A German Tale
Originally published in Reynolds's Miscellany of Romance, General Literature, Science, and Art (John Dicks) vol.8 #191 (06 Mar 1852).
I was passing my last summer in B—, the capital town of one of the German principalities. Being the residence of a prince it was embellished by many beauties of architecture. The principal street, formed by a double row of handsomely-built houses, with shop-fronts, was the favourite promenade of the higher classes. This street was my favourite promenade also; and, one day, as I was sauntering leisurely along, looking at the different varieties of merchandise displayed in the shop windows, and admiring the symmetrical uniformity of the buildings, my attention was attracted by a small old-fashioned house which destroyed most provokingly the regularity of the row.
Fancy a house with only four small windows, rising one floor above the basement, and literally crushed by the magnificent buildings between which it was placed. I stopped, and found on closer observation, that the roof was in a very delapidated state; the walls discoloured; neither bell nor knocker to the door; the lower windows were walled up, and the upper ones rendered impenetrable by the blinds which covered them. My impression was that this dwelling must be quite uninhabited. Let me pass at whatever hour I might, I could not perceive any sign of life within this house. Such a house, in such a neighbourhood, was a curious phenomenon indeed! Well, perhaps the proprietor may be travelling; he may not choose to let the place in his absence—In spite of this reasoning, as often as I passed, a supernatural power appeared to rivet me before it.
One day, at the most fashionable hour, I was as usual staring at the house: some one came to my side; I turned my head, it was the Count P—. I knew him to be—like myself—rather fond of mystic investigations, and I was surprised to see an ironical smile playing on his features. "You undoubtedly expect that there is some great mystery attached to this place?" said he. "You will be disappointed: it is nothing more than the bakery belonging to the confectioner whose handsome shop is next door. The oven is built where the windows are walled up, and the upper windows are covered so closely only to preserve the goods against the flies and the sun." This explanation had upon me the effect of a slight shower bath; yet I could not turn my attention from the house. I could not use myself to the idea that sweetmeats, preserves, and pastry, were taking their stand behind those curtains. They only appeared to me to be so many sweet persuasions to soothe my excited imagination. "Am I not a very fool," asked I of myself "always searching for the marvellous in the most ordinary things?"
As the house continued in the same state, without the least alteration, I became used to its singularity, though I could not help always casting a curious eye upon it as I passed. One day I perceived that the curtain at the last window was moving. A hand, an arm became visible. I took my eye-glass, and saw distinctly the white and well-formed hand of a woman; on her little finger shone a ring of extraordinary brilliancy, and a rich bracelet clasped the finely moulded arm. The hand, after having placed a crystal bottle on the window-sill, disappeared behind the curtain. I stood amazed: a stream of electric warmth ran through my whole frame, and my eyes were fascinated to the window. At last, fearing to attract too much the attention of the people, I continued my walk.
"It must have been the wife of the confectioner who placed the bottle on the window-sill," thought I, walking along. Still the affair appeared a strange one, and turning back, I resolved to go into the shop.
"You have enlarged your establishment," said I to the confectioner carelessly, as I was sipping my chocolate.
The man threw on me an inquiring look. I gave him clearly to understand that I meant he had done well in making a bakehouse out of the adjoining dwelling, though it impaired the beauty of the street.
"Who could have told you, sir, that the little house belonged to us?" exclaimed he. "On the contrary, all the efforts we have made to obtain it have been unsuccessful, and perhaps it is as well, for if you knew all—"
It maybe easily imagined how much my curiosity was excited, and how I insisted upon knowing all the particulars.
"Well, all I can tell you, sir," began the confectioner, "is that the house belongs to the Countess S—, who has not resided there for many years. Long before the houses which now decorate the street were built, this one stood in the state in which you now see it. There are only two beings living in the house; the one an old misanthropic steward, and the other, a cross, ill-tempered dog, who sometimes vents his spleen by barking at the moon. Rumour says the place is haunted; and indeed both my brother and I hear strange sounds in the dead of night. We have listened to plaintive sounds which have been succeeded by rumbling noises, until we have both shuddered with a sort of horror. And sometimes we have heard strange singing, in the voice of an old woman, but then the notes would become so clear, so resounding, they would run so high, and in such fitful cadences, that we have felt it impossible they could proceed from the throat of a natural cantatrice. Then at other times, when the noise in the street is abated, we hear deep sighs, and hollow laughing, which seem to come from under the earth. You see," continued the confectioner, conducting me into the back parlour, and bidding me look through the window; "you see the iron pipe coming out of the wall; it always has smoke issuing from it, and when we—afraid of fire—have asked about it, the old man would say, 'Oh, I am only cooking my dinner.' Heaven knows what he cooks, for there is often a most peculiar odour!"
At that moment the glass door of the shop opened—the confectioner went forward giving me a most significant look; I understood it perfectly the strange being just entered could be none other than the steward of the mysterious house.
Picture a man of low stature, parchment-like skin, pointed nose, compressed lips, green eyes, like those of a cat, thin, but of a large bony make, with immense hands. Add to this portrait, powdered hair, done in a long queue behind, a coffee-brown coat, grey stockings, square-toed shoes, with large paste buckles, and you have before you the strange personage to whom my attention was just called.
Advancing to the counter he asked in an almost inaudible tone for "a few preserved oranges, a few macaroons, a few sugared chesnuts." The confectioner fetched the articles asked for. "Weigh them, my friend," said the old man, taking from his pocket a leathern purse, out of which he took a few pieces of old-looking coin. "Sweet, very sweet, these things; Satan might win his bride with such dainties," said he, in such a dull tone of voice that the confectioner observed, "You are not well to-day; but you know, as age creeps on us, our strength declines; you are becoming weak and feeble."
Without changing his countenance, the old man raised his voice and repeated, "Old, old—strength declining—weak, feeble! Oh, Oh! " and he burst into a maniac-laugh; then putting the goods into his pocket, he took the hand of the confectioner within his own, and in wishing him good day, pressed his hand with such force that he cried out most awfully. "Good day! the weak old man wishes you a good day," repeated he, and went out of the shop.
I was left quite in a state of amazement. "You see," said the confectioner to me, "that's his way. He comes every week, and all you can learn from him is that he has been the valet of the Count S—, and that he is expecting the arrival of the countess daily. He has been waiting one day after another for years. When questioned about the strange sounds we hear in the night-time, he said very quietly, 'Oh, yes; I know folks say the house is haunted, but do not believe anything of the sort.'"
At this moment a crowd of fashionables entered the shop, and put a stop to my interrogations.
Amidst all this darkness one or two things were clear to me: the account I heard from Count P— was false, and the old steward—in spite of his statement to the contrary—was not alone in the house. Some great mystery was concealed from the eyes of the world. I could not reconcile the singing and the arm. The beautiful arm could not belong to the shrunken body of an old woman, and the extraordinary singing could not proceed from the throat of a young and lovely girl. I thought of the smoke, the strange smell, the crystal bottle, the beautiful hand and arm, and soon the image of a magnificently formed being, under the spell of some charm, stood before my eyes. The steward appeared to be some sorcerer, who, unknown to the count, was practising his diabolical arts in the house. My imagination was at work, and the same night as I lay in a somniferous state, I saw distinctly the hand with the ring, the arms with the bracelet, and gradually coming as it were out of a thin vapour, a lovely face, with melancholy blue eyes, and at last the whole figure of a beautiful girl. "Charming image!" I cried, full of rapturous delight, "I know you are enchained by the black art, but I will set you free."
This vision had appeared so clearly to my eyes, that the day had scarcely dawned, when I, in a state of great agitation, was wending my way to the promenade. I placed myself opposite the old house. The blinds were closed. As the street was quite deserted, I advanced to the window and listened. Not a sound was to be heard—all was still as the grave. I waited for some time, but as the morning advanced the tradespeople began to stir, so I could not remain without longer being observed. Day after day did I lurk about the house and make inquiries respecting it, but all to no purpose. I was returning one evening rather later than usual from my accustomed walk, when I saw the door of the house was half open, and the old steward looking out.
"At length the moment is come for gratifying my curiosity," said I to myself. I went to the door. "Does not the Counsellor of the Finances live here?" asked I, forcing my way into a badly-lighted hall.
"No, he does not," answered the old man, with his maniac-like laugh. "He never did, and he never will live in this house, ah, ah, ah! Folks say the house is haunted; but I assure you it is not; it is a very quiet, nice house, and I expect our good countess to-morrow. Good night, sir."
I was thus put out of the house, and the door closed upon me. I distinctly heard him descend stairs, and a noise as of clanking keys. My perplexity was greater than ever. The next day as I directed my eyes towards the mysterious house, I saw something glittering at the window of the first-floor. I drew near and found that the outer shutter was wholly, and the inner curtain half removed:—there was the ring—the arm—Oh heaven! leaning on the hand was the face of my vision looking at me in melancholy supplication! The mass of people moving up and down the street prevented me from keeping my standing-place. Turning round I noticed a bench on the opposite side of the way, with its back turned towards the window. There I could watch at my ease, and without being observed, by turning myself half round so as to look over the back of the seat. Oh, yes! it was the lovely face of my vision, only that it was not turned towards me as I had at first thought. There was a fixedness in the look, and the illusion of a picture would have been complete, if the arms had not moved from time to time. Quite absorbed by the contemplation of the beauty of this figure, I had not paid attention to the importunities of an Italian pedlar, who was offering me his merchandise. At length aroused by his talking, I pulled out my purse, when opening the last drawer in his box he presented to my eyes a small pocket mirror, and immediately I saw reflected most faithfully, the house, the window, and the lady. I directly purchased the mirror, which enabled me to observe so conveniently all that passed at the window, and my eyes were soon rivetted on the glass: I became totally unconscious of all that was passing around me.
"You have there a very nice glass," exclaimed a voice at my side. I awoke as it were out of a dream. "You have a very nice glass," repeated the voice, accompanying his words with a look which seemed to ask me, why I stared so strangely into the mirror, and whether I saw spectres in it. The man who made this remark was advanced in years; he had something in his countenance which inspired me with confidence, and I did not hesitate to tell him what I saw in the mirror: I even asked him if he had not observed the beautiful face.
"Where?—opposite here? at the window of the old house?" asked he, quite astonished.
"Certainly, certainly," answered I.
The old man smiled. "That is a curious deception," he said. "My old eyes—may God preserve them!—have often seen that lovely face; but it is nothing else than a very well-executed oil painting."
Quickly I turned round to look at the window; all had disappeared—the blinds were closed.
"Oh," said the old man, "it is too late now to be convinced; the steward—who I know lives alone in the house—has removed the portrait, and closed the blind."
"But are you quite sure it was a picture?" again asked I, quite stupified.
"Well, you may trust my eyes," answered my companion. "The fact of your having seen the reflection of the picture in the glass, has augmented the optical illusion. When I was as young as you are I should have vivified such an image."
"But hands and arms were moving," replied I.
"Yes, all was moving in your fancy," returned he smiling, and gently putting his hand on my shoulder; then rising and bowing politely he said, "Take care of mirrors that tell such terrible stories."
When I found myself treated as a foolish visionary, the thought came to me that the old man might be right—that it might all have been a phantasy emanating from my own brain, and half indignant, half ashamed, I ran home with the firm determination to detach myself from the mysteries of the deserted house. I avoided the street, and used my mirror only when I wished to arrange my cravat. One day as I was making my toilet I noticed that my mirror had become quite dull, and in order to restore its brilliancy, I breathed upon it, preparatory to polishing; when lo! I felt as if my whole pulsation had ceased; for as my breath passed from the glass, I saw enveloped in light blue vapour the same face, with the same melancholy expression, which had haunted my imagination ever since the night of the vision. I repeated the experiment many times. Sometimes the image appeared; at other times I saw nothing. From this time forward, I lived only in the thought of the beloved vision. The contemplation of the mirror absorbed me completely. I became indifferent to every thing around me. I neglected my friends and my studies. This eternal tension of mind had a fatal effect on my health. My nerves were shattered, and pale as death I wandered to and fro intent only on watching that fatal house. My friends noticed the alteration in my appearance and manners, and their continual exhortations compelled me to think seriously on my condition. Was it by accident or intention that a book treating on mental disorders was left in my room? I opened it, read it, and what were my feelings on finding every symptom of fixed madness suitable to my own case. Decidedly I was on the very road to Bedlam. My resolution was soon taken. I put my mirror in my pocket and went straight to Dr. R—, who was famous in cases of aberration of mind. I told him all, and conjured him to save me from the fate which appeared to be hanging over my head. He listened to me attentively, and I saw in his look an expression of great astonishment.
"As yet," said he, "the danger is not so great as you believe, and you have the power in your own hands to escape it. There is no doubt of your being mentally attacked, but your knowledge of it will be your salvation. Let me have your mirror; fix yourself to some occupation which will require all your mental powers. Avoid the street in which the house stands; rise early, and when tired of work, take a good walk; and frequent that society which you have abandoned for so long a time. You see my intention is to fix your mind on some proper pursuit, and to fortify your body."
I had some difficulty to separate myself from the mirror; the doctor took it out of my hand; he breathed on the glass, and placing it before my eyes, asked, "Do you see anything?"
"No," I replied.
He gave me back the mirror. "Breathe on it yourself," said he.
I did so, and the image appeared clearer than ever. "There she is," cried I, loudly.
The physician looked in the glass and said, "I do not see anything."
"Breathe on it again," said he, placing his hand on my back.
The image came again; the doctor, who was looking at the same time in the mirror, turned pale. He took the glass from my hand and locked it in his bureau. He then said to me, "Follow the advice I have given you. I confess your case is rather a singular one; but soon I hope to be able to tell you more about it."
With much strength of purpose I followed the advice of my doctor, and though I soon felt the salutary effect of entire occupation, proper exercise and diet, I was often attacked by an extraordinary hallucination, followed by bodily suffering.
One evening, being in company with a large circle of friends, the conversation turned on animal magnetism; and a young doctor positively affirmed that he had the power to act from a distance upon his patient, by fixing his thoughts and his will. Many incidents were related, all tending to prove that there are certain powers which sometimes exercise their influences over us in a very peculiar manner. One thing became almost certain: there was existing between certain parties, though unknown to each other, a magnetic power, producing a reciprocity of feeling and action.
Amongst the histories which were told that evening, there was one that bore such an exact similarity to my own case, that in a moment all my good resolutions were gone. My desire towards the beloved unknown rose in my breast stronger than ever, and I was instinctively driven towards the house. Furious with love, I rushed at the door. It yielded to my efforts; I found myself in the half-lighted ball, and oppressed by a hot and heavy atmosphere. My heart beat violently with anxiety and impatience. A prolonged thrilling scream, as from a female throat, resounded through the house. I moved forward, I scarcely know how, till, I found myself in a lighted saloon, decorated with antique furniture and ornaments. Smoke from burning incense was rising in graceful clouds, and dispersing itself over the apartment. "Welcome, my beloved bridegroom! The hour is arrived for the torch of Hymen to be lighted;" exclaimed loudly the voice of a woman, and I gradually distinguished through the vapour a tall majestic figure; but as she approached me with extended arms, I beheld a yellow face wrinkled with age, and terribly distorted by madness. With deep horror I recoiled from her embrace, but like a person fascinated by the look of a rattlesnake, I could not withdraw my eyes from the horrible old woman. She continued to advance towards me, and it then appeared to me that the hideous countenance was only a mask behind which the features of my lovely vision were shining. Already I felt my hand in contact with hers, when she fell to the ground with a loud cry; at the same moment I heard a voice exclaim, "Oh, it is the devil again who is playing his tricks with her ladyship. To bed, to bed, quick, or else you will have blows."
I turned round and saw the old steward making circles round his head with his whip; he was about beating the old woman, who was lying on the floor, howling and whining. I stopped his arm; but casting me away, he cried, "The devil would have killed her if I had not come at the right time. Away, away!" I rushed out of the saloon, and vainly endeavoured to find the door of the house. I heard the hissing sound of the whip and the plaintive cries of the old woman, and was about calling for help, when my foot slipped in the darkness, and I fell down some stairs so close to the door of a room that it burst open. I perceived a bed which had been lately quitted, and a chair over which was thrown the coffee-brown coat of the steward, whose room it evidently was. In a few moments he himself appeared, and, falling at my feet, said, "For heaven's sake do not tell any one what has passed here this night. I should lose my place and my bread. The mad countess has been punished, and is bound in her bed." He then wished me "Good night," and conducted me out of his subterraneous chamber, took me to the door of the house, and let me out. I hastened home, feeling that if I had been under the influence of a potent spell, its power was destroyed. No more longings after the enchanting image in the mirror, no more visions; my entrance into the old house was viewed by me in no other light than the entrance into a madhouse.
Some little time after this memorable night, I chanced to be at a dinner party in company with the Count P—. "Do you know," said he, "that the mysteries of the Deserted House begin to be revealed?" I was listening very attentively to his words, when the door of the dining-room was thrown open and dinner announced. I mechanically offered my arm to a young lady, and we followed the rest of the company in silence. I conducted her to a vacant seat, when, for the first time looking in her face, I beheld the face of my vision. I felt for a moment stupified; but I certainly did not experience a return of that fury of love which held me captive at the time when I evoked her image in the mirror. The lady noticed my amazement, and looked surprised. I felt it necessary to make some excuse for my strange demeanour. I therefore told her that I felt sure I must have seen her before, as her face was quite familiar to me. She then observed that she had come to B— for the first time in her life the day before. I soon discovered that the girl by my side—a very delicate, graceful being—was in a morbid, over-excited state of mind and body. "You do not look so cheerful to-day," remarked an officer, who was sitting opposite, to the lady: "perhaps the visit of this morning—"
Here he was interrupted by a person who whispered some words in his ear.
After dinner, when we were taking coffee, I found an opportunity of approaching the Count P—. "Do you know," said he instantly, "that your neighbour at the dinner-table was none other than the Countess Edwina von S—? And do you know, also, that in the Deserted House, the old countess, the sister of her mother, is confined, incurably mad? This morning, both mother and daughter, visited the old woman, and I believe that Dr. R— has been entrusted with her mysterious history: he is about to try the last remedies to effect a cure."
Other company came around us at this moment, and the conversation was broken off.
Dr. R— was the same to whom I had applied, and I lost no time in going to him and begging him to tell me all he knew about the mystery. He complied with my request, first exacting a promise of secrecy. The history is as follows:—
Angelica Countess von Z—, though past thirty years of age, was in possession of such marvelous beauty, that the Count von S—, though many years her junior, became deeply in love. "He met her at the house of a friend whom she was visiting, and when she returned to the residence of her father, which was at some distance, he followed, in order to open his suit—which was favoured by Angelica—to the old count. A few moments after his arrival at the castle he encountered Angelica's younger sister, Gabrielle, whose youthful beauty so charmed the versatile lover, that, forgetting his vows to the elder, he made proposals for the younger daughter, who was immediately given to him by the count her father. Angelica did not show any sign of grief at this infidelity of her lover. "Foolish boy," said she, speaking in tones of supreme disdain, "he thinks he has abandoned me. He did not see that he was only a plaything which I would soon have cast from me." Her whole conduct went far to prove the contempt in which she held this infidel; but after the betrothment with Gabrielle was made public, Angelica was rarely seen. She did not as usual appear at the dinner-table; but took to long solitary rambles in the adjacent woods, and confined herself to her own room when at home. Just at this time a curious incident disturbed the tranquillity which the castle mostly enjoyed. For some few weeks incendiarisms and robberies had been frequent in the neighbourhood. These depredations were imputed to a gang of gipsies, who were captured and taken prisoners by the huntsmen belonging to the Count von Z—, assisted by the peasantry. The whole gang was brought to the castle, the men in chains, and the women and children bound on waggons. One withered old woman, remarkable for her tall stature, and enveloped in a blood red cloak from head to foot, stood upright in the waggon, and demanded in an imperious tone to be released. The Count von Z— was just issuing his orders about the distribution of the prisoners, when, with disordered hair and face pale with terror, the Countess Angelica rushed into the court-yard, and throwing herself on her knees before her father, cried with a loud voice, "Release these people; they are innocent, father: release them. If you allow one drop of the blood of these people to be shed, your child will plunge a knife into her bosom." She flourished a poniard in the air, and fainted.
"Oh, my pretty poppet, my beloved child," muttered the old woman in the red cloak. "I knew you would not suffer us to be imprisoned." And leaping from the waggon, she rushed to the countess. Cowering down, she covered her face and bosom with disgusting kisses. "White daughter, awake! white daughter, awake!" said she; "the bridegroom cometh." And taking from her pocket a phial containing a small gold fish, which swam in a clear liquid, she applied it to the heart of the countess, who suddenly awoke from her fainting fit, jumped up, embraced the old gipsy woman, and led her hastily into the castle.
The Count von Z—, Gabrielle, and her intended bridegroom—who had just made his appearance when the scene commenced—were struck dumb with amazement. The gipsies remained indifferent and calm. They were all confined in different prisons, and the next day the count declared them innocent of the charges brought against them. It was rumoured that he had had an interview in the night with the chief of the gipsies, and it was afterwards proved that they were indeed innocent.
A little while before the marriage of Gabrielle, Angelica, accompanied by the steward of the Count von S—, and a veiled woman, who resembled very much the red gipsy, departed from the castle in the night. The Count von Z—, from reasons which he did not declare, was obliged to yield to the entreaties of Angelica, and let her have the—what we now call—deserted house. One condition of this arrangement was, that no one should enter without her special permission. At length the marriage of Count von S— with Gabrielle was celebrated; he took his bride to D—, and passed one year in uninterrupted felicity, At the expiration of that time, the count fell sick of a very singular disorder. No one could find out the exact nature of his malady: it appeared as if some secret influence was gradually destroying every vital power. At last, when he was seized with frequent faintings, he was recommended by his physicians to try the air of Italy, and he started, as he pretended, for Pisa. Gabrielle could not accompany him, as she was expecting to become a mother. Three weeks after his departure she was delivered of a daughter, but before many days had elapsed, the newly-born babe disappeared most mysteriously out of its cradle, and all search after it proved unsuccessful. Poor Gabrielle was distracted; when, as if to fill up the measure of her grief, she received news from her father, informing her that he had found her husband—whom she believed to be at Pisa—in the house of Angelica, dead. That Angelica herself had fallen into a state of furious madness, and that he should not long survive these misfortunes.
As soon as Gabrielli had partially recovered her strength, she hastened to the castle of her father; and one night as she was lying sleepless, her thoughts fixed on her departed husband and lost child, she heard a low whimpering sound at the door of her chamber. She took the lamp, and went out of the room, when, cowered down in a corner of the passage, enveloped in the red cloak, was the gipsy-woman, holding in her arms an infant who began to cry piteously. The heart of the countess beat violently in her bosom—she felt that the infant was her lost child—her daughter.
She took the child out of the arms of the gipsy, who immediately fell back lifeless. The cries of the terrified countess aroused the inmates of the castle, and as the gipsy-woman was quite dead, the only course which Count Z— and his daughter could pursue, was to go to Angelica and learn the secret about the disappearance and re-appearance of the poor babe. They found that Angelica had become reasonable again; but when the count began to speak of Gabrielli's child, she clapped her hands, and laughing horribly, cried, "Has poppet arrived, safely arrived: buried in the earth—"
The count perceived with terror the return of madness, and the features of Angelica seemed to him to change to those of the gipsy-woman. The count wished to take his unfortunate child back to his castle, but the moment they attempted to remove her, she became furious, and in a lucid interval she conjured her father to let her die in the house: a request to which he acceded. It was believed here, however, that she had departed with him, and the steward left alone in the house; instead of which she has remained concealed ever since that time entirely under the surveillance of the steward. The Count von Z— died some time since; and the Countess von S— came here the other day with her daughter Edwina, to put in order some family matters. She visited her unhappy sister, and something strange must have happened at this visit, but the countess did not tell me the particulars; she merely said that it was necessary to take her unfortunate sister out of the hands of the old steward. It appears, that in order to check her outbursts of madness he has had recourse to very violent and cruel treatment. In her sane moments she had persuaded him that she possessed the power of making gold, and he, believing the assurance, has assisted her in all sorts of extraordinary experiments and charms." The doctor concluded his statement by saying, "It is quite certain that you have provoked the catastrophe that will bring either cure or death to the mad woman, and I will not conceal that I was horror-stricken on finding, that after putting myself in magnetic connexion with you, I saw the same image in the mirror. We both know now that it was the likeness of Edwina."
This history of Dr. R.'s completely gratified my curiosity. I had no farther discoveries to make, and I went quietly to my occupation. A little while afterwards, I left B—, and in a few months I heard of the death of the old countess.