to the doctor's orders. I soon felt the benefit of the steady work and
the nourishing diet, and yet I was not free from those terrible attacks,
which would come either at noon, or, more intensely still, at midnight.
Even in the midst of a merry company, in the enjoyment of wine and song,
glowing daggers seemed to pierce my heart, and all the strength of my
intellect was powerless to resist their might over me. I was obliged to
retire, and could not return to my friends until I had recovered from my
condition of lethargy. It was in one of these attacks, an unusually
strong one, that such an irresistible, mad longing for the picture of my
dreams came over me, that I hurried out into the street and ran toward
the mysterious house. While still at a distance from it, I seemed to see
lights shining out through the fast-closed blinds, but when I came
nearer I saw that all was dark. Crazy with my desire I rushed to the
door; it fell back before the pressure of my hand. I stood in the dimly
lighted vestibule, enveloped in a heavy, close atmosphere. My heart beat
in strange fear and impatience. Then suddenly a long, sharp tone, as
from a woman's throat, shrilled through the house. I know not how it
happened that I found myself suddenly in a great hall brilliantly
lighted and furnished in old-fashioned magnificence of golden chairs and
strange Japanese ornaments. Strongly perfumed incense arose in blue
clouds about me. "Welcome--welcome, sweet bridegroom! the hour has come,
our bridal hour!" I heard these words in a woman's voice, and as little
as I can tell, how I came into the room, just so little do I know how it
happened that suddenly a tall, youthful figure, richly dressed, seemed
to arise from the blue mists. With the repeated shrill cry: "Welcome,
sweet bridegroom!" she came toward me with outstretched arms--and a
yellow face, distorted with age and madness, stared into mine! I fell
back in terror, but the fiery, piercing glance of her eyes, like the
eyes of a snake, seemed to hold me spellbound. I did not seem able to
turn my eyes from this terrible old woman, I could not move another
step. She came still nearer, and it seemed to me suddenly as if her
hideous face were only a thin mask, beneath which I saw the features of
the beautiful maiden of my vision. Already I felt the touch of her
hands, when suddenly she fell at my feet with a loud scream, and a voice
behind me cried:
"Oho, is the devil playing his tricks with your grace again? To bed, to
bed, your grace. Else there will be blows, mighty blows!"
I turned quickly and saw the old steward in his night clothes, swinging
a whip above his head. He was about to strike the screaming figure at my
feet when I caught at his arm. But he shook me from him, exclaiming:
"The devil, sir! That old Satan would have murdered you if I had not
come to your aid. Get away from here at once!"
I rushed from the hall, and sought in vain in the darkness for the door
of the house. Behind me I heard the hissing blows of the whip and the
old woman's screams. I drew breath to call aloud for help, when suddenly
the ground gave way under my feet; I fell down a short flight of stairs,
bringing up with such force against a door at the bottom that it sprang
open, and I measured my length on the floor of a small room. From the
hastily vacated bed, and from the familiar brown coat hanging over a
chair, I saw that I was in the bed-chamber of the old steward. There was
a trampling on the stair, and the old man himself entered hastily,
throwing himself at my feet. "By all the saints, sir," he entreated with
folded hands, "whoever you may be, and however her grace, that old Satan
of a witch has managed to entice you to this house, do not speak to any
one of what has happened here. It will cost me my position. Her crazy
excellency has been punished, and is bound fast in her bed. Sleep well,
good sir, sleep softly and sweetly. It is a warm and beautiful July
night. There is no moon, but the stars shine brightly. A quiet good
night to you." While talking, the old man had taken up a lamp, had led
me out of the basement, pushed me out of the house door, and locked it
behind me. I hurried home quite bewildered, and you can imagine that I
was too much confused by the gruesome secret to be able to form any
explanation of it in my own mind for the first few days. Only this much
was certain, that I was now free from the evil spell that had held me
captive so long. All my longing for the magic vision in the mirror had
disappeared, and the memory of the scene in the deserted house was like
the recollection of an unexpected visit to a madhouse. It was evident
beyond a doubt that the steward was the tyrannical guardian of a crazy
woman of noble birth, whose condition was to be hidden from the world.
But the mirror? and all the other magic? Listen, and I will tell you
more about it.
Some few days later I came upon Count P---- at an evening entertainment.
He drew me to one side and said, with a smile, "Do you know that the
secrets of our deserted house are beginning to be revealed?" I listened
with interest; but before the Count could say more the doors of the
dining-room were thrown open, and the company proceeded to the table.
Quite lost in thought at the words I had just heard, I had given a young
lady my arm, and had taken my place mechanically in the ceremonious
procession. I led my companion to the seats arranged for us, and then
turned to look at her for the first time. The vision of my mirror stood
before me, feature for feature, there was no deception possible! I
trembled to my innermost heart, as you can imagine; but I discovered
that there was not the slightest echo even, in my heart, of the mad
desire which had ruled me so entirely when my breath drew out the magic
picture from the glass. My astonishment, or rather my terror, must have
been apparent in my eyes. The girl looked at me in such surprise that I
endeavoured to control myself sufficiently to remark that I must have
met her somewhere before. Her short answer, to the effect that this
could hardly be possible, as she had come to the city only yesterday for
the first time in her life, bewildered me still more and threw me into
an awkward silence. The sweet glance from her gentle eyes brought back
my courage, and I began a tentative exploring of this new companion's
mind. I found that I had before me a sweet and delicate being, suffering
from some psychic trouble. At a particularly merry turn of the
conversation, when I would throw in a daring word like a dash of pepper,
she would smile, but her smile was pained, as if a wound had been
touched. "You are not very merry tonight, Countess. Was it the visit
this morning?" An officer sitting near us had spoken these words to my
companion, but before he could finish his remarks his neighbour had
grasped him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, while a lady
at the other side of the table, with glowing cheeks and angry eyes,
began to talk loudly of the opera she had heard last evening. Tears came
to the eyes of the girl sitting beside me. "Am I not foolish?" She
turned to me. A few moments before she had complained of headache.
"Merely the usual evidences of a nervous headache," I answered in an
easy tone, "and there is nothing better for it than the merry spirit
which bubbles in the foam of this poet's nectar." With these words I
filled her champagne glass, and she sipped at it as she threw me a look
of gratitude. Her mood brightened, and all would have been well had I
not touched a glass before me with unexpected strength, arousing from it
a shrill, high tone. My companion grew deadly pale, and I myself felt a
sudden shiver, for the sound had exactly the tone of the mad woman's
voice in the deserted house.
While we were drinking coffee I made an opportunity to get to the side
of Count P----. He understood the reason for my movement. "Do you know
that your neighbour is Countess Edwina S----? And do you know also that
it is her mother's sister who lives in the deserted house, incurably mad
for many years? This morning both mother and daughter went to see the
unfortunate woman. The old steward, the only person who is able to
control the Countess in her outbreaks, is seriously ill, and they say
that the sister has finally revealed the secret to Dr. K----."
Dr. K---- was the physician to whom I had turned in my own anxiety, and
you can well imagine that I hurried to him as soon as I was free, and
told him all that had happened to me in the last days. I asked him to
tell me as much as he could about the mad woman, for my own peace of
mind; and this is what I learned from him under promise of secrecy.
"Angelica, Countess Z----," thus the doctor began, "had already passed
her thirtieth year, but was still in full possession of great beauty,
when Count S----, although much younger than she, became so fascinated
by her charm that he wooed her with ardent devotion and followed her to
her father's home to try his luck there. But scarcely had the Count
entered the house, scarcely had he caught sight of Angelica's younger
sister, Gabrielle, when he awoke as from a dream. The elder sister
appeared faded and colourless beside Gabrielle, whose beauty and charm
so enthralled the Count that he begged her hand of her father. Count
Z---- gave his consent easily, as there was no doubt of Gabrielle's
feelings toward her suitor. Angelica did not show the slightest anger at
her lover's faithlessness. "He believes that he has forsaken me, the
foolish boy! He does not perceive that he was but my toy, a toy of which
I had tired." Thus she spoke in proud scorn, and not a look or an action
on her part belied her words. But after the ceremonious betrothal of
Gabrielle to Count S----, Angelica was seldom seen by the members of her
family. She did not appear at the dinner table, and it was said that she
spent most of her time walking alone in the neighbouring wood.
"A strange occurrence disturbed the monotonous quiet of life in the
castle. The hunters of Count Z----, assisted by peasants from the
village, had captured a band of gipsies who were accused of several
robberies and murders which had happened recently in the neighbourhood.
The men were brought to the castle courtyard, fettered together on a
long chain, while the women and children were packed on a cart.
Noticeable among the last was a tall, haggard old woman of terrifying
aspect, wrapped from head to foot in a red shawl. She stood upright in
the cart, and in an imperious tone demanded that she should be allowed
to descend. The guards were so awed by her manner and appearance that
they obeyed her at once.
"Count Z---- came down to the courtyard and commanded that the gang
should be placed in the prisons under the castle. Suddenly Countess
Angelica rushed out of the door, her hair all loose, fear and anxiety in
her pale face. Throwing herself on her knees, she cried in a piercing
voice, 'Let these people go! Let these people go! They are innocent!
Father, let these people go! If you shed one drop of their blood I will
pierce my heart with this knife!' The Countess swung a shining knife in
the air and then sank swooning to the ground. 'Yes, my beautiful
darling--my golden child--I knew you would not let them hurt us,'
shrilled the old woman in red. She cowered beside the Countess and
pressed disgusting kisses to her face and breast, murmuring crazy words.
She took from out the recesses of her shawl a little vial in which a
tiny goldfish seemed to swim in some silver-clear liquid. She held the
vial to the Countess's heart. The latter regained consciousness
immediately. When her eyes fell on the gipsy woman, she sprang up,
clasped the old creature ardently in her arms, and hurried with her into
the castle.
"Count Z----, Gabrielle, and her lover, who had come out during this
scene, watched it in astonished awe. The gipsies appeared quite
indifferent. They were loosed from their chains and taken separately to
the prisons. Next morning Count Z---- called the villagers together. The
gipsies were led before them and the Count announced that he had found
them to be innocent of the crimes of which they were accused, and that
he would grant them free passage through his domains. To the
astonishment of all present, their fetters were struck off and they were
set at liberty. The red-shawled woman was not among them. It was
whispered that the gipsy captain, recognizable from the golden chain
about his neck and the red feather in his high Spanish hat, had paid a
secret visit to the Count's room the night before. But it was
discovered, a short time after the release of the gipsies, that they
were indeed guiltless of the robberies and murders that had disturbed
the district.
"The date set for Gabrielle's wedding approached. One day, to her great
astonishment, she saw several large wagons in the courtyard being packed
high with furniture, clothing, linen, with everything necessary for a
complete household outfit. The wagons were driven away, and the
following day Count Z---- explained that, for many reasons, he had
thought it best to grant Angelica's odd request that she be allowed to
set up her own establishment in his house in X----. He had given the
house to her, and had promised her that no member of the family, not
even he himself, should enter it without her express permission. He
added also, that, at her urgent request, he had permitted his own valet
to accompany her, to take charge of her household.
"When the wedding festivities were over, Count S---- and his bride
departed for their home, where they spent a year in cloudless happiness.
Then the Count's health failed mysteriously. It was as if some secret
sorrow gnawed at his vitals, robbing him of joy and strength. All
efforts of his young wife to discover the source of his trouble were
fruitless. At last, when the constantly recurring fainting spells
threatened to endanger his very life, he yielded to the entreaties of
his physicians and left his home, ostensibly for Pisa. His young wife
was prevented from accompanying him by the delicate condition of her own
health.
"And now," said the doctor, "the information given me by Countess S----
became, from this point on, so rhapsodical that a keen observer only
could guess at the true coherence of the story. Her baby, a daughter,
born during her husband's absence, was spirited away from the house, and
all search for it was fruitless. Her grief at this loss deepened to
despair, when she received a message from her father stating that her
husband, whom all believed to be in Pisa, had been found dying of heart
trouble in Angelica's home in X----, and that Angelica herself had
become a dangerous maniac. The old Count added that all this horror had
so shaken his own nerves that he feared he would not long survive it.
"As soon as Gabrielle was able to leave her bed, she hurried to her
father's castle. One night, prevented from sleeping by visions of the
loved ones she had lost, she seemed to hear a faint crying, like that of
an infant, before the door of her chamber. Lighting her candle she
opened the door. Great Heaven! there cowered the old gipsy woman,
wrapped in her red shawl, staring up at her with eyes that seemed
already glazing in death. In her arms she held a little child, whose
crying had aroused the Countess. Gabrielle's heart beat high with
joy--it was her child--her lost daughter! She snatched the infant from
the gipsy's arms, just as the woman fell at her feet lifeless. The
Countess's screams awoke the house, but the gipsy was quite dead and no
effort to revive her met with success.
"The old Count hurried to X---- to endeavour to discover something that
would throw light upon the mysterious disappearance and reappearance of
the child. Angelica's madness had frightened away all her female
servants; the valet alone remained with her. She appeared at first to
have become quite calm and sensible. But when the Count told her the
story of Gabrielle's child she clapped her hands and laughed aloud,
crying: 'Did the little darling arrive? You buried her, you say? How the
feathers of the gold pheasant shine in the sun! Have you seen the green
lion with the fiery blue eyes?' Horrified the Count perceived that
Angelica's mind was gone beyond a doubt, and he resolved to take her
back with him to his estates, in spite of the warnings of his old valet.
At the mere suggestion of removing her from the house Angelica's ravings
increased to such an extent as to endanger her own life and that of the
others.
"When a lucid interval came again Angelica entreated her father, with
many tears, to let her live and die in the house she had chosen. Touched
by her terrible trouble he granted her request, although he believed the
confession which slipped from her lips during this scene to be a fantasy
of her madness. She told him that Count S---- had returned to her arms,
and that the child which the gipsy had taken to her father's house was
the fruit of their love. The rumour went abroad in the city that Count
Z---- had taken the unfortunate woman to his home; but the truth was
that she remained hidden in the deserted house under the care of the
valet. Count Z---- died a short time ago, and Countess Gabrielle came
here with her daughter Edwina to arrange some family affairs. It was not
possible for her to avoid seeing her unfortunate sister. Strange things
must have happened during this visit, but the Countess has not confided
anything to me, saying merely that she had found it necessary to take
the mad woman away from the old valet. It had been discovered that he
had controlled her outbreaks by means of force and physical cruelty; and
that also, allured by Angelica's assertions that she could make gold, he
had allowed himself to assist her in her weird operations.
"It would be quite unnecessary," thus the physician ended his story, "to
say anything more to you about the deeper inward relationship of all
these strange things. It is clear to my mind that it was you who brought
about the catastrophe, a catastrophe which will mean recovery or speedy
death for the sick woman. And now I will confess to you that I was not a
little alarmed, horrified even, to discover that--when I had set myself
in magnetic communication with you by placing my hand on your neck--I
could see the picture in the mirror with my own eyes. We both know now
that the reflection in the glass was the face of Countess Edwina."
I repeat Dr. K----'s words in saying that, to my mind also, there is no
further comment that can be made on all these facts. I consider it
equally unnecessary to discuss at any further length with you now the
mysterious relationship between Angelica, Edwina, the old valet, and
myself--a relationship which seemed the work of a malicious demon who
was playing his tricks with us. I will add only that I left the city
soon after all these events, driven from the place by an oppression I
could not shake off. The uncanny sensation left me suddenly a month or
so later, giving way to a feeling of intense relief that flowed through
all my veins with the warmth of an electric current. I am convinced that
this change within me came about in the moment when the mad woman died.
THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN
I
Opposite the chapel of Saint Sebalt in Nuremberg, at the corner of
Trabaus Street, there stands a little tavern, tall and narrow, with a
toothed gable and dusty windows, whose roof is surmounted by a plaster
Virgin. It was there that I spent the unhappiest days of my life. I had
gone to Nuremberg to study the old German masters; but in default of
ready money, I had to paint portraits--and such portraits! Fat old women
with their cats on their laps, big-wigged aldermen, burgomasters in
three-cornered hats--all horribly bright with ochre and vermilion. From
portraits I descended to sketches, and from sketches to silhouettes.
Nothing is more annoying than to have your landlord come to you every
day with pinched lips, shrill voice, and impudent manner to say: "Well,
sir, how soon are you going to pay me? Do you know how much your bill
is? No; that doesn't worry you! You eat, drink, and sleep calmly enough.
God feeds the sparrows. Your bill now amounts to two hundred florins and
ten kreutzers--it is not worth talking about."
Those who have not heard any one talk in this way can form no idea of
it; love of art, imagination, and the sacred enthusiasm for the
beautiful are blasted by the breath of such an attack. You become
awkward and timid; all your energy evaporates, as well as your feeling
of personal dignity, and you bow respectfully at a distance to the
burgomaster Schneegans.
One night, not having a sou, as usual, and threatened with imprisonment
by this worthy Mister Rap, I determined to make him a bankrupt by
cutting my throat. Seated on my narrow bed, opposite the window, in this
agreeable mood, I gave myself up to a thousand philosophical
reflections, more or less comforting.
"What is man?" I asked myself. "An omnivorous animal; his jaws, provided
with canines, incisors, and molars, prove it. The canines are made to
tear meat; the incisors to bite fruits; and the molars to masticate,
grind, and triturate animal and vegetable substances that are pleasant
to smell and to taste. But when he has nothing to masticate, this being
is an absurdity in Nature, a superfluity, a fifth wheel to the coach."
Such were my reflections. I dared not open my razor for fear that the
invincible force of my logic would inspire me with the courage to make
an end of it all. After having argued so finely, I blew out my candle,
postponing the sequel till the morrow.
That abominable Rap had completely stupefied me. I could do nothing but
silhouettes, and my sole desire was to have some money to rid myself of
his odious presence. But on this night a singular change came over my
mind. I awoke about one o'clock--I lit my lamp, and, enveloping myself
in my grey gabardine, I drew upon the paper a rapid sketch after the
Dutch school--something strange and bizarre, which had not the slightest
resemblance to my ordinary conceptions.
Imagine a dreary courtyard enclosed by high dilapidated walls. These
walls are furnished with hooks, seven or eight feet from the ground. You
see, at a glance, that it is a butchery.
On the left, there extends a lattice structure; you perceive through it
a quartered beef suspended from the roof by enormous pulleys. Great
pools of blood run over the flagstones and unite in a ditch full of
refuse.
The light falls from above, between the chimneys where the weathercocks
stand out from a bit of the sky the size of your hand, and the roofs of
the neighbouring houses throw bold shadows from story to story.
At the back of this place is a shed, beneath the shed a pile of wood,
and upon the pile of wood some ladders, a few bundles of straw, some
coils of rope, a chicken-coop, and an old dilapidated rabbit-hutch.
How did these heterogeneous details suggest themselves to my
imagination? I don't know; I had no reminiscences, and yet every stroke
of the pencil seemed the result of observation, and strange because it
was all so true. Nothing was lacking.
But on the right, one corner of the sketch remained a blank. I did not
know what to put there.... Something suddenly seemed to writhe there, to
move! Then I saw a foot, the sole of a foot. Notwithstanding this
improbable position, I followed my inspiration without reference to my
own criticism. This foot was joined to a leg--over this leg, stretched
out with effort, there soon floated the skirt of a dress. In short,
there appeared by degrees an old woman, pale, dishevelled, and wasted,
thrown down at the side of a well, and struggling to free herself from a
hand that clutched her throat.
It was a murder scene that I was drawing. The pencil fell from my hand.
This woman, in the boldest attitude, with her thighs bent on the curb of
the well, her face contracted by terror, and her two hands grasping the
murderer's arm, frightened me. I could not look at her. But the man--he,
the person to whom that arm belonged--I could not see him. It was
impossible for me to finish the sketch.
"I am tired," I said, my forehead dripping with perspiration; "there is
only this figure to do; I will finish it tomorrow. It will be easy
then."
And again I went to bed, thoroughly frightened by my vision.
The next morning, I got up very early. I was dressing in order to resume
my interrupted work, when two little knocks were heard on my door.
"Come in!"