d to Travel, doe not pass me bye.From Boston take ye Post Rd.thro’ Dedham, Wrentham, and Attleborough, goode Taverns be’g at all these Townes.Stop at Mr.Bolcom’s in Wrentham, where ye Beddes are finer than Mr.Hatch’s, but eate at ye other House for their Cooke is better.Turne into Prou.by Patucket ffalls, and ye Rd.past Mr.Sayles’s Tavern.My House opp.Mr.Epenetus Olney’s Tavern off ye Towne Street, Ist on ye N.side of Olney’s Court.Distance from Boston Stone abt.XLIV Miles.

      Sir, I am yr olde and true ffriend and Servt.in Almousin-Metraton.

      Josephus C.

      To Mr.Simon Orne,

      William’s-Lane, in Salem.

      This letter, oddly enough, was what first gave Ward the exact location of Curwen’s Providence home; for none of the records encountered up to that time had been at all specific.The discovery was doubly striking because it indicated as the newer Curwen house built in 1761 on the site of the old, a dilapidated building still standing in Olney Court and well known to Ward in his antiquarian rambles over Stampers’ Hill.The place was indeed only a few squares from his own home on the great hill’s higher ground, and was now the abode of a negro family much esteemed for occasional washing, housecleaning, and furnace-tending services.To find, in distant Salem, such sudden proof of the significance of this familiar rookery in his own family history, was a highly impressive thing to Ward; and he resolved to explore the place immediately upon his return.The more mystical phases of the letter, which he took to be some extravagant kind of symbolism, frankly baffled him; though he noted with a thrill of curiosity that the Biblical passage referred to—Job 14, 14—was the familiar verse, “If a man die, shall he live again? All the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come.”

      2.

      Young Ward came home in a state of pleasant excitement, and spent the following Saturday in a long and exhaustive study of the house in Olney Court.The place, now crumbling with age, had never been a mansion; but was a modest two-and-a-half story wooden town house of the familiar Providence colonial type, with plain peaked roof, large central chimney, and artistically carved doorway with rayed fanlight, triangular pediment, and trim Doric pilasters.It had suffered but little alteration externally, and Ward felt he was gazing on something very close to the sinister matters of his quest.

      The present negro inhabitants were known to him, and he was very courteously shewn about the interior by old Asa and his stout wife Hannah.Here there was more change than the outside indicated, and Ward saw with regret that fully half of the fine scroll-and-urn overmantels and shell-carved cupboard linings were gone, whilst much of the fine wainscotting and bolection moulding was marked, hacked, and gouged, or covered up altogether with cheap wall-paper.In general, the survey did not yield as much as Ward had somehow expected; but it was at least exciting to stand within the ancestral walls which had housed such a man of horror as Joseph Curwen.He saw with a thrill that a monogram had been very carefully effaced from the ancient brass knocker.

      From then until after the close of school Ward spent his time on the photostatic copy of the Hutchinson cipher and the accumulation of local Curwen data.The former still proved unyielding; but of the latter he obtained so much, and so many clues to similar data elsewhere, that he was ready by July to make a trip to New London and New York to consult old letters whose presence in those places was indicated.This trip was very fruitful, for it brought him the Fenner letters with their terrible description of the Pawtuxet farmhouse raid, and the Nightingale-Talbot letters in which he learned of the portrait painted on a panel of the Curwen library.This matter of the portrait interested him particularly, since he would have given much to know just what Joseph Curwen looked like; and he decided to make a second search of the house in Olney Court to see if there might not be some trace of the ancient features beneath peeling coats of later paint or layers of mouldy wall-paper.

      Early in August that search took place, and Ward went carefully over the walls of every room sizeable enough to have been by any possibility the library of the evil builder.He paid especial attention to the large panels of such overmantels as still remained; and was keenly excited after about an hour, when on a broad area above the fireplace in a spacious ground-floor room he became certain that the surface brought out by the peeling of several coats of paint was sensibly darker than any ordinary interior paint or the wood beneath it was likely to have been.A few more careful tests with a thin knife, and he knew that he had come upon an oil portrait of great extent.With truly scholarly restraint the youth did not risk the damage which an immediate attempt to uncover the hidden picture with the knife might have done, but just retired from the scene of his discovery to enlist expert help.In three days he returned with an artist of long experience, Mr.Walter C.Dwight, whose studio is near the foot of College Hill; and that accomplished restorer of paintings set to work at once with proper methods and chemical substances.Old Asa and his wife were duly excited over their strange visitors, and were properly reimbursed for this invasion of their domestic hearth.

      As day by day the work of restoration progressed, Charles Ward looked on with growing interest at the lines and shades gradually unveiled after their long oblivion.Dwight had begun at the bottom; hence since the picture was a three-quarter-length one, the face did not come out for some time.It was meanwhile seen that the subject was a spare, well-shaped man with dark-blue coat, embroidered waistcoat, black satin small-clothes, and white silk stockings, seated in a carved chair against the background of a window with wharves and ships beyond.When the head came out it was observed to bear a neat Albemarle wig, and to possess a thin, calm, undistinguished face which seemed somehow familiar to both Ward and the artist.Only at the very last, though, did the restorer and his client begin to gasp with astonishment at the details of that lean, pallid visage, and to recognise with a touch of awe the dramatic trick which heredity had played.For it took the final bath of oil and the final stroke of the delicate scraper to bring out fully the expression which centuries had hidden; and to confront the bewildered Charles Dexter Ward, dweller in the past, with his own living features in the countenance of his horrible great-great-great-grandfather.

      Ward brought his parents to see the marvel he had uncovered, and his father at once determined to purchase the picture despite its execution on stationary panelling.The resemblance to the boy, despite an appearance of rather greater age, was marvellous; and it could be seen that through some trick of atavism the physical contours of Joseph Curwen had found precise duplication after a century and a half.Mrs.Ward’s resemblance to her ancestor was not at all marked, though she could recall relatives who had some of the facial characteristics shared by her son and by the bygone Curwen.She did not relish the discovery, and told her husband that he had better burn the picture instead of bringing it home.There was, she averred, something unwholesome about it; not only