Books: Jezebel

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Fritz took his seat again. "My heart is at ease; I can pour myself out
freely," he said. "Never, my friend, was there such an interesting
love-story as mine. She is the sweetest girl living. Dark, slim,
gracious, delightful, desirable, just eighteen. The image, I should
suppose, of what her widowed mother was at her age. Her name is Minna.
Daughter and only child of Madame Fontaine. Madame Fontaine is a truly
grand creature, a Roman matron. She is the victim of envy and scandal.
Would you believe it? There are wretches in Wurzburg (her husband the
doctor was professor of chemistry at the University)--there are wretches,
I say, who call my Minna's mother 'Jezebel,' and my Minna herself
'Jezebel's Daughter!' I have fought three duels with my fellow-students
to avenge that one insult. Alas, David, there is another person who is
influenced by those odious calumnies!--a person sacred to me--the honored
author of my being. Is it not dreadful? My good father turns tyrant in
this one thing; declares I shall never marry 'Jezebel's Daughter;' exiles
me, by his paternal commands, to this foreign country; and perches me on
a high stool to copy letters. Ha! he little knows my heart. I am my
Minna's and my Minna is mine. In body and soul, in time and in eternity,
we are one. Do you see my tears? Do my tears speak for me? The heart's
relief is in crying freely. There is a German song to that effect. When I
recover myself, I will sing it to you. Music is a great comforter; music
is the friend of love. There is another German song to _that_ effect." He
suddenly dried his eyes, and got on his feet; some new idea had
apparently occurred to him. "It is dreadfully dull here," he said; "I am
not used to evenings at home. Have you any music in London? Help me to
forget Minna for an hour or two. Take me to the music."

Having, by this time, heard quite enough of his raptures, I was eager on
my side for a change of any kind. I helped him to forget Minna at a
Vauxhall Concert. He thought our English orchestra wanting in subtlety
and spirit. On the other hand, he did full justice, afterwards, to our
English bottled beer. When we left the Gardens he sang me that German
song, 'My heart's relief is crying freely,' with a fervor of sentiment
which must have awakened every light sleeper in the neighborhood.

Retiring to my bedchamber, I found an open letter on my toilet-table. It
was addressed to my aunt by the lawyer; and it announced that he had
decided on accompanying her to the madhouse--without pledging himself to
any further concession. In leaving the letter for me to read, my aunt had
written across it a line in pencil: "You can go with us, David, if you
like."

My curiosity was strongly aroused. It is needless to say I decided on
being present at the visit to Bedlam.

CHAPTER IV

On the appointed Monday we were ready to accompany my aunt to the
madhouse.

Whether she distrusted her own unaided judgment, or whether she wished to
have as many witnesses as possible to the rash action in which she was
about to engage, I cannot say. In either case, her first proceeding was
to include Mr. Hartrey and Fritz Keller in the invitation already
extended to the lawyer and myself.

They both declined to accompany us. The head-clerk made the affairs of
the office serve for his apology, it was foreign post day, and he could
not possibly be absent from his desk. Fritz invented no excuses; he
confessed the truth, in his own outspoken manner. "I have a horror of mad
people," he said, "they so frighten and distress me, that they make me
feel half mad myself. Don't ask me to go with you--and oh, dear lady,
don't go yourself."

My aunt smiled sadly--and led the way out.

We had a special order of admission to the Hospital which placed the
resident superintendent himself at our disposal. He received my aunt with
the utmost politeness, and proposed a scheme of his own for conducting us
over the whole building; with an invitation to take luncheon with him
afterwards at his private residence.

"At another time, sir, I shall be happy to avail myself of your
kindness," my aunt said, when he had done. "For the present, my object is
to see one person only among the unfortunate creatures in this asylum."

"One person only?" repeated the superintendent. "One of our patients of
the higher rank, I suppose?"

"On the contrary," my aunt replied, "I wish to see a poor friendless
creature, found in the streets; known here, as I am informed, by no
better name than Jack Straw."

The superintendent looked at her in blank amazement.

"Good Heavens, madam!" he exclaimed; "are you aware that Jack Straw is
one of the most dangerous lunatics we have in the house?"

"I have heard that he bears the character you describe," my aunt quietly
admitted.

"And yet you wish to see him?"

"I am here for that purpose--and no other."

The superintendent looked round at the lawyer and at me, appealing to us
silently to explain, if we could, this incomprehensible desire to see
Jack Straw. The lawyer spoke for both of us. He reminded the
superintendent of the late Mr. Wagner's peculiar opinions on the
treatment of the insane, and of the interest which he had taken in this
particular case. To which my aunt added: "And Mr. Wagner's widow feels
the same interest, and inherits her late husband's opinions." Hearing
this, the superintendent bowed with his best grace, and resigned himself
to circumstances. "Pardon me if I keep you waiting for a minute or two,"
he said, and rang a bell.

A man-servant appeared at the door.

"Are Yarcombe and Foss on duty on the south side?" the superintendent
asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Send one of them here directly."

We waited a few minutes--and then a gruff voice became audible on the
outer side of the door. "Present, sir," growled the gruff voice.

The superintendent courteously offered his arm to my aunt. "Permit me to
escort you to Jack Straw," he said, with a touch of playful irony in his
tone.

We left the room. The lawyer and I followed my aunt and her escort. A
man, whom we found posted on the door-mat, brought up the rear. Whether
he was Yarcombe or whether he was Foss, mattered but little. In either
case he was a hulking, scowling, hideously ill-looking brute. "One of our
assistants," we heard the superintendent explain. "It is possible, madam,
that we may want two of them, if we are to make things pleasant at your
introduction to Jack Straw."

We ascended some stairs, shut off from the lower floor by a massive
locked door, and passed along some dreary stone passages, protected by
more doors. Cries of rage and pain, at one time distant and at another
close by, varied by yelling laughter, more terrible even than the cries,
sounded on either side of us. We passed through a last door, the most
solid of all, which shut out these dreadful noises, and found ourselves
in a little circular hall. Here the superintendent stopped, and listened
for a moment. There was dead silence. He beckoned to the attendant, and
pointed to a heavily nailed oaken door.

"Look in," he said.

The man drew aside a little shutter in the door, and looked through the
bars which guarded the opening.

"Is he waking or sleeping?" the superintendent asked.

"Waking, sir."

"Is he at work?"

"Yes, sir."

The superintendent turned to my aunt.

"You are fortunate, madam--you will see him in his quiet moments. He
amuses himself by making hats, baskets, and table-mats, out of his straw.
Very neatly put together, I assure you. One of our visiting physicians, a
man with a most remarkable sense of humor, gave him his nickname from his
work. Shall we open the door?"

My aunt had turned very pale; I could see that she was struggling with
violent agitation. "Give me a minute or two first," she said; "I want to
compose myself before I see him."

She sat down on a stone bench outside the door. "Tell me what you know
about this poor man?" she said. "I don't ask out of idle curiosity--I
have a better motive than that. Is he young or old?"

"Judging by his teeth," the superintendent answered, as if he had been
speaking of a horse, "he is certainly young. But his complexion is
completely gone, and his hair has turned gray. So far as we have been
able to make out (when he is willing to speak of himself), these
peculiarities in his personal appearance are due to a narrow escape from
poisoning by accident. But how the accident occurred, and where it
occurred, he either cannot or will not tell us. We know nothing about
him, except that he is absolutely friendless. He speaks English--but it
is with an odd kind of accent--and we don't know whether he is a
foreigner or not. You are to understand, madam, that he is here on
sufferance. This is a royal institution, and, as a rule, we only receive
lunatics of the educated class. But Jack Straw has had wonderful luck.
Being too mad, I suppose, to take care of himself, he was run over in one
of the streets in our neighborhood by the carriage of an exalted
personage, whom it would be an indiscretion on my part even to name. The
personage (an illustrious lady, I may inform you) was so distressed by
the accident--without the slightest need, for the man was not seriously
hurt--that she actually had him brought here in her carriage, and laid
her commands on us to receive him. Ah, Mrs. Wagner, her highness's heart
is worthy of her highness's rank. She occasionally sends to inquire after
the lucky lunatic who rolled under her horse's feet. We don't tell her
what a trouble and expense he is to us. We have had irons specially
invented to control him; and, if I am not mistaken," said the
superintendent, turning to the assistant, "a new whip was required only
last week."

The man put his hand into the big pocket of his coat, and produced a
horrible whip, of many lashes. He exhibited this instrument of torture
with every appearance of pride and pleasure. "This is what keeps him in
order, my lady," said the brute, cheerfully. "Just take it in your hand."

My aunt sprang to her feet. She was so indignant that I believe she would
have laid the whip across the man's shoulders, if his master had not
pushed him back without ceremony. "A zealous servant," said the
superintendent, smiling pleasantly. "Please excuse him."

My aunt pointed to the cell door.

"Open it," she said, "Let me see _anything,_ rather than set eyes on that
monster again!"

The firmness of her tone evidently surprised the superintendent. He knew
nothing of the reserves of resolution in her, which the mere sight of the
whip had called forth. The pallor had left her face; she trembled no
longer; her fine gray eyes were bright and steady. "That brute has roused
her," said the lawyer, looking back at the assistant, and whispering to
me; "nothing will restrain her, David--she will have her way now."

CHAPTER V

The superintendent opened the cell door with his own hand.

We found ourselves in a narrow, lofty prison, like an apartment in a
tower. High up, in one corner, the grim stone walls were pierced by a
grated opening, which let in air and light. Seated on the floor, in the
angle formed by the junction of two walls, we saw the superintendent's
"lucky lunatic" at work, with a truss of loose straw on either side of
him. The slanting rays of light from the high window streamed down on his
prematurely gray hair, and showed us the strange yellow pallor of his
complexion, and the youthful symmetry of his hands, nimbly occupied with
their work. A heavy chain held him to the wall. It was not only fastened
round his waist, it also fettered his legs between the knee and the
ankle. At the same time, it was long enough to allow him a range of
crippled movement, within a circle of five or six feet, as well as I
could calculate at the time. Above his head, ready for use if required,
hung a small chain evidently intended to confine his hands at the wrists.
Unless I was deceived by his crouching attitude, he was small in stature.
His ragged dress barely covered his emaciated form. In other and happier
days, he must have been a well-made little man; his feet and ankles, like
his hands, were finely and delicately formed. He was so absorbed in his
employment that he had evidently not heard the talking outside his cell.
It was only when the door was banged to by the assistant (who kept behind
us, at a sign from the superintendent) that he looked up. We now saw his
large vacantly-patient brown eyes, the haggard outline of his face, and
his nervously sensitive lips. For a moment, he looked from one to the
other of the visitors with a quiet childish curiosity. Then his wandering
glances detected the assistant, waiting behind us with the whip still in
his hand.

In an instant the whole expression of the madman's face changed.
Ferocious hatred glittered in his eyes; his lips, suddenly retracted,
showed his teeth like the teeth of a wild beast. My aunt perceived the
direction in which he was looking, and altered her position so as to
conceal from him the hateful figure with the whip, and to concentrate his
attention on herself. With startling abruptness, the poor creature's
expression changed once more. His eyes softened, a faint sad smile
trembled on his lips. He dropped the straw which he had been plaiting,
and lifted his hands with a gesture of admiration. "The pretty lady!" he
whispered to himself. "Oh, the pretty lady!"

He attempted to crawl out from the wall, as far as his chain would let
him. At a sign from the superintendent he stopped, and sighed bitterly.
"I wouldn't hurt the lady for the world," he said; "I beg your pardon,
Mistress, if I have frightened you."

His voice was wonderfully gentle. But there was something strange in his
accent--and there was perhaps a foreign formality in his addressing my
aunt as "Mistress." Englishmen in general would have called her "ma'am."

We men kept our places at a safe distance from his chain. My aunt, with a
woman's impulsive contempt of danger when her compassion is strongly
moved, stepped forward to him. The superintendent caught her by the arm
and checked her. "Take care," he said. "You don't know him as well as we
do."

Jack's eyes turned on the superintendent, dilating slowly. His lips began
to part again--I feared to see the ferocious expression in his face once
more. I was wrong. In the very moment of another outbreak of rage, the
unhappy man showed that he was still capable, under strong internal
influence, of restraining himself. He seized the chain that held him to
the wall in both hands, and wrung it with such convulsive energy that I
almost expected to see the bones of his fingers start through the skin.
His head dropped on his breast, his wasted figure quivered. It was only
for an instant. When he looked up again, his poor vacant brown eyes
turned on my aunt, dim with tears. She instantly shook off the
superintendent's hold on her arm. Before it was possible to interfere,
she was bending over Jack Straw, with one of her pretty white hands laid
gently on his head.

"How your head burns, poor Jack!" she said simply. "Does my hand cool
it?"

Still holding desperately by the chain, he answered like a timid child.
"Yes, Mistress; your hand cools it. Thank you."

She took up a little straw hat on which he had been working when his door
was opened. "This is very nicely done, Jack," she went on. "Tell me how
you first came to make these pretty things with your straw."

He looked up at her with a sudden accession of confidence; her interest
in the hat had flattered him.

"Once," he said, "there was a time when my hands were the maddest things
about me. They used to turn against me and tear my hair and my flesh. An
angel in a dream told me how to keep them quiet. An angel said, "Let them
work at your straw." All day long I plaited my straw. I would have gone
on all night too, if they would only have given me a light. My nights are
bad, my nights are dreadful. The raw air eats into me, the black darkness
frightens me. Shall I tell you what is the greatest blessing in the
world? Daylight! Daylight!! Daylight!!!"

At each repetition of the word his voice rose. He was on the point of
breaking into a scream, when he took a tighter turn of his chain and
instantly silenced himself. "I am quiet, sir," he said, before the
superintendent could reprove him.

My aunt added a word in his favor. "Jack has promised not to frighten me;
and I am sure he will keep his word. Have you never had parents or
friends to be kind to you, my poor fellow?" she asked, turning to him
again.

He looked up at her. "Never," he said, "till you came here to see me." As
he spoke, there was a flash of intelligence in the bright gratitude of
his eyes. "Ask me something else," he pleaded; "and see how quietly I can
answer you."

"Is it true, Jack, that you were once poisoned by accident, and nearly
killed by it?"

"Yes!"

"Where was it?"

"Far away in another country. In the doctor's big room. In the time when
I was the doctor's man."

"Who was the doctor?"

He put his hand to his head, "Give me more time," he said. "It hurts me
when I try to remember too much. Let me finish my hat first. I want to
give you my hat when it's done. You don't know how clever I am with my
fingers and thumbs. Just look and see!"

He set to work on the hat; perfectly happy while my aunt was looking at
him. The lawyer was the unlucky person who produced a change for the
worse. Having hitherto remained passive, this worthy gentleman seemed to
think it was due to his own importance to take a prominent part in the
proceedings. "My professional experience will come in well here," he
said; "I mean to treat him as an unwilling witness; you will see we shall
get something out of him in that way. Jack!"

The unwilling witness went on impenetrably with his work. The lawyer
(keeping well out of reach of the range of the chain) raised his voice.
"Hullo, there!" he cried, "you're not deaf, are you?"

Jack looked up, with an impish expression of mischief in his eyes. A man
with a modest opinion of himself would have taken warning, and would have
said no more. The lawyer persisted.

"Now, my man! let us have a little talk. 'Jack Straw' can't be your
proper name. What is your name?"

"Anything you like," said Jack. "What's yours?"

"Oh, come! that won't do. You must have had a father and mother."

"Not that I know of."

"Where were you born?"

"In the gutter."

"How were you brought up?"

"Sometimes with a cuff on the head."

"And at other times?"

"At other times with a kick. Do be quiet, and let me finish my hat."

The discomfited lawyer tried a bribe as a last resource. He held up a
shilling. "Do you see this?"

"No, I don't. I see nothing but my hat."

This reply brought the examination to an end. The lawyer looked at the
superintendent, and said, "A hopeless case, sir." The superintendent
looked at the lawyer, and answered, "Perfectly hopeless."

Jack finished his hat, and gave it to my aunt. "Do you like it, now it's
done?" he asked.

"I like it very much," she answered: "and one of these days I shall trim
it with ribbons, and wear it for your sake."

She appealed to the superintendent, holding out the hat to him.

"Look," she said. "There is not a false turn anywhere in all this
intricate plaiting. Poor Jack is sane enough to fix his attention to this
subtle work. Do you give him up as incurable, when he can do that?"

The superintendent waved away the question with his hand. "Purely
mechanical," he replied. "It means nothing."

Jack touched my aunt. "I want to whisper," he said. She bent down to him,
and listened.

I saw her smile, and asked, after we had left the asylum, what he had
said. Jack had stated his opinion of the principal officer of Bethlehem
Hospital in these words: "Don't you listen to him, Mistress; he's a poor
half-witted creature. And short, too--not above six inches taller than I
am!"

But my aunt had not done with Jack's enemy yet.

"I am sorry to trouble you, sir," she resumed--"I have something more to
say before I go, and I wish to say it privately. Can you spare me a few
minutes?"

The amiable superintendent declared that he was entirely at her service.
She turned to Jack to say good-bye. The sudden discovery that she was
about to leave him was more than he could sustain; he lost his
self-control.

"Stay with me!" cried the poor wretch, seizing her by both hands. "Oh, be
merciful, and stay with me!"

She preserved her presence of mind--she would permit no interference to
protect her. Without starting back, without even attempting to release
herself, she spoke to him quietly.

"Let us shake hands for to-day," she said; "you have kept your promise,
Jack--you have been quiet and good. I must leave you for a while. Let me
go."

He obstinately shook his head, and still held her.

"Look at me," she persisted, without showing any fear of him. "I want to
tell you something. You are no longer a friendless creature, Jack. You
have a friend in me. Look up."

Her clear firm tones had their effect on him; he looked up. Their eyes
met.

"Now, let me go, as I told you."

He dropped her hand, and threw himself back in his corner and burst out
crying.

"I shall never see her again," he moaned to himself. "Never, never, never
again!"

"You shall see me to-morrow," she said.

He looked at her through his tears, and looked away again with an abrupt
change to distrust. "She doesn't mean it," he muttered, still speaking to
himself; "she only says it to pacify me."

"You shall see me to-morrow," my aunt reiterated; "I promise it."

He was cowed, but not convinced; he crawled to the full length of his
chain, and lay down at her feet like a dog. She considered for a
moment--and found her way to his confidence at last.

"Shall I leave you something to keep for me until I see you again?"

The idea struck him like a revelation: he lifted his head, and eyed her
with breathless interest. She gave him a little ornamental handbag, in
which she was accustomed to carry her handkerchief, and purse, and
smelling-bottle.

"I trust it entirely to you, Jack: you shall give it back to me when we
meet to-morrow."

Those simple words more than reconciled him to her departure--they subtly
flattered his self-esteem.

"You will find your bag torn to pieces, to-morrow," the superintendent
whispered, as the door was opened for us to go out.

"Pardon me, sir," my aunt replied; "I believe I shall find it quite
safe."

The last we saw of poor Jack, before the door closed on him, he was
hugging the bag in both arms, and kissing it.

CHAPTER VI

On our return to home, I found Fritz Keller smoking his pipe in the
walled garden at the back of the house.

In those days, it may not be amiss to remark that merchants of the
old-fashioned sort still lived over their counting-houses in the city.
The late Mr. Wagner's place of business included two spacious houses
standing together, with internal means of communication. One of these
buildings was devoted to the offices and warehouses. The other (having
the garden at the back) was the private residence.

Fritz advanced to meet me, and stopped, with a sudden change in his
manner. "Something has happened," he said--"I see it in your face! Has
the madman anything to do with it?"

"Yes. Shall I tell you what has happened, Fritz?"

"Not for the world. My ears are closed to all dreadful and distressing
narratives. I will imagine the madman--let us talk of something else."

"You will probably see him, Fritz, in a few weeks' time."

"You don't mean to tell me he is coming into this house?"

"I am afraid it's likely, to say the least of it."

Fritz looked at me like a man thunderstruck. "There are some
disclosures," he said, in his quaint way, "which are too overwhelming to
be received on one's legs. Let us sit down."

He led the way to a summer-house at the end of the garden. On the wooden
table, I observed a bottle of the English beer which my friend prized so
highly, with glasses on either side of it.

"I had a presentiment that we should want a consoling something of this
sort," said Fritz. "Fill your glass, David, and let out the worst of it
at once, before we get to the end of the bottle."

I let out the best of it first--that is to say, I told him what I have
related in the preceding pages. Fritz was deeply interested: full of
compassion for Jack Straw, but not in the least converted to my aunt's
confidence in him.

"Jack is supremely pitiable," he remarked; "but Jack is also a smoldering
volcano--and smoldering volcanos burst into eruption when the laws of
nature compel them. My only hope is in Mr. Superintendent. Surely he will
not let this madman loose on us, with nobody but your aunt to hold the
chain? What did she really say, when you left Jack, and had your private
talk in the reception-room? One minute, my friend, before you begin,"
said Fritz, groping under the bench upon which we were seated. "I had a
second presentiment that we might want a second bottle--and here it is!
Fill your glass; and let us establish ourselves in our respective
positions--you to administer, and I to sustain, a severe shock to the
moral sense. I think, David, this second bottle is even more deliciously
brisk than the first. Well, and what did your aunt say?"

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