Complete Works of Bram Stoker (426 page)

‘When he had encored the whole song twice, I began to get tired. It was no joke to me; and if it hadn’t seemed really a matter of life and death, I couldn’t have gone on. When I made a protest, he scowled at me, and his hand rose with the revolver. After a moment’s thought he said:

‘“You can have five minutes’ rest from singing, but you must go on playing.”

‘I began to play. I thought some merry tune might soothe him, and I started into a Scotch reel. The effect was so far good that he began to snap his fingers and to keep time with his feet. All the time my brain was working, and it flashed across me that if I could move him thus to my will with music, I might be able to devise some means to rid myself of him. There was so much of hope in the thought that it almost overcame me, and I began to laugh. The instant my hands stopped, his moved, and the revolver rose again.

‘“Play up, or you’re lost!” came the peremptory whisper.

‘Nature is nature, and necessity is necessity, and I suppose that hysterics is the result of the struggle between them. Anyhow, I kept playing away at the reel, and all the time rolling on the piano stool with laughing. Presently I was recalled by a peremptory word:

‘“Time!” I looked round; the revolver still covered me. He went on:

‘“The five minutes is up! Singing Chambermaid, do your work! Follow your vocation! Exercise your calling! Practise your art! Sing!”

‘“What shall I sing?” I asked in desperation. His face wore a sardonic smile as he replied:

‘“Sing the same song again. You will have time to think of something else whilst you are singing it!”

‘I began the song again. I used to think it very funny, and full of a sort of quaint plaintiveness, but now it seemed only a mass of distressing rubbish - false sentiment, indelicate, inane. From that hour I could never sing it without a nauseating sense of humiliation.’

‘Hear! Hear!’ said the Tragedian, but drew back under the fierce ‘Hsh’ of the Company. The Singing Chambermaid looked at him reproachfully, and went on:

‘Presently my lunatic waiter drew close to me, and whispered:

‘“Don’t stop! If you pause a moment you are a dead woman. Here is Fritz; I hear his footsteps.” He must have had wonderful ears, I thought; but that is the way of madness. “When he opens the door, tell him that you are practising some songs, and don’t want to be disturbed. Remember, I am watching you! If you even falter, your life and his are forfeit! I am desperate! The music is mine alone, and alone I will have it!” He withdrew to the bedroom, leaving the door slightly open. He could not be seen from the outer door, but he could see me. And I could see him, with his revolver pointed at my head, and a set, vindictive, threatening scowl upon his evil face. I knew that he would kill me if I did not do as he wished, so when Fritz opened the door, I called to him as complacently as I could - there is some use in stage training:

‘I am practising, Fritz, and do not wish to be disturbed. I shall want nothing till Madame comes in.’

‘“Goot!” said the pleasant Fritz, and he at once withdrew.

‘Then my mad friend came out from the room, and said, showing his teeth with a grim smile:

‘“You showed your nerve and your wisdom, Singing Chambermaid; now sing!”

‘Well, I sang, and sang, and sang all the songs I could think of, till I grew so weary that I could hardly sit erect; and my brain began to reel. The maniac then began to grow more desperate. As I grew fainter he levelled his pistol at me and forced me to go on from very fear of death. His face began to twitch, his eyes to roll horribly, and his mouth to work convulsively as he called, in a fierce whisper:

‘“Go on. Sing! Sing! Faster! Faster! Faster!”

‘He made me go faster and faster still, beating time with the revolver, till my breath began to go. I held on in mortal fear till even sheer terror could no longer uphold me. The last thing I saw as I fell senseless from the stool was his scowling face and the bobbing muzzle of the revolver as he called, “Faster! Faster!”

‘The next thing I remember is hearing Helda’s voice, seemingly coming from a great distance. I recognised the tone before I heard the words, but things grew clearer and clearer, and at last I knew that it was her hands which held my head up. Then I heard distinctly the words she said:

‘“Oh, don’t bother! What does it matter? I would rather see her her dear self than all the jewels in Christendom!” Then came a gruff, strong voice:

‘“But, look here, ma’am. Time is everything now! We can’t begin till we get some kind of clue. Do you just tell us what you know; we’ll do the rest.’ She answered impatiently:

‘“I really know nothing, except what I’ve told you already. I came in after the Opera, and found her here in a dead faint. Perhaps, when she regains her consciousness, she will be able to tell us something.” Then came the strong voice again:

‘“And you, Fritz Darmstetter, have you no more to say than this: ‘I came several times during the evening, and heard her singing, generally the same song over and over again. Something about George and Daddy. When, at last, I opened the door, she told me to go away, as she was practising, and did not want to be disturbed. She would not want anything till Madame came”?’

‘“Dat is so!” Here I seemed to become awake. I opened my eyes, and when I saw my dear Helda close to me, I clung to her and implored her to protect me. She promised me that she would. Then, somewhat reassured, I looked round and saw myself surrounded with a crowd. At one side was a row of gigantic policemen, with a still more gigantic inspector standing in front of them; on the other side were a lot of the hotel servants, male and female, and Helda’s maids, who were wringing their hands. One of the policemen carried Helda’s Russia-leather jewel-case with the lid wrenched off. When the Inspector saw my eyes open he stooped and, with a sweep of his arm, lifted me to my feet.

‘“Now,” he said in a commanding voice, “now, young lady, tell me what you know!”

‘I suppose we women know a man’s voice when we hear it, and we, or our mothers before us, have learned to obey, so I spoke out instinctively:

‘“The lunatic came in and pointed a revolver at me, and made me sing all the evening till I fell down with fatigue!”

‘“What was he like, miss?” asked the giant Inspector in an imperative voice.

‘“He was thin,” I answered. “He had dark whiskers and a shaven upper lip, and his eyes rolled!” Then I proceeded to tell him all I knew of the lunatic’s strange proceedings.

‘As I spoke, there came a queer sort of grin on the faces of the policemen; the Inspector seemed to voice their sentiments as he said:

‘“Well, ma’am, this case is pretty clever. Guess its Dimeshow Pete this time. The old man has fooled us all. He seems to have been tarnation clever over it! That was a cute scheme of his to make the young woman sing over and over again the same song with the high note, like as she was practising, whilst his confederates got off with the swag. Guess they’re off on the Lake Shore special hours ago, and he’s gone on the Flyer, and has jumped at Lake. Pete’s a peach! He’s been too many for us this time, but I reckon we’ll chalk it up to him agin the time comes!”‘

For some little time the eyes of the Company had been gradually focussing the Tragedian, who was next in order. He had himself shown to experienced eyes a certain uneasiness, though he tried with all the wile of his craft to disguise it in a mantle of degage self-possession.

When the last speaker had completely finished - this, his auditory being actors, being when the applause had entirely ceased and the opportunity for encore or recall had come and gone - the MC spoke:

‘Now, Mr Dovercourt, we hope for the honour of hearing from you!’ There was an immediate chorus from all the Company, the Manager being bland - not exactly patronising, but striking an exact mean between condescension and respect - whilst the rest all down the line with an ever-growing serious attention which began with the Low Comedian’s companionable deference and ended with the Sewing Woman’s self-abasement.

The latter, who through effluxion of time which had put her own literary effort in historical perspective, and influxion of the cup that cheers, felt herself in a halo of imaginative glory, added her tearful request:

‘And if I might make so hold, Mr Wragge, seein’ as ‘ow I may now claim to be myself a sister hartis, though in a numble wy, I would wenture to arsk if you could tell us out of tragic lore some instance of anythink which isn’t about a dead byby, which the same belongs to my spear, an” - this said with an air of vicious determination - ‘I means to ‘old to my rights, though I be a numble woman what knows her plyce for all the -’

Her eloquence was cut short by the MC, who said, with a stern determination which reached her intelligence through her somewhat clouded faculties:

‘That will do, Mrs Wrigglesworth! When your turn comes again we’ll call on you, never fear. In the meantime, you must not interrupt anyone else; more especially one whom we all respect and admire so much as we do our Tragedian, the glory of our Company, the pride of our calling, the perfected excellence of our Art. Mr Dovercourt, here is your very good health! Ladies and gentlemen all! in the good old fashion: Hip, Hip, Hurrah!’

The toast was drunk standing, and with a manifest respect on the part of all, which was a really effective tribute to his branch of his Art. Growl as they may, the companions of the Tragedian have always a secret respect, if not for the Man, at least for the Artist.

The Tragedian began:

WORK’US

‘As my friend Parmentire said earlier in this symposium, the humour is not always to its - ah! professional exponent, the Comedian. It may somewhat mitigate the gloom in which the enactment of my special roles in the greater passions for which opportunity has been given to me - and others - yes, to others - by the Master, Shakespeare, and the galaxy of dramatic, poetic talent which has carried down to our day the torch of tragic thought, if I, in this hour of social communion when, if I may be allowed the expression, the buskin is unlaced and the sock is - ah! somewhat eased, relate to you a somewhat humorous episode of my “hot youth,” when, like our dear Prince Hal, I occasionally made the welkin ring in its darker hours before the dawn.

‘Looking back over the vista of time, those hours of revelry seem to have left a less effaceable mark on memory than does the whirlwind of jealous passion, or even the soft dalliance of the hours of love.’

‘Oh, Mr Dovercourt!’ said the Second Lady, putting up her fingers to screen a modest blush. The Tragedian, pleased, went on:

‘It is, perhaps, the contrast between my hours within what I may call my art-workshop and those without its pale - what a great writer has called the “irony of things” - which makes my memory cling to little trivial absurdities of days long gone; whilst the same memory has lost sight of many an hour of paramount triumph, snatched from eager humanity even before the very thrones of the Kings of the Earth. Ah, me! those halcyon days which are gone for aye! But “sit still my soul” and “break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.” Well, it was when I was in the stock at Wigan, when Hulliford Greenlow controlled the theatrical destinies of that home of the black diamond. A few of us choice spirits were used as a habit to assemble nightly when our work at the theatre was over. Our rendezvous was at the hotel, or rather I should say the public-house, known as “The Merry Maiden.” It was in reality but a drinking house; but there were a few bedrooms which were now and again occupied by some overcome reveller. The place, however, had so bad a reputation in the eyes of the police that no one would willingly remain in it after the withdrawal of the extraneous company, unless quite overcome by his libations to Bacchus. Naturally our conversation, if at times pronounced, was bright; and naturally, too, there were at times jokes, both practical and -  and - ah - verbal, consonant with the various dispositions of the nightly frequenters of the house. There were a few choice spirits who were outsiders to our habitual galaxy, and efforts were often made by others to penetrate our charmed circle. We were, however, conservative in our tendencies. We cared for none of the guests who were not good company; and the landlord, a genial soul but thoroughly equipped with business instincts, did not care for any company which was devoid of surplus cash. Naturally the more choice spirits amongst us had at times periods of - ah - petrifaction, when, in fact, the ghost had not walked; and at such times we were wont to reap in a practical shape the harvest of which the seed-time had been a certain toleration extended to repetition on the part of some of our eclectic community, and the exercise of some of our histrionic talents in enacting the part of listeners.

‘One night we had a strange experience in the shape of a fresh guest. He was a very young man, a weakling and somewhat deformed. In fact, our genial host called our attention at first to his - ah - eccentricity by the humorous way in which he addressed him as “my lord,” it being our custom in those days to designate as a nobleman anyone whom Dame Nature had in a malevolent moment inflicted with a curvature of the spine. The youth was ill at ease, but he was so manifestly ambitious to share our revelry, and he was so eager in his appreciation of our merry quips and cranks - the flashing by-play of our intellectual swords - that we decided tacitly to allow him to remain amongst us. Our humorous but business-like host took care that the new-comer’s expenditure on the goods of his trade was commensurate with his enjoyment. On further visits of this young nobleman he so harassed him into needless expenditure - an expenditure manifestly ill according to his means, for his garments were poor and worn - that one or two of our duller spirits interfered, and chid our host into a more decorous observance of the economic proprieties. The youth would join us at irregular periods, but seldom a week passed that he did not make his appearance. After a little his shyness wore away, and now and again he ventured to make a remark, generally of an abstruse kind and necessitating for its full understanding an intimate acquaintance with the classics. By this time, too, we had come to know something of the youth’s personal surroundings. He was the son of a man who had been a teacher in a school, but who had been killed at a fire whilst he was helping at a rescue. His widow, being penniless, had, of course, to go to the Union, where the boy was brought up. Being a cripple and unable to play or work with other boys, he had been allowed to take advantage of the school, and had read all the books he could get and had taught himself some of the dead languages. When these facts had come to our knowledge, some of our community were not well pleased that he should have come amongst us. There is, Ladies and Gentlemen, a very natural prejudice against the workhouse taint, and some of the high-spirited members of our little coterie resented it. Ourgenial host was one of the most indignant. He was, though himself a man of humble origin, one of very fine feelings, and he said it hurt him, and it hurt his house, to be tainted with any workhouse scum - such was the humorous way in which he expressed himself. “To think,” said he, “of his damned impudence, comin’ ‘ere to my ‘ouse - my ‘otel - a-spendin’ of money while ‘is hold mother is a-livin’ in the workus, kep’ by rates paid by you an’ me. I’ll let ‘im know what I thinks before I’ve done with ‘im.” The man who had told us the story set the landlord right upon one point; the old lady was not living in the Union, nor had been for some time. So soon as her son had begun to earn money, which he did, it was said, by writing for papers and magazines, he had taken her out, and they lived together in a tiny house some distance outside the town, where rent was cheap.