by Paul Busson
“Do not be frightened, good dame,” I said in a low voice, stepping close to her; “I must speak at once to Mademoiselle Zephyrine.”
At the same moment I pressed a few imperial ducats into her hand. The effect was excellent. The ugly old woman grinned and led me at once through the dark entrance into a badly-lighted room. There was an odour of bitter almonds everywhere.
“Wait here a minute,” she muttered and left me.
My gaze wandered round the room. It was an uncanny place. Two skeletons, bending forward in a horrible way, stood in a dark corner; one could recognise that the spines and shoulder-blades had in their lifetime formed humps, like that which Dr. Postremo carried on his own back. Perhaps he had wished to study through them his deformed anatomy. On a table in another part of the room, only half concealed by a green hanging, large glass vessels contained human organs, swimming in a transparent liquid. A dried brain, like the kernel of a gigantic nut, lay on another table whose polished slab was made with a kind of stone I had never seen. It bore a network of grey, greenish, blue and pink curves, white angular spots, and sharply delineated spaces of dark red between them.
Thinking it some rare and peculiar marble I touched the slightly greasy, ovular slab and learnt, to my disgust, that it was the polished section of a petrified corpse, one of the kind that, as I had heard, were skilfully prepared in Bologna. On the window-sill stood a glass case containing a completely distorted, deformed chameleon. At first I thought the creature was dead, but then it slowly fixed its protuberant eye on me and changed its colour into a dusty red...
A curtain rustled behind me. A white figure stood motionless, with eyes half closed. Zephyrine! At once I caught her in my arms. I murmured gentle words as I drank in the intoxicating scent of her hair. I covered her white face with kisses.
“I have found you at last,” I whispered. “I shall never leave you again.”
I was overwrought with happiness.
“I knew you would come,” she said.
With her little hands she clung to my shoulders, and I heard from her lips the appeal she had written down on the slip of paper which I had received in the gambling-house.
“Save me! Save me! Take me with you!…”
The sound of her pleading voice filled me with ecstasy. I was stirred deeply, moreover. I was ready to do anything she might wish.
“Are you in danger, Zephyrine?” I asked.
She nodded quickly several times and again pressed close to me. For one brief moment I thought of the severe penalties imposed by the Empress’s law court on those whom they regarded as seducers. I had heard of the fate of a nobleman who had induced the wife of a certain courtier and special favourite to elope with him: he was arrested and carried away to the dungeon of Spielberg, where he was forced to stand half submerged in a stream of sewage, a pepper-filled iron pear in his mouth, gnawed by rats until he died horribly.
But the ecstasy of my happiness stilled all my qualms, and drove away all reflection, and at once I prepared to take her away. The girl gave a plausible explanation to the grey-haired old woman; and, corroborating my own words by a fresh shower of gold, I assured her that we were only going out for a short walk. The woman, who did not seem to be greatly attached to her master, opened the door for us: we went quietly and quickly down the stairs, trembling in apprehension of an unpleasant encounter.
We passed along the streets without an instant’s pause. Zephyrine was protected from curious eyes by her mantle and thick veil, and we entered my rooms in Himmelspfortegasse unnoticed even by my fellow-lodgers. Zephyrine told me everything. She was an orphan, and when she was only four years of age Postremo took her to live with him, pretending charity. At first he treated her well, and even gave her a careful education.
But events revealed that this good beginning was not prompted by kindness. For when Zephyrine had completed her sixteenth year (a few months before I met her), Doctor Postremo informed her that it was now time for her to show her gratitude to him, and incidentally by doing so she would lay the foundations of her own fortune.
It seemed that Count Johann Nepomuk Korony, the mummy-like old man I had seen at the card-table, was ready to pay the Doctor’s debts, which were not inconsiderable, if Zephyrine would agree to become his bedfellow. In the enjoyment of this new existence the hoary, worn-out monster would be able to regain some of his lost youth and interest in life. Also the scoundrel hoped that the untouched maiden could relieve him of a certain gallant disease without catching it herself.
Postremo made his explanation to her with cynical outspokenness. Her tears and entreaties caused him only to make a last attempt to retrieve his fortune at the card-table. And it was on the evening which brought such fortune to me that his final hope of doing so was dashed. Since then, more than ever before, he had kept the girl under lock and key, for he was convinced that she would attempt anything to save herself.
I realised that I had turned up at the eleventh hour. For the man in whose company I had seen Dr. Postremo at the Greek coffee-house was no other than Count Korony’s chamberlain, and there was no doubt that the wretched Postremo was making the final arrangements for carrying out the nefarious scheme. The poor girl was in a state of continuous terror, for she knew well that the doctor was a past-master in the preparation of stupefying drugs, that were capable of taking away all free will. She had taken only the scantiest food for many days lest she fell a victim to her jailer’s hellish contrivances. And yet all the time she felt the dreadful moment approaching nearer and nearer, the moment in which she would be surrendered into the power of the lewd, spider-like old man.
The narrative, as I listened to it, was often interrupted by her tears and her words stumbled pitifully as she lived over again the martyrdom of those last trembling days, with all hope of help from me slowly vanishing. I sent my servant out for a meal, as a pretext to get him away. She was mine, and only death could separate us. Every moment of our happiness was too valuable to be missed. It was clear to both of us that we were destined for each other through all eternity, and it cost her neither tears nor hesitation to become wholly mine.
We felt no awkwardness, no shyness before each other. A holy, irresistible desire drove us to become one body and soul, and it occurred to neither of us to strengthen the eternity of our love with oaths. Everything, we felt, had to be as it was and had been fore-ordained by eternal laws. When I held her for the first time in my arms, and watched over the sleep of my dearest of all, I was suddenly seized with an inexplicable feeling and plunged into ecstasy.
At first I was overcome by a great dread, as if we were menaced by tongues of fire. Then I heard a clock in the endless distance, striking: ding-ding-dong. The smell of apples and strange wood surrounded me, memories overwhelmed me, and before I was aware of what I was saying, my lips called Aglaia! Aglaia!
Chapter Twenty Eight
Good fortune was with us, and events moved along smoothly. My money purchased the necessary papers and we were married in a small parish church not far from Vienna, so that it was not long before we found ourselves with nothing to fear from the law. Nor, it seemed, had we anything to fear from Postremo himself. I quit my lodgings, dismissed the servant I had employed, and we purchased a little house at Grinzing, a delightful place hidden in a garden of bushes and trees. With the help of clever workmen our new home was fitted up most pleasantly.
An unclouded summer of bliss went by, each day bringing us nearer together. At moments of intense emotion I would sometimes call Zephyrine “Aglaia.” This strange behaviour seemed neither to offend nor astonish her, although I had often talked about my dearly beloved lost cousin and of their mutual resemblance. Once she said to me:
“I am yours, whatever name you like to call me.”
She resembled Aglaia especially in her great love for flowers and animals. Our garden was full of roses, and fragrant with the warm sweet scent of the red rose, the acid scent of the white rose, and the delicate scent of the yellow rose. All the
flower-beds glowed with colour, and the garden was a sea of balmy odours. Puppies and kittens frolicked round us, birds chirruped in the branches, and swift lizards scampered over the gravel paths. Soon after our house was finished Zephyrine felt herself with child. Heavy of body and pale she sat in our favourite retreat among the thick, flowering bushes.
“It will be a boy with dark hair like its father.” I jested.
“No, it is a little girl I have under my heart,” she smiled back. “And she shall be called Aglaia.”
I kissed her and looked lovingly into her grey, gold-glinting eyes. I saw that a trace of fear still lingered in them. I carefully propped up her pillows and thought how happy we would be again when the hour of difficulty was past.
Suddenly her face assumed an expression of nameless horror. Her eyes were staring at something over my shoulder. The dogs barked fiercely in their kennels. I turned swiftly. Behind me stood the hunchback doctor! A disagreeable smell of bitter almonds began to dominate the scent of flowers. I seized the monster by the chest and shook him.
“You scoundrel,” I growled. “Now I have you; you won’t get away alive.”
The hunchback was purple in the face. He panted out something I could not understand. But Zephyrine understood it. She uttered a piercing shriek, and when I swung back to her, she was lying motionless. At that moment I felt a burning pain in my right hand. It was suddenly paralysed. I loosened my hold, my arm dropping helplessly, numb and heavy. Horrified I saw the man coolly wipe a drop of blood from a small glistening lancet he had stabbed me with while I was off my guard.
“Oh, it’s all right,” he laughed, putting the weapon back into his pocket. “Una piccola paralisi, does not last longcinque minuti! You no attack me, I no stab you!”
He pulled a little box out of another pocket and held it to his foster-daughter’s nose. Zephyrine sneezed loudly, and at once recovered consciousness.
“My uncle!” she said, and a shudder ran through her.
“Si, si, lo zio,” he grinned, “il padre, if she likes, if Zephyrine does! You not expected me, Signore? O cattivo, cattivo. What have you done? Eh?”
“Wait for me here,” I said. “First I must free my wife of the sight of you, and carry her indoors. After that I shall be at your disposal.”
He laughed, and sprawled his ugly shape across one of the benches, a malignant smile on his face. My paralysed arm had already recovered, as he prophesied, from the effect of the poisonous wound, and I assisted Zephyrine indoors. But again she collapsed, and it took some time for me to get her to her room and help her into bed. Sobbing, she begged me not to expose myself to any new danger; for in spite of his deformity Postremo was one of the most violent and dangerous of men. I promised her all she asked in order to pacify her: then I took a loaded pistol and went back into the garden, resolved to stop at nothing.
When I returned to our favourite arbour among the rose-bushes, which had so abruptly ceased to be an undiscovered place of refuge, the ugly doctor still sat there, gnashing his yellow teeth and growling to himself. A lot of beautiful roses had been plucked to pieces and trampled cruelly. I was furious. I could not speak. I could only point to the devastation. The gnome contemptuously spat and kicked at the maltreated flowers.
“This for you and la putana rossa. You me understand?” he cried. “O Dio, Dio! I am ruined. You have robbed me of twenty thousand ducats.”
“Dog of a pimp!” I cried, and again I raised my hand threateningly. He promptly brought out the poisoned lancet and held it so that the blade glistened ominously in the sunlight.
“Next time the arm will no more get better,” he threatened. “Attenzione! you make no jokes with me! Be seated, my Lord Dronte.”
I sat down and listened in silent fury to his complaints. It was a low calumny, he declared, to say that he had wished to sell the girl for vile purposes to Count Korony. Had not I heard of the young bedfellows of King David? Did not I know that in England, as a result of discoveries by the famous Professor Graham, regular courses of rejuvenation had been started for the old? They slept with untouched virgins and gained fresh life from the aura of the young. Did I not know that every possible precaution was taken to preserve the honour of the girl? Who could dare to call an approved medical practice pimping?
And finally, who was to reimburse the twenty thousand ducats he, Dr. Postremo, had lost by my kidnapping of Zephyrine? Hey? With remarkable self-control I replied that he was wasting his time. I was ready, I said, to pay damages to the sum of five hundred ducats, and no more. In any case, the sum he demanded considerably exceeded my possibilities. He squinted his eyes, wrung his hands, and renewed his demands. He began to whimper when he recognised that his efforts would be in vain, and eventually declared himself to be satisfied with a thousand ducats. Reluctantly I went indoors and got the money, though I felt the loss of it very acutely. But no sacrifice was too great for Zephyrine’s peace. When I returned, bringing two hundred ducats, all I possessed at home, and a draft on my banker’s for the remainder, I noticed on the table a small phial containing a transparent oily liquid.
“Here is the money,” I said, handing over the rolls of gold and the bill.
He carefully examined everything before he put the money into his coat pocket.
“And now…!” I said curtly, pointing to the path leading down the garden.
“You wait! you wait!” he chattered, drawing my attention to the flask. “A little what do you call it? You give three drops to the mother every day and you will have un bello ragazzoa son and si volete a little girl anche!”
Again I pointed down the garden.
“Va bene,” he muttered. “Addio, Barone.”
Slowly he shuffled along the path, dragging his hump as a snail drags its shell. I followed him slowly until the garden gate was shut behind him and the furious barking of the dogs in the kennels ceased. But through the bushes I distinctly saw him shaking his fists at our house, with a hideous grimace, his lips muttering inaudible words. The scent-bottle was still on the table. My first instinct was to throw it into the bushes. But instead I took it into my hand and drew forth the stopper. Again that smell of bitter almonds assailed me. It seemed to cling to everything.
I did not smash the phial against a stone, nor did I pour its contents on to the ground. I know not what urged me to take it with me and show it to Zephyrine.
“Three drops a day and a son is vouchsafed us, the rascal said; and, if we like, a girl also!”
I tried to laugh...
“Are you really so anxious to have a son, darling?” breathed Zephyrine, a faint blush suffusing her poor pale face.
“Oh, yes,” I answered without thinking, as I clasped her tenderly in my arms.
What did the money matter, I felt at that moment! All I possessed I would have given away for her, the only one. Gladly would I have earned my bread in the sweat of my brow for her dear sake.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Summer had gone, the flowers had long since withered, and red and yellow leaves came fluttering down from the trees. Then the icy Boreas caught the first snowflakes and drove them against the windows of the chamber where Zephyrine was lying in her travail. During the night she had become feverish; so that the midwife shook her head, saying:
“I don’t like the case at all. You must send for a doctor at once! She is much too weak.”
In our neighbourhood there was one good physician, the grey-haired Dr. Anselm Hosp. I sent for him in all haste. While I awaited his coming I sat in the next room, stopping my ears so that I might not hear the cries and wild groans of my wife. Hope of a happy issue had dwindled, for the pains and suffering had by now lasted several days. Zephyrine’s poor body was terribly exhausted. There was no doubt that some cause was preventing a simple and natural birth, some cause which even the midwife could not understand.
Then I remembered that hateful smell of bitter almonds, lingering even after all these months. Zephyrine had assured me that she had upset and smash
ed the scent-bottle I had brought to her after the hunchback’s hideous appearance in the garden, which seemed to me the explanation why we could not get rid of the smell. Then why was I suddenly seized with such an anxiety about the hunchback’s gift?
The old doctor came at last, carrying a large black bag, that rattled with his instruments. This sharp rattle pierced through me, limb and marrow. Quietly we stole to the bed. I was stricken with terror when I saw my Zephyrine’s agonised face and her large bright eyes wandering and flickering. Dark red flushes blazed out on her ghastly cheeks.
“You…” she sighed, hardly audibly.
“Darling, tell me: did you taste that liquid he brought in the phial?”
A faint smile flickered across the suffering mouth.
“Only three drops once a day.”
“Ah!” I cried in dismay. “Why did you do it?”
I almost rebuked her.
“Why did you tell me you had not touched the poison when I asked you before?”
“You longed so for a son.”
Her words came like a breath of air. Then an expression of pain appeared in her wide-open eyes, her hands clutched the bedclothes, and the convulsions returned, and she screamed. The doctor made a rapid examination, and beckoned me into the next room.
“Baron,” he said, “to my regret I have to tell you that your wife must undergo a very drastic operation. Your wife cannot give birth in the normal fashion, and I must perform a Caesarian operation.”
I staggered back.
“A Caesarian,” I stuttered.
The doctor looked at the ground.
“It is a drastic operation because, although a strong and healthy woman could withstand it all right, the Baroness’s great weakness and fever make it a dangerous and uncertain business. The introduction into her system of some external poison has complicated the matter... I cannot conceal this from you. Moreover, I must operate at once with only the nurse to help me, though a second surgeon is really indispensable. But I cannot risk waiting the length of time it would take for a carriage to go to town and come back again.”