Books: Jezebel

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

"No! The removal twenty-four hours after death."

"To what place?"

"To the Deadhouse."

CHAPTER XVI

Acting on the doctor's information, the burgomaster issued his order. At
eight o'clock in the evening, on the third of January, the remains of
Mrs. Wagner were to be removed to the cemetery-building, outside the
Friedberg Gate of Frankfort.

Long before the present century, the dread of premature
interment--excited by traditions of persons accidentally buried
alive--was a widely-spread feeling among the people of Germany. In other
cities besides Frankfort, the municipal authorities devised laws, the
object of which was to make this frightful catastrophe impossible. In the
early part of the present century, these laws were re-enacted and revised
by the City of Frankfort. The Deadhouse was attached to the cemetery,
with a double purpose. First, to afford a decent resting-place for the
corpse, when death occurred among the crowded residences of the poorer
class of the population. Secondly, to provide as perfect a safeguard as
possible against the chances of premature burial. The use of the
Deadhouse (strictly confined to the Christian portion of the inhabitants)
was left to the free choice of surviving relatives or
representatives--excepting only those cases in which a doctor's
certificate justified the magistrate in pronouncing an absolute decision.
Even in the event of valid objections to the Deadhouse as a last
resting-place on the way to the grave, the doctor in attendance on the
deceased person was subjected to certain restrictions in issuing his
certificate. He was allowed to certify the death informally, for the
purpose of facilitating the funeral arrangements. But he was absolutely
forbidden to give his written authority for the burial, before the
expiration of three nights from the time of the death; and he was further
bound to certify that the signs of decomposition had actually begun to
show themselves. Have these multiplied precautions, patiently applied in
many German cities, through a long lapse of years, ever yet detected a
case in which Death has failed to complete its unintelligible work? Let
the answer be found in the cells of the dead. Pass, with the mourners,
through the iron gates--hear and see!

On the evening of the third, as the time approached for the arrival of
the hearse, the melancholy stillness in the house was only broken by Mr.
Keller's servants, below-stairs. Collecting together in one room, they
talked confidentially, in low voices. An instinctive horror of silence,
in moments of domestic distress, is, in all civilized nations, one of the
marked characteristics of their class.

"In ten minutes," said Joseph, "the men from the cemetery will be here to
take her away. It will be no easy matter to carry her downstairs on the
couch."

"Why is she not put in her coffin, like other dead people?" the housemaid
asked.

"Because the crazy creature she brought with her from London is allowed
to have his own way in the house," Joseph answered irritably. "If I had
been brought to the door drunk last night, I should have been sent away
this morning. If I had been mad enough to screech out, 'She isn't dead;
not one of you shall put her in a coffin!'--I should have richly deserved
a place in the town asylum, and I should have got my deserts. Nothing of
the sort for Master Jack. Mr. Keller only tells him to be quiet, and
looks distressed. The doctor takes him away, and speaks to him in another
room--and actually comes back converted to Jack's opinion!"

"You don't mean to tell us," exclaimed the cook, "that the doctor said
she wasn't dead?"

"Of course not. It was he who first found out that she _was_ dead--I only
mean that he let Jack have his own way. He asked me for a foot rule, and
he measured the little couch in the bedroom. 'It's no longer than the
coffin' (he says); 'and I see no objection to the body being laid on it,
till the time comes for the burial.' Those were his own words; and when
the nurse objected to it, what do you think he said?--'Hold your tongue!
A couch is a pleasanter thing all the world over than a coffin.' "

"Blasphemous!" said the cook--"that's what I call it."

"Ah, well, well!" the housemaid remarked, "couch or coffin, she looks
beautiful, poor soul, in her black velvet robe, with the winter flowers
in her pretty white hands. Who got the flowers? Madame Fontaine, do you
think?"

"Bah! Madame Fontaine, indeed! Little Crazybrains went out (instead of
eating the good dinner I cooked for him), and got the flowers. He
wouldn't let anybody put them into her hands but himself--at least, so
the nurse said. Has anybody seen Madame Housekeeper? Was she downstairs
at dinner to-day, Joseph?"

"Not she! You mark my words," said Joseph, "there's some very serious
reason for her keeping her room, on pretense of being ill."

"Can you give any guess what it is?"

"You shall judge for yourself," Joseph answered. "Did I tell you what
happened yesterday evening, before Jack was brought home by the nurse's
brother? I answered a ring at the door-bell--and there was Mr. Fritz in a
towering passion, with Miss Minna on his arm looking ready to drop with
fatigue. They rang for some wine; and I heard what he said to his father.
It seems that Madame Fontaine had gone out walking in the dark and the
cold (and her daughter with her), without rhyme or reason. Mr. Fritz met
them, and insisted on taking Miss Minna home. Her mother didn't seem to
care what he said or did. She went on walking by herself, as hard as she
could lay her feet to the ground. And what do you suppose her excuse was?
Her nerves were out of order! Mr. Fritz's notion is that there is
something weighing on her mind. An hour afterwards she came back to the
house--and I found reason to agree with Mr. Fritz."

"Tell us all about it, Joseph! What did she do?"

"You shall hear. It happened, just after I had seen crazy Jack safe in
his bed. When I heard the bell, I was on my way downstairs, with a
certain bottle in my hand. One of you saw the nurse's brother give it to
me, I think? How he and Crazybrains came into possession of it, mind you,
is more than I know."

"It looked just like the big medicine-bottle that cured Mr. Keller," said
the cook.

"It _was_ the bottle; and, what is more, it smelt of wine, instead of
medicine, and it was empty. Well, I opened the door to Madame
Housekeeper, with the bottle in my hand. The instant she set eyes on it,
she snatched it away from me. She looked--I give you my word of honor,
she looked as if she could have cut my throat. "You wretch!"--nice
language to use to a respectable servant, eh?--"You wretch" (she says),
"how did you come by this?" I made her a low bow. I said, "Civility costs
nothing, ma'am; and sometimes buys a great deal" (severe, eh?). I told
her exactly what had happened, and exactly what Schwartz had said. And
then I ended with another hard hit. "The next time anything of yours is
put into my hands," I said, "I shall leave it to take care of itself." I
don't know whether she heard me; she was holding the bottle up to the
light. When she saw it was empty--well! I can't tell you, of course, what
was passing in her mind. But this I can swear; she shivered and shuddered
as if she had got a fit of the ague; and pale as she was when I let her
into the house, I do assure you she turned paler still. I thought I
should have to take _her_ upstairs next. My good creatures, she's made of
iron! Upstairs she went. I followed her as far as the first landing, and
saw Mr. Keller waiting--to tell her the news of Mrs. Wagner's death, I
suppose. What passed between them I can't say. Mr. Fritz tells me she has
never left her room since; and his father has not even sent a message to
know how she is. What do you think of that?"

"I think Mr. Fritz was mistaken, when he told you she had never left her
room," said the housemaid. "I am next to certain I heard her whispering,
early this morning, with crazy Jack. Do you think she will follow the
hearse to the Deadhouse, with Mr. Keller and the doctor?"

"Hush!" said Joseph. As he spoke, the heavy wheels of the hearse were
heard in the street. He led the way to the top of the kitchen stairs.
"Wait here," he whispered, "while I answer the door--and you will see."

Upstairs, in the drawing-room, Fritz and Minna were alone. Madame
Fontaine's door, closed to everyone, was a closed door even to her
daughter.

Fritz had refused to let Minna ask a second time to be let in. "It will
soon be your husband's privilege, my darling, to take care of you and
comfort you," he said. "At this dreadful time, there must be no
separation between you and me."

His arm was round her; her head rested on his shoulder. She looked up at
him timidly.

"Are you not going with them to the cemetery?" she asked.

"I am going to stay with you, Minna."

"You were angry yesterday, Fritz, when you met me with my mother. Don't
think the worse of her, because she is ill and troubled in her mind. You
will make allowances for her as I do--won't you?"

"My sweet girl, there is nothing I won't do to please you! Kiss me,
Minna. Again! again!"

On the higher floor of the house, Mr. Keller and the doctor were waiting
in the chamber of death.

Jack kept his silent watch by the side of the couch, on which the one
human creature who had befriended him lay hushed in the last earthly
repose. Still, from time to time, he whispered to himself the sad
senseless words, "No, no, no--not dead, Mistress! Not dead yet!"

There was a soft knock at the door. The doctor opened it. Madame Fontaine
stood before him. She spoke in dull monotonous tones--standing in the
doorway; refusing, when she was invited by a gesture, to enter the room.

"The hearse has stopped at the door," she said. "The men wish to ask you
if they can come in."

It was Joseph's duty to make this announcement. Her motive for
forestalling him showed itself dimly in her eyes. They were not on Mr.
Keller; not on the doctor; not on the couch. From the moment when the
door had been opened to her, she fixed her steady look on Jack. It never
moved until the bearers of the dead hid him from her when they entered
the room.

The procession passed out. Jack, at Mr. Keller's command, followed last.
Standing back at the doorway, Madame Fontaine caught him by the arm as he
came out.

"You were half asleep this morning," she whispered. "You are not half
asleep now. How did you get the blue-glass bottle? I insist on knowing."

"I won't tell you!"

Madame Fontaine altered her tone.

"Will you tell me who emptied the bottle? I have always been kind to
you--it isn't much to ask. Who emptied it?"

His variable temper changed; he lifted his head proudly. Absolutely sure
of his mistress's recovery, he now claimed the merit that was his due.

_"I_ emptied it!"

"How did you empty it?" she asked faintly. "Did you throw away what was
in it? Did you give it to anybody?"

He seized her in his turn--and dragged her to the railing of the
corridor. "Look there!" he cried, pointing to the bearers, slowly
carrying their burden down the stairs. "Do you see her, resting on her
little sofa till she recovers? I gave it to her!"

He left her, and descended the stairs. She staggered back against the
wall of the corridor. Her sight seemed to be affected. She groped for the
stair-rail, and held by it. The air was wafted up through the open
street-door. It helped her to rally her energies. She went down steadily,
step by step, to the first landing--paused, and went down again. Arrived
in the hall, she advanced to Mr. Keller, and spoke to him.

"Are you going to see the body laid in the Deadhouse?"

"Yes."

"Is there any objection to my seeing it too?"

"The authorities have no objection to admitting friends of the deceased
person," Mr. Keller answered. He looked at her searchingly, and added,
"Do _you_ go as a friend?"

It was rashly said; and he knew it. The magistrates had decided that the
first inquiries should be conducted with the greatest secrecy. For that
day, at least, the inmates of the house were to enjoy their usual liberty
of action (under private superintendence), so that no suspicion might be
excited in the mind of the guilty person. Conscious of having trifled
with the serious necessity of keeping a guard over his tongue, Mr. Keller
waited anxiously for Madame Fontaine's reply.

Not a word fell from her lips. There was a slight hardening of her face,
and no more. In ominous silence, she turned about and ascended the stairs
again.

CHAPTER XVII

The departure from the house was interrupted by an unforeseen cause of
delay.

Jack refused to follow the hearse, with Doctor Dormann and Mr. Keller. "I
won't lose sight of her!" he cried--"no! not for a moment! Of all living
creatures, I must be the first to see her when she wakes."

Mr. Keller turned to the doctor. "What does he mean?"

The doctor, standing back in the shadow of the house, seemed to have some
reason for not answering otherwise than by gesture. He touched his
forehead significantly; and, stepping out into the road, took Jack by the
hand. The canopy of the hearse, closed at the sides, was open at either
end. From the driver's seat, the couch became easily visible on looking
round. With inexhaustible patience the doctor quieted the rising
excitement in Jack, and gained him permission to take his place by the
driver's side. Always grateful for kindness, he thanked Doctor Dormann,
with the tears falling fast over his cheeks. "I'm not crying for _her,"_
said the poor little man; "she will soon be herself again. But it's so
dreadful, sir, to go out driving with her in such a carriage as this!"

The hearse moved away.

Doctor Dormann, walking with Mr. Keller, felt his arm touched, and,
looking round, saw the dimly-outlined figure of a woman beckoning to him.
He drew back, after a word of apology to his companion, who continued to
follow the hearse. The woman met him half way. He recognized Madame
Fontaine.

"You are a learned man," she began abruptly. "Do you understand writing
in cipher?"

"Sometimes."

"If you have half an hour to spare this evening, look at that--and do me
the favor of telling me what it means."

She offered something to him, which appeared in the dim light to be only
a sheet of paper. He hesitated to take it from her. She tried to press it
on him.

"I found it among my husband's papers," she said. "He was a great
chemist, as you know. It might be interesting to you."

He still hesitated.

"Are _you_ acquainted with chemical science?" he asked.

"I am perfectly ignorant of chemical science."

"Then what interest can you have in interpreting the cipher?"

"I have a very serious interest. There may be something dangerous in it,
if it fell into unscrupulous hands. I want to know if I ought to destroy
it."

He suddenly took the paper from her. It felt stiff, like a sheet of
cartridge-paper.

"You shall hear," he said. "In case of necessity, I will destroy it
myself. Anything more?"

"One thing more. Does Jack go to the cemetery with you and Mr. Keller?"

"Yes."

Walking away rapidly to overtake Mr. Keller, he looked behind him once or
twice. The street was dimly lit, in those days, by a few oil lamps. He
might be mistaken--but he thought that Madame Fontaine was following him.

On leaving the city, the lanterns were lit to guide the hearse along the
road that led to the cemetery. The overseer met the bearers at the gates.

They passed, under a Doric portico, into a central hall. At its
right-hand extremity, an open door revealed a room for the accommodation
of mourners. Beyond this there was a courtyard; and, farther still, the
range of apartments devoted to the residence of the cemetery-overseer.
Turning from the right-hand division of the building, the bearers led the
way to the opposite extremity of the hall; passed through a second room
for mourners; crossed a second courtyard beyond it; and, turning into a
narrow passage, knocked at a closed door.

The door was opened by a watchman. He admitted them into a long room,
situated between the courtyard at one end, and the cemetery at the other,
and having ten side recesses which opened out of it. The long room was
the Watchman's Chamber. The recesses were the cells which held the dead.

The couch was set down in the Watchman's Chamber. It was a novelty in the
Deadhouse; and the overseer asked for an explanation. Doctor Dormann
informed him that the change had been made, with his full approval, to
satisfy a surviving friend, and that the coffin would be provided before
the certificate was granted for the burial.

While the persons present were all gathered round the doctor and the
overseer, Madame Fontaine softly pushed open the door from the courtyard.
After a look at the recesses--situated, five on either side of the length
of the room, and closed by black curtains--she parted the curtains of the
nearest recess to her, on her left hand; and stepped in without being
noticed by anyone.

"You take the responsibility of the couch, doctor, if the authorities
raise any objection?" said the overseer.

This condition being complied with, he addressed himself to the watchman.
"The cells are all empty to-night, Duntzer, are they not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you off duty, early or late this evening?"

"I am off duty in half an hour, sir."

The overseer pointed to the couch. "You can attend to this," he said.
"Take the cell that is the nearest to you, where the watchman's chair is
placed--Number Five."

He referred to the fifth recess, at the upper end of the room on the
right, counting from the courtyard door. The watchman looped up the black
curtains, while the bearers placed the couch in the cell. This done, the
bearers were dismissed.

Doctor Dormann pointed through the parted curtains to the lofty cell,
ventilated from the top, and warmed (like the Watchman's Chamber) by an
apparatus under the flooring. In the middle of the cell was a stand,
placed there to support the coffin. Above the stand a horizontal bar
projected, which was fixed over the doorway. It was furnished with a
pulley, through which passed a long thin string hanging loosely downward
at one end, and attached at the other to a small alarm-bell, placed over
the door on the outer side--that is to say, on the side of the Watchman's
Chamber.

"All the cells are equal in size," said the doctor to Mr. Keller, "and
are equally clean, and well warmed. The hot bath, in another room, is
always ready; and a cabinet, filled with restorative applications, is
close by. Now look at the watchman, and mark the care that is taken--in
the event, for instance, of a cataleptic trance, and of a revival
following it."

Duntzer led the way into the cell. He took the loose end of the string,
hanging from above, and attached to it two shorter and lighter strings,
each of which terminated in five loose ends.

From these ten ends hung ten little thimble-shaped objects, made of
brass.

First slightly altering the position of the couch on the stand, Duntzer
lifted the dead hands--fitted the ten brass thimbles to the fingers and
the thumbs--and gently laid the hands back on the breast of the corpse.
When he had looked up, and had satisfied himself of the exact connection
between the hands and the line communicating with the alarm-bell outside,
his duty was done. He left the cell; and, seating himself in his chair,
waited the arrival of the night-watchman who was to relieve him.

Mr. Keller came out into the chamber, and spoke to the overseer.

"Is all done now?"

"All is done."

"I should like, while I am here, to speak to you about the grave."

The overseer bowed. "You can see the plan of the cemetery," he said, "in
my office on the other side of the building."

Mr. Keller looked back into the cell. Jack had taken his place in it,
when the couch had been carried in; and Doctor Dormann was quietly
observing him. Mr. Keller beckoned to Jack. "I am waiting for you," he
said. "Come!"

"And leave Mistress?" Jack answered. "Never!"

Mr. Keller was on the point of stepping into the cell, when Doctor
Dormann took his arm, and led him away out of hearing.

"I want to ask you a question," said the doctor. "Was that poor
creature's madness violent madness, when Mrs. Wagner took him out of the
London asylum?"

"I have heard her say so."

"Be careful what you do with him. Mrs. Wagner's death has tried his weak
brain seriously. I am afraid of a relapse into that violent
madness--leave him to me."

Mr. Keller left the room with the overseer. Doctor Dormann returned to
the cell.

"Listen to me, Jack," he said. "If your mistress revives (as you think),
I want you to see for yourself how she will tell it to the man who is on
the watch." He turned, and spoke to Duntzer. "Is the alarm-bell set?"

"Yes, sir."

The doctor addressed himself once more to Jack.

"Now look, and listen!" he said.

He delicately touched one of the brass thimbles, fitted to the fingers of
the corpse. The bell rang instantly in the Watchman's Chamber.

"The moment the man hears that," he resumed, "he will make the signal,
which calls the overseer and the nurses to help your mistress back to
life. At the same time, a messenger will be sent to Mr. Keller's house to
tell you what has happened. You see how well she is taken care of--and
you will behave sensibly, I am sure? I am going away. Come with me."

Jack answered as he had answered Mr. Keller.

"Never!" he said.

He flung himself on the floor, and clasped his arms round one of the
pillars supporting the stand on which the couch was placed. "Tear my arms
out of their sockets," he cried--"you won't get me away till you've done
that!"

Before the doctor could answer, footsteps were heard in the Watchman's
Chamber. A jolly voice asked a question. "Any report for the night,
Duntzer?"

Jack seemed to recognize the voice. He looked round eagerly.

"A corpse in Number Five," Duntzer answered. "And strangers in the cell.
Contrary to the order for the night, as you know. I have reported them;
it's your duty to send them away. Good night."

A red-nosed old man looked in at the doorway of the cell. Jack started to
his feet. "Here's Schwartz!" he cried--"leave me with Schwartz!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The discovery of Jack agreeably surprised Schwartz, without in the least
perplexing him.

His little friend (as he reasoned) had, no doubt, remembered the
invitation to the Deadhouse, and had obtained admission through the
interference of the strange gentleman who was with him. But who was the
gentleman? The deputy night-watchman (though he might carry messages for
his relative the nurse) was not personally acquainted with his sister's
medical patrons in Frankfort. He looked at the doctor with an expression
of considerable doubt.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he ventured to say, "you're not a member of the
city council, are you?"

"I have nothing to do with the city council."

"And nothing to do with managing the Deadhouse?"

"Nothing. I am Doctor Dormann."

Schwartz snapped his clumsy fingers, as an appropriate expression of
relief. "All right, sir! Leave the little man with me--I'll take care of
him."

"Do you know this person?" asked the doctor, turning to Jack.

"Yes! yes! leave me here with him," Jack answered eagerly. "Good-night,
sir--good-night!"

Doctor Dormann looked again at Jack's friend.

"I thought strangers were not allowed here at night," he said.

"It's against the rules," Schwartz admitted. "But, Lord love you, sir,
think of the dullness of this place! Besides, I'm only a deputy. In three
nights more, the regular man will come on duty again. It's an awful job,
doctor, watching alone here, all night. One of the men actually went mad,
and hanged himself. To be sure he was a poet in his way, which makes it
less remarkable. I'm not a poet myself--I'm only a sociable creature.
Leave little Jack with me! I'll send him home safe and sound--I feel like
a father to him."

The doctor hesitated. What was he to do? Jack had already returned to the
cell in which his mistress lay. To remove him by the brutal exercise of
main force was a proceeding from which Doctor Dormann's delicacy of
feeling naturally recoiled--to say nothing of the danger of provoking
that outbreak of madness against which the doctor had himself warned Mr.
Keller. Persuasion he had already tried in vain. Delegated authority to
control Jack had not been conferred on him. There seemed to be no other
course than to yield.

"If you persist in your obstinacy," he said to Jack, "I must return alone
to Mr. Keller's house, and tell him that I have left you here with your
friend."

Jack was already absorbed in his own thoughts. He only repeated vacantly,
"Good-night."

Doctor Dormann left the room. Schwartz looked in at his guest. "Wait
there for the present," he said. "The porter will be here directly: I
don't want him to see you."

The porter came in after an interval. "All right for the night?" he
asked.

"All right," Schwartz answered.

The porter withdrew in silence. The night-watchman's reply was his
authority for closing the gates of the Deadhouse until the next morning.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23