The Dedalus Book of French Horror: The 19th Century (34 page)

But how could this Flédermausse – a creature so mean and wretched – have made discovery of so profound a law of nature? How had she found the means of turning it to the use of her sanguinary instincts? This I could neither understand nor imagine. Without more reflection, however, I resolved to turn the fatal law against her, and by its power to drag her into her own snare. So many innocent victims called for vengeance!

I began at once. I hurried to all the old clothes-dealers in Nuremberg; and by the evening I arrived at the
Bœuf-gras
, with an enormous parcel under my arm.

Nikel Schmidt had long known me. I had painted the portrait of his wife, a fat and comely dame.

‘What! – Master Christian!’ he cried, shaking me by the hand, ‘to what happy circumstance do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’

‘My dear Mr. Schmidt, I feel a very strong desire to pass the night in that room of yours up yonder.’

We were on the doorstep of the inn, and I pointed up to the green chamber. The good fellow looked suspiciously at me.

‘Oh! don’t be afraid,’ I said, ‘I’ve no desire to hang myself.’

‘I’m glad of it! I’m glad of it! for, frankly, I should be sorry – an artist of your talent. When do you want the room, Master Christian?’

‘Tonight.’

‘That’s impossible – it’s occupied.’

‘The gentleman can have it at once, if he likes,’ said a voice behind us; ‘
I
shan’t stay in it.’

We turned in surprise. It was the peasant of Nassau; his large three-cornered hat pressed down upon the back of his neck, and his bundle at the end of his travelling-stick. He had learned the story of the three travellers who had hung themselves.

‘Such chambers!’ he cried, stammering with terror; ‘it’s – it’s murdering people to put them into such! – you – you deserve to be sent to the galleys!’

‘Come, come, calm yourself,’ said the landlord; ‘you slept there comfortably enough last night.’

‘Thank Heaven! I said my prayers before going to rest, or where should I be now? – where should I be now?’

And he hurried away, raising his hands to heaven.

‘Well,’ said Master Schmidt, stupefied, ‘the chamber is empty, but don’t go into it to do me an ill turn.’

‘I should be doing myself a much worse one,’ I replied.

Giving my parcel to the servant-girl, I went and seated myself provisionally among the guests who were drinking and smoking.

For a long time I had not felt more calm, more happy to be in the world. After so much anxiety, I was approaching my end – the horizon seemed to grow lighter. I know not by what formidable power I was being led on. I lit my pipe, and with my elbow on the table and a jug of wine before me, listened to the hunting-chorus from
Der Freischutz
, played by a band of Zigeuners from Schwartz-Wald.
²
The trumpet, the hunting-horn, the hautbois, by turns, plunged me into vague reverie; and sometimes rousing myself to look at the woman’s house, I seriously asked myself whether all that had happened to me was more than a dream. But when the watchman came, to request us to vacate the room, graver thoughts took possession of my mind, and I followed, in meditative mood, the little servant-girl who preceded me with a candle in her hand.

We mounted the winding flight of stairs to the third storey; arriving there, she placed the candle in my hand, and pointed to a door.

‘That’s it,’ she said, and hurried back down the stairs as fast as she could go.

I opened the door. The green chamber was like all other inn bedchambers; the ceiling was low, the bed was high. After casting a glance round the room, I stepped across to the window.

Nothing was yet noticeable in Flédermausse’s house, with the exception of a light, which shone at the back of a deep obscure bedchamber – a nightlight, doubtless.

‘So much the better,’ I said to myself, as I reclosed the window-curtains; ‘I shall have plenty of time.’

I opened my parcel, and from its contents put on a woman’s cap with a broad frilled border; then, with a piece of pointed charcoal, in front of the glass, I marked my forehead with a number of wrinkles. This took me a full hour to do; but after I had put on a gown and a large shawl, I was afraid of myself: Flédermausse herself was looking at me from the depths of the glass!

At that moment the watchman announced the hour of eleven. I rapidly dressed the lay-figure I had brought with me like the one prepared by the old witch. I then drew apart the window-curtains.

Certainly, after all I had seen of the old woman – her infernal cunning, her prudence, and her address – nothing ought to have surprised even me; yet I was positively terrified.

The light, which I had observed at the back of her room, now cast its yellow rays on her lay-figure, dressed like the peasant of Nassau, which sat huddled up on the side of the bed, its head dropped upon its chest, the large three-cornered hat drawn down over its features, its arms pendent by its sides, and its whole attitude that of a person plunged in despair.

Managed with diabolical art, the shadow permitted only a general view of the figure, the red waistcoat and its six rounded buttons alone caught the light; but the silence of night, the complete immobility of the figure, and its air of terrible dejection, all served to impress the beholder with irresistible force; even I myself, though not in the least taken by surprise, felt chilled to the marrow of my bones. How, then, would a poor countryman taken completely off his guard have felt? He would have been utterly overthrown; he would have lost all control of will, and the spirit of imitation would have done the rest.

Scarcely had I drawn aside the curtains than I discovered Flédermausse on the watch behind her window-panes.

She could not see me. I opened the window softly, the window over the way softly opened too; then the lay-figure appeared to rise slowly and advance towards me; I did the same, and seizing my candle with one hand, with the other threw the casement wide open.

The old woman and I were face to face; for, overwhelmed with astonishment, she had let the lay-figure fall from her hands. Our two looks crossed with an equal terror.

She stretched forth a finger, I did the same; her lips moved, I moved mine; she heaved a deep sigh and leant upon her elbow, I rested in the same way.

How frightful the enacting of this scene was I cannot describe; it was made up of delirium, bewilderment, madness. It was a struggle between two wills, two intelligences, two souls, one of which sought to crush the other; and in this struggle I had the advantage. The dead were on my side.

After having for some seconds imitated all the movements of Flédermausse, I drew a cord from the folds of my petticoat and tied it to the iron stanchion of the signboard.

The old woman watched me with open mouth. I passed the cord round my neck. Her tawny eyeballs glittered; her features became convulsed:

‘No, no!’ she cried, in a hissing tone; ‘no!’

I proceeded with the impassability of a hangman.

Then Flédermausse was seized with rage.

‘You’re mad! you’re mad!’ she cried, springing up and clutching wildly at the sill of the window; ‘you’re mad!’

I gave her no time to continue. Suddenly blowing out my light, I stooped like a man preparing to make a vigorous spring, then seizing my lay-figure, slipped the cord about its neck and hurled it into the air.

A terrible shriek resounded through the street; then all was silent again.

Perspiration bathed my forehead. I listened a long time. At the end of an hour I heard far off – very far off – the cry of the watchman, announcing to the inhabitants of Nuremberg that midnight had struck.

‘Justice is at last done,’ I murmured to myself; ‘the three victims are avenged. Heaven forgive me!’

This was five minutes after I had heard the last cry of the watchman, and when I had seen the old witch, drawn by the likeness of herself, a cord about her neck, hanging from the iron stanchion projecting from her house. I saw the thrill of death run through her limbs, and the moon, calm and silent, rose above the edge of the roof, and shed its cold pale rays upon her dishevelled head.

As I had seen the poor young student of Heidelberg, I now saw Flédermausse.

The next day all Nuremberg knew that ‘the Bat’ had hung herself. It was the last event of the kind in the Rue des Minnesängers.

  
1
   
Flédermausse.
Flitter-mouse, bat.

  
2
   
Der Freischutz.
Popular opera by Weber based on a story by the German Romantic writer Johann Apel (1771–1816).

Towards the end of the month of October, 185—, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, a man in his forties, with a pleasant, animated face, was making his way down the boulevards in the direction of the Madeleine. His clothes were so unbecoming that they resembled those of an academic for whom personal appearance has become a matter of indifference. His tie, negligently knotted about his neck, floated aimlessly above the ruffs of his shirt. A black frock-coat, though new, was crumpled, the shoulders and tails exhibiting those horizontal creases which indicate a long stay in a trunk. His hat was no longer fashionable. Finally, a pair of fawn-coloured trousers fell unequally over the pair of light-weight shoes he was wearing despite the fact that it was extremely cold.

The man’s pace speeded up or slackened without apparent rhyme or reason. His gaze was alternatively absent-minded or serious; his mouth displayed a smile which was a strange mixture of sadness and merriment. From time to time, he greeted houses and streets with a friendly nod, as if he was both surprised and delighted to see them again. Some of the passers-by produced the same effect on him. He walked up beside them, seemed to be on the point of making some remark, then stopped himself and shook his head, as if disappointed or displeased with himself. In fact, he looked just like a traveller returning to his home town after many years’ absence. He no longer knew anybody; but, as a result of chance resemblances, thought at each step he was crossing people with whom he had once been acquainted. At the moment he saw them, they looked exactly as they had done ten years previously. They often had the same air about them and were dressed exactly the same way as before. However, on reflection, he realised they could not possibly be the people he used to know, because they themselves should look ten years older.

It was doubtful, though, whether the pedestrian in question came to such a natural conclusion himself because, nodding his head at the same time, he muttered:

‘These encounters, strange though they may be, can only serve to confirm my research. My system must be right – though even the best theory, if confronted with the evidence too abruptly, can seem a bit awry.’

He carried on regardless to the Madeleine, where another such encounter filled him with fresh alarm. He was some ten feet or so from a tall, erect man of about fifty, with haughty, phlegmatic features, greying hair and whiskers, who was buttoned up in a frock-coat and wearing a ribbon in his button-hole. This gentleman was talking to a friend, on whose arm he was leaning, and carrying an overnight bag in his left hand. The excitement of our pedestrian was so great at the sight of this person that he went straight up to him and, without even offering a greeting, said with a mixture of stupefaction and anger:

‘Ah! M. Lannoy, if I am not mistaken!’

‘There must be some mistake,’ replied the man who had been so addressed. ‘Who pray are you?’

‘I am Doctor Roger Dannerch.’

‘Very well. How can I be of assistance to you?’

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir,’ said Roger, in a completely different tone. ‘What I just did must have seemed completely ridiculous. I had forgotten,’ he added matter-of-factly, ‘that it couldn’t have been you, since you are dead.’

‘What do you mean that I’m dead?’

‘Yes, six years ago, and in rather wretched circumstances, since it occurred two months after you killed a man in a duel.’

‘I see,’ replied his interlocutor in a tone of pity tinged with disgust. ‘It is with
this
M. Lannoy that you wish to speak rather than with me.’

‘Oh no! You and M. Lannoy are undoubtedly one and the same person, but it would take me too long to explain it all to you. I know exactly what I mean, and that is what matters.’

The friend accompanying the so-called M. Lannoy gently nudged him with his elbow.

‘Come on,’ said he, ‘let’s be on our way. It’s only a lunatic.’

‘Lunatic!’ exclaimed Roger, who seemed to be beside himself on hearing this epithet. ‘Lunatic! It’s easy to say that. In any case, it’s better to be a lunatic than to be deceived by your wife.’

‘Was that remark addressed at me?’ exclaimed the stranger, turning pale.

‘Take it how you like.’

However, as soon as these words left his mouth, Roger was frightened and heartily repented having uttered them.

‘Sir,’ he stuttered,‘I beg you to accept my apologies. I withdraw that remark entirely. I sometimes say things like that at random, urged on by some inner prompting. But they are completely devoid of any meaning. This inner voice got the better of me just now. It was no more than that. I am sure that you are quite happily married and you have every reason to treat me as a lunatic.’

‘Sir,’ replied the stranger, ‘I must insist that you furnish me with some proofs of what you advance.’

‘But, as I have already informed you, I have none. I simply gave way to an ill-considered impulse. Intuition, even supposing a particular individual can be blessed with it in this manner, which is extremely rare, is no proof. I didn’t even know you were married. I accept that you are not M. Lannoy. I have my own reasons to hold a different opinion on this subject, but I have neither the right nor the desire to impose my beliefs on you. Thus, I totally accept everything you have to say.’

The singular manner by which Roger retracted his words at the same time as affirming them exasperated the stranger.

‘Sir,’ he replied, ‘I will no more tolerate a joke in questionable taste than an insult. You will give me satisfaction.’