I let myself go in my excitement, not to say my indignation, and I was not at all sorry to have advanced the argument of the uselessness of making Amalia suffer. It seemed to me of a nature to impress the mind of a man as practical and perhaps as just as Captain Hyx. And indeed I might well believe that I had given him something to think about. He listened to me to the end without impatience, and regarded me in silence with great and obvious kindness; and then he heaved a sigh which gave me considerable hope, for he followed it up by saying “Yes, you’re right... a woman... it’s terrible.”
That was a great admission for the time being.... I considered that it would be unwise on my part to lay further stress upon it for the moment. And as he motioned me to sit down beside him in a wonderfully sculptured pew on the right of the altar, I said:
“I have confidence in your sense of justice.”
And then, thinking like a fool — did he not call me one just now? — that I had won the game, or, at all events, was in a fair way of winning it, I resolved to show a more and more open mind upon the greatness of the work — deadly for the Huns — of this terrible philanthropist; and, as I was speaking of the prisoners, I went on:
“If the Germans in their country understand you as well as they understand you here, you have indeed cause to congratulate yourself, Captain....” Silence of the Captain who did not appear to hear me.... Then I added, shaking my head like the doctor: “ Not the least of my surprises has been the perfect composure with which these prisoners show that they understand you...
“Yes, yes, I know,” returned the Captain at last.
“For, after all, it is not only your system of bookkeeping which they understand; it is that they, in their own persons, are destined to prove its effectiveness.”
“Of course.”
“Well, allow me to tell you, Captain, that I can’t get over my astonishment.”
“And that you admire their stolid fatalism. I know... I know....”
“Oh, who told you so?”
“I read it in one of the daily reports of either the doctor or Buldeo... I don’t remember....” (So they made daily reports! I shall have to be on my guard.) “In short, in your opinion their stoicism is wonderful.”
“Or else revolting in its cowardice,” I explained, fearing lest I had said something to upset him.
“Sometimes they shock you because they don’t rebel against it, and sometimes they raise your enthusiasm because they don’t appear even to think about the punishment reserved for them.... Well, Monsieur Herbert, I can assure you that they are thinking about their punishment all the time; they think about nothing else; they do all they can to escape from it; and the chief thing that they can do to escape from it is to grin and bear it. Ah, these beggars are practical men, I can tell you, much more practical than ‘wonderful.’ Knowing them as I do, I spoke to them again in their own language, and they immediately understood me and I had peace.
“I have divided them, Monsieur, into hostages, halfhostages, third part hostages and quarters... hostages! Those who are complete hostages are of course the happiest. They are almost certain not to be hurt. It is true that they answer to me with their lives for certain prisoners in Germany, but these gentlemen have taken good care to prevent any regrettable accident happening. They have themselves warned the Fatherland of the fate that awaits them. That explains the ‘one of the best attitude of Von Busch and the charming gaiety of Von Freemann. Now, mark you, in order to remain a complete hostage these gentlemen must make a special show of imperturbability. He who flinches or bewails his fate, or even the fate of others, is destined to be very cut up. Forgive the expression.”
But I did not forgive the expression. And I could not prevent myself from moving a little away from him in the pew where we were sitting.
Did he notice this involuntary and regrettable action? Or did it escape his attention? The obstinacy with which he continued quietly to elucidate his terrible system rather led me to believe that he was fully aware of the effect produced on me; and soon, moreover, it was impossible for me to repress a fresh gesture of dismay. “Are you shocked?” he asked calmly.
“You terrify me.... You terrify an honest man, Monsieur; a man who absolutely refuses to give credit to all your wild fancies. No, no; all this talk doesn’t convince me that you really have such outrageous intentions. You want to frighten them.... You want to frighten them, Monsieur.”
“I agree. I agree,” replied the Man. “ I want to frighten them, just as they meant to frighten the world by massacring the peaceful peoples in the North. I frighten them as deliberately as that....”
And suddenly seizing me by the wrist which he gripped with such force that I had to cry out:
“Do I look as if I am trifling?” he asked in a hissing voice. “Was I trifling yesterday when, as you saw, we cut out the tongue of that babbling professor?”
“No, no, I did not see it,” I cried, startled by the Captain’s outburst. “It was really a terrible thing to do, but apart from him who was made an example of, and perhaps deserved to be, as a warning, your revenge up to now has taken the form only of a pledge... a threat. Tell me that it is so. Give me a ray of hope....”
“Hope of what, Monsieur? You are asking me something to which I must refuse to reply. That is entirely between God and myself. What is it to do with you if some persons have already paid the penalty, or that the payment is not to be made for a week or a fortnight? Time does not enter into the question.... They will pay. I swear it. That much is certain.”
“The poor wretches... the poor wretches.”
“Oh, don’t pity them all,” rapped out the Captain with a grin. “Some of them are less to be pitied than others. There are those who since they feel pretty well reassured on their own fate are enjoying the fate of others. And, besides, don’t think that in watching others suffer they are doing any violence to their own feelings, even when these persons are friends, brothers, comrades in arms. I know you have seen them in their railed recess after dinner. Did they give you the impression of taking it to heart? Yes or no? Answer!”
“No; it was more awful than anything I could have imagined. They did not take it to heart.... Oh, you are the very devil.”
The words flashed forth in spite of myself as though I had a bomb inside me. But he did not seem to resent them. Under his mask he smiled, even, as he scratched the corner of his lip with his forefinger.
“Do you know the expression schadenfreude, Monsieur?” he continued. “It is a German word which has no equivalent in any other language. It denotes a peculiarity of character which is exclusively and inherently German, and it practically means the pleasure that is consciously felt in causing pain to others, or, in other words, the delight of seeing others suffer.
“According to Curt Wigand this odious feeling exists in a more or less pronounced degree among certain individuals of other nations; but it makes its appearance among them only, so to speak, as the result of an exceptional state of mind, of a momentary impulse, whilst the Germans, on the contrary, are affected with an innate and chronic schadenfreude so widespread, or rather so general, that their language, deprived of words to indicate ‘delicacy’ and ‘chivalry,’ is obliged to coin one in order to express the malignant and demoralising satisfaction which low and cruel minds feel ‘ at the sight of the misfortunes of others.’
“Now when to the sight of the misfortunes of others is added the hope that it will perhaps lessen their own misfortunes, you see, Monsieur, what the result of it can be.”
“I have seen it... I have seen it. How well you know them, Monsieur.”
“Not so well as they know themselves,” answered the Captain. “ Not so well, you will find, as Curt Wigand, a clear-sighted German psychologist, who appears fully to understand his countrymen but refrains from supporting his thesis with examples. Nevertheless, when once the mind is switched on to this line of thought, if one has the least knowledge, however superficial, of the history of German manners, numerous e
xamples will occur to the memory. For schadenfreude existed in every age. Wherever they — Prussians chiefly — held sway they left behind them traces in which are manifest sometimes their inveterate tendency to stain and desecrate, and sometimes their studied ferocity. At Nuremburg there is still to be seen the famous Madonna which, it is said, was invented by a Hohenzollem, Frederic of the iron tooth. It was at one time in the Old Castle at Berlin. It is a statue hollowed out of wood and opens like a cupboard; the doors and inner sides are studded with large steel spikes.
“When the judges in the pay of the said Frederic were without the necessary proofs to condemn the accused, they acquitted him, and sent him before the Madonna so that he might offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. He was forced into the arms of the statue which, by cunningly contrived machinery, at once closed on him, and he was crushed and pierced by a hundred daggers. One can conjure up the shrieks which issued from the grim effigy, shaken by the agony of the poor wretch who was struggling in his upright coffin, lacerated to death by those sharp spikes. Has the imagination of any tyrant ever conceived anything comparable in cruelty and sacrilege to this Prussian instrument of torture to which its inventor gave the face and form of the merciful Virgin? An atrocity of the Middle Ages, you will say, the relic of a period fertile in such horrors.
“In 1814 Blucher, calling to mind the Nuremburg maiden, brought along with him in Champagne among his paraphernalia his ‘cage for the French.’ It was a large box in lattice work whose floor was made up of small sharp blades arranged in such a way that it was impossible for any one to stand upright, sit down or lie down in it. The old braggart used to be cheered up by the contortions and groans of the prisoners whom he locked in it.”
“The brutes.”
“The brutes, Monsieur, have not changed. The Belgian and French official reports call to witness that their conception of evil and suffering, and their delight in suffering, have but ‘grown’ and become ‘worse.’ No! The brutes will not change until they are up against some one more brutal than themselves. And if by chance — for, I repeat, there are very well-meaning people in the world like you, Monsieur, who display great zeal, as neutrals, in attempting to reconcile black and white, the wound and the knife, and to make the wound forget the knife — if by chance in this spirit of good humour and general ‘forget and forgive,’ you are led to doubt the proofs, even official, of the crimes committed by the Huns, I will recall to your attention the Hun evidence which glorifies them.
“‘Must civilisation raise its temples on mountains of corpses, on seas of tears and on the agonies of the dying? Yes.’ Marshal von Haeseler, 1915.
“‘ Quarter is not to be given. Be as terrible as Attila’s Huns.’ William II, 1900.
“‘Prisoners may be shot. Hostages may be forced to expose their lives.’ Manual of the German Grand General Staff, 1902.
“‘It was with my consent that the General had the entire locality burnt down and some hundred persons shot.’ Von Bulow, Commanding the 2nd Army, 1914.
“‘All the prisoners will be put to death. The wounded, with or without arms, will be put to death.
No living man must be left behind us.’ General Stenger, Commanding the 58th Brigade, 1914.
“And how many other proclamations and how many other crimes have they put before the world as the truths of a new religion? The old religion made new for the world of the good old German God! What do you think of it, Monsieur?”
He rose to his feet. True, he did not expect me to reply to him, and unfortunately I had nothing to say in reply. He raised his hands to the Heavens and cried:
“Here is a creed which holds together remarkably well. It certainly has the advantage of not shrinking from moral scruples by which up to now nations have prided themselves that they have been held in restraint. This creed was not only conceived by the Huns, but has been translated into action by them after scientific preparation, and this much justice must be done to them — they have known fully how to conform to it.
“Well, Monsieur, I have been as neutral as you. If I wear a mask over my face it is because it is in the general interest that my name should not be disclosed, and I alone should be responsible for my answer to the Huns. But my name is that of a public benefactor. My great fortune has helped to this day to alleviate suffering in the world. It is written on the face of all the hospitals. At the present time I am ruining myself for the sake of this work. I am making executioners. And I believe God is with me.
“It’s all very well,” he continued in a hollow voice, “to denounce crime and to return verdicts like that of the jury at Kinsale which, after the disaster to the Lusitania, found:
“‘This appalling crime was contrary to international law and the conventions of all civilised nations, and we therefore charge the officers of the said submarine and the Emperor and Government of Germany, under whose orders they acted, with the crime of wilful and wholesale murder.’
“But these are words, words, words. I, Monsieur, believe in deeds. I did not waste my time in cursing the crime, I determined to stop it. Come, stand up, and have the courage to turn over the leaves of my account books and tell me whether I was right or wrong. Even if I do inspire you with feelings of horror, what effect do you suppose that your repugnance can have on me? Do you think that my detestation of the work was less than yours? But I conquered it... that was the principal thing.... Come, Monsieur, come... a slight effort... the least little effort.... Force yourself to look at my Letter Copying Book. There... there.... Look at the letter which reached me at Madeira through the medium of the Governor of Brussels. It has to do with a trial. This very week, in a couple of days, over forty Belgian telegraphists, accused of espionage, are to be tried by court-martial. This case, one of the most important of those which have been tried up to now, involves the death sentence. Well, Monsieur, read that letter in which their pardon is granted to me in advance. And now condemn me if you will. What difference can it make to me?... I put it to you.”
CHAPTER XXV
TWO PORTRAITS
IT WAS I, this time, who very humbly held out my hand like a poor wight who could only in turn fear and execrate and then admire. He accepted the compliment of my submission — for I was ready to admit everything and understand everything when once there was a solid hope of Amalia’s safety — as if it were his due and in no way surprising. The man had seemed to me really great, surveying mankind from immense altitudes like a just fate with widely opened eyes, punishing evil in the world with logical thunderbolts; and this from fate was something new. His well-kept accounts directed the blows!
It was all very fine, and in truth, as Dolores had foretold, I was not far from weeping with enthusiasm and remorse on the hand of the new masked god.
Nevertheless I must tell you how it was that the archangel of the waters became Satan again in my eyes, or rather how he merged in Satan again.
He led me into the apse behind the altar. It was a gem within a gem, this little recess in this little Sainte-Chapelle.
The lofty stained-glass windows, framed in their light Gothic spindles and the flame-like tracery of the rose-windows, shed their purple beams over us. And the Captain pointed out an inscription whose scarlet letters had just flashed out above the stained-glass windows: Remember Miss Campbell.
“English regiments charge to that battle-cry,” he said. “It is with that memory before us that the Vengeance sails under the waters quoerens quem devoret” (seeking whom he may devour).
Then he requested me to turn partly round, and I saw behind the altar two high spaces completely covered over with black crape. He made a slight gesture, and one of the curtains fell away and before us appeared the angelic features of the martyred Miss Campbell. The light streaming through the stained-glass windows seemed to shed upon her rays of blood.
I shivered from head to foot. The sudden vision of the saintly woman recalled to my mind Dolores’ words about this portrait, and the companion picture beside it, which was “ still mor
e to be feared.”
The Man folded his arms before the wonderful face of Miss Campbell and speaking as though in prayer: “She was the daughter of a clergyman in a village not far from Norwich. Great respect has been paid to her virtues which raised her above ordinary people, but what has not been sufficiently emphasised is the austerity of her character. Rather than tell the slightest falsehood she would have preferred death. And that is why she died. She died because of the candour with which she confessed that she had not tried to hand over to their executioners the English soldiers who took refuge under her roof.
“She was a friend of my family and myself. For a long time past we were linked together by all the good work that she induced me to do. I was in England when I learnt that she was a prisoner, charged with treason. With the assistance of a lady friend who was as devoted to her as I was, I determined to save her at all costs. We booked our passages on a steamboat which was to land us in Holland; and here everything was so arranged that we could reach Brussels, under assumed names, a few hours later. Unfortunately our ship struck a mine and we were blown up. I was wounded, picked up by a trawler, and landed at Tilbury. As to my lady friend, from whom I had been separated, and whom I was never again to see, I have learnt since what happened to her.” He stopped short. I saw his shoulders rise and his chest heave in a tremendous sigh.... At length, after an obvious effort to master his emotion which he considered unworthy of him, he went on:
“She was rescued unwounded by a Dutch fishing boat, and taken to Flushing. The day after that, with the help of the false papers of identity, she reached Brussels and was ready to act. She had a considerable sum of money on her. For that matter there was no need to buy accomplices. Soon a goodly number of persons were ready to die to save Miss Campbell. We will leave no stone unturned in our efforts to succeed, they said.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 351