‘I will tell you the whole story,’ she said, ‘for I am about to leave forever this country which I determined to visit for the last time. And then you will understand why it was that I threw the little gold axe into the lake.
‘I was born in Geneva, monsieur. We belonged to one of the leading families and were rich, but some unfortunate speculations on the stock exchange ruined my father, who died from the shock. When I was eighteen I was a beautiful girl without a dowry. My mother gave up all hope of marrying me. And yet she yearned to make sure of my future before she went to join my father.
‘I was twenty-four when a suitor whom everyone looked upon as an unhoped-for chance appeared.
‘A young man from Briesgau who was accustomed to spend the summer in Switzerland and whose acquaintance we made in the casino at Evian, fell in love with me, and I liked him. Herbert Gutmann was a tall young fellow, kindly, unobtrusive and good-natured. He seemed to unite qualities alike of heart and mind. He possessed a certain affluence without being actually wealthy. His father was still engaged in business, and made him an allowance in order that he might travel until the time came for him to succeed him in his business. We were all intending to visit the elder Gutmann at his place in Todtnau, in the Black Forest, when the state of my mother’s health greatly hastened the course of events.
‘Conscious that she no longer possessed the physical strength to travel, my mother hurriedly returned to Geneva, where she received from the civil authorities of Todtnau, to whom she had written, the most satisfactory information in respect of Herbert and his family. Herbert’s father had begun life as an ordinary woodcutter, and then had left the district, returning to it with a small fortune which he had “made in timber”. That was all, at least, that was known of him in Todtnau.
‘This was enough to induce my mother to press forward the formalities of my marriage, which took place a week before her death. She died with her mind at rest for, as she said, she felt “reassured about my future”.
‘My husband helped me to overcome the grief which this sore trial caused me by his constant goodness and solicitude. Before we set out for Todtnau we came here to Gersau to spend a week, and then to my great surprise we undertook a long journey instead of making our visit to Herbert’s father. My sorrow would have gradually been dispelled if, as the days sped by, I had not noticed, almost with dismay, that my husband was more and more becoming a prey to melancholy.
‘I was more surprised than I can express, because Herbert had seemed to me of a humorous disposition, open, unrestrained and extremely frank. Was I to discover that the liveliness which he used to display was forced, and veiled some deep mortification? Alas! his sighs when he thought himself alone, and the agitation which sometimes disturbed his night’s rest, scarcely left room for doubt, and I made up my mind to question him.
‘At the first word that I ventured to speak on the subject he made answer by bursting into laughter, treating me as a silly little goose and kissing me passionately, which merely served to strengthen my conviction that I was in the presence of some painful mystery.
‘I could not hide from myself that there was something in Herbert’s demeanour which was very like “remorse”. And yet I could have sworn that he was incapable of committing, I will not say a low or mean action, but even one lacking in propriety.
‘It was then that the fate which had dogged my footsteps struck us another blow in the person of my father-in-law, of whose death we learnt whilst we were in Scotland. This grievous piece of news depressed my husband more than I can say. He remained the whole night without uttering a word, nor did he shed tears nor appear to listen to the words of consolation by which I, in my turn, endeavoured to rouse his spirit. He seemed to be overwhelmed. At last, when the light was beginning to dawn, he rose from the armchair in which he had sat huddled, and turning towards me a face terribly distorted by suffering, said in a harrowing voice:
“‘Come, Elizabeth, we shall have to go back. We shall have to go back.”
‘These words seemed to possess a significance from the tone in which they were spoken which I failed to understand. A return to the land of his fathers was quite natural at a moment like that; I could not see why he should fight against the necessity of going home. From that day onward Herbert changed completely; he grew extraordinarily silent, and more than once I came upon him sobbing wildly.
‘The grief which the loss of a beloved father might occasion could not entirely explain the horror of our position, for there is nothing more terrible than mystery, the deep mystery which steals in between two beings who are devoted to each other, and separates them from their happiness...
‘We reached Todtnau in time to breathe a prayer over the newly-made grave.
‘This little town in the Black Forest, at no great distance from Hôllenthal, was a dreary spot; and there was scarcely any society in it for me. The Gutmann’s house, in which we took up our abode, lay on the borders of the forest.
‘It was a gloomy chalet standing in its own grounds, and our one visitor was an old clockmaker in the place, who was said to be rich and had been the elder Gutmann’s friend. He appeared from time to time at the lunch or dinner hour, in order to get himself invited.
‘I had no liking for this manufacturer of cuckoo clocks, this petty usurer, for though he was rich, he was a miser and incapable of the least nicety of feeling. Nor did Herbert care for Franz Basckler, though he continued out of respect for the memory of his father to keep on friendly terms with him.
‘Basckler, who had no children, had told the elder Gutmann times out of number that Herbert was his only heir. Herbert spoke to me about it one day with the most sincere aversion, and I had once more an opportunity of appreciating the strictness of his conscience.
‘“Would you like to be the heir of this sordid old miser who made his fortune by ruining all the clockmakers in Hôllenthal?”
“‘Certainly not,” I returned. “Your father left us a certain amount of property and with what you can honestly earn we shall have enough to live on even if Heaven chooses to send us a child.”
‘I had no sooner uttered these words than I saw my Herbert turn as white as a sheet. I put my arms round him, for I thought that he was about to faint, but the blood returned to his face, and he exclaimed in forcible tones:
‘“Yes, yes, the only true thing is to have the approbation of one’s conscience.”
‘And so saying he rushed wildly from the room.
‘Sometimes he was away for a day or two on business, which consisted, he told me, of buying plantations of standing trees and selling them again to contractors. He did not work the whole thing himself but left to others the task of turning the trees into sleepers for railways, if the wood was inferior quality, and posts and ships’ masts if it was of the best quality. The essential thing was to display expert judgment; and he had acquired his knowledge of timber from his father.
‘He never took me away with him on any of his journeys. He left me alone in the house with an old maidservant who had received me with ill-disguised hostility. I kept out of her way and wept in secret, for I was not happy. I felt convinced that Herbert was hiding something from me, something which was obsessing his mind, and which I too, who knew nothing, was never able to dismiss from my thoughts.
‘And then the great forest frightened me. And the servant frightened me. And old Basckler frightened me. And the old house! It was very large with staircases everywhere leading to passages into which I dared not venture. At the end of one of them in particular, stood a small room. I had seen my husband enter it two or three times, but I myself had never set foot in it.
‘I could not pass the door of this room, which was always closed, without a tremor. It was to this study that Herbert was wont to retire, so he told me, to make up his accounts and balance his books, but it was also to this room that he retired alone to bewail his secret.
‘One night after he had set out on one of his journeys and I was vainly endeavouring to
sleep, my attention was attracted by a slight sound under my window which I had left partly open on account of the extreme heat. I got out of bed with every precaution. The sky was overcast and great clouds hid the stars from sight. It was as much as I could do to discern the threatening shadows of the nearest trees which faced the house.
‘I could not clearly distinguish my husband and the maidservant until they passed under my window, walking on the lawn with infinite caution so that I should not hear the sound of their footsteps and carrying between them a sort of long, somewhat narrow trunk which I had never before seen. They entered the chalet and I did not hear nor see them again for the next ten minutes.
‘My anguish exceeded anything that it is possible to conceive. Why were they hiding themselves from me? How was it that I had not heard the coming of the chaise which usually brought Herbert home? Just then I seemed to catch in the distance the neighing of a horse, and the maidservant appeared, crossed the lawn, vanished in the darkness, and soon returned leading our mare unharnessed over the soft ground. Never had they taken so many precautions to prevent me from waking up!
‘Growing more and more surprised that Herbert did not come to our room as was his custom after his return at night, I hastily slipped on a dressing gown and wandered into the darkness of the passage. My steps turned quite naturally towards the little study of which I stood in so much fear. And I had only just entered the corridor which led to it when I heard my husband say in a rough, muffled voice to the maidservant who was mounting the stairs:
‘“Water! Bring me some water. Hot water of course. It won’t come off.”
‘I stopped short and held my breath. Besides I could not breathe. I was stifling. I was filled with the presentiment that some dreadful misfortune had befallen us. Suddenly I was once more startled by my husband’s voice:
‘“Ah, at last! That’s done it. It’s come off.”
‘My husband and the old woman were still talking in low tones and I heard his step. That brought me to myself and I fled to my bedroom and locked myself in. Soon he knocked at the door and I went through the form of pretending to be asleep and to wake up, and at last I opened the door. I held a candle in my hand which fell to the floor when I caught sight of the look on his face.
“‘What’s the matter?” he asked. “Are you still asleep? Do go back to bed.”
‘I made a movement to light the candle again, but he stopped me and I threw myself on the bed. I spent a cruel night.
‘Herbert turned and tossed and sighed beside me and could not sleep. He did not speak a word. At daybreak he rose, pressed an icy kiss on my brow and left the room. When I got downstairs the old woman gave me a note from him in which he stated that he was obliged to go away again for a couple of days.
‘At eight o’clock that morning I learned from workmen on their way to Neustadt, that old Basckler had been found murdered in a small cottage which he possessed at Hollenthal, where he sometimes spent the night when his business of money lending kept him too long among his peasant-debtors. Basckler had received a terrible blow with an axe which had split his head in two. It was undoubtedly the work of a woodman.
‘I returned to the house as best I could. Once again I tried to enter that little study, but I was frustrated by the old servant. “Leave that room alone. You know M. Gutmann has forbidden you to touch it,” she said.
T took to my bed, suffering from a high fever, and was ill for a fortnight. Herbert looked after me with solicitude, and when I recovered it first seemed that I had been the sport of some evil dream. Moreover, the murderer of Basckler had been arrested. He was a woodman named Mathis Müller of Bergen whom, it was said, the old miser had “bled”, and who had taken his revenge by “bleeding” his persecutor, although he protested his innocence.
‘Our circumstances were in no way affected, as we imagined they might be, by old Basckler’s death, and Herbert looked in vain for a will which did not exist. Its absence considerably upset him and a black look came over his face whenever it was mentioned.
‘During Mathis Müller’s trial at Freiburg I eagerly read the newspapers; and certain words which fell from the counsel for the defence haunted me day and night:
‘“Until you have discovered the axe with which the deed was done and the murderer’s bloodstained clothes, you cannot convict Mathis Müller.”
‘Nevertheless Mathis Müller was found guilty and sentenced to death, and I am bound to say that the verdict strangely affected my husband. At night he dreamed of nothing but Mathis Müller. I was terrified of him and my thoughts also terrified me.
‘Oh! longed to know the truth! I was determined to know the truth. What was the meaning of those words: “It won’t come off?”
‘What was the nature of the work upon which he was engaged in the mysterious little study during the night?
‘One night I rose and groping in the dark stole his keys from him. I crept into the corridors. I went into the kitchen to fetch a lantern. With chattering teeth I reached the forbidden room... I opened the door and my eyes at once fell on the trunk - the oblong trunk which had so greatly perplexed me.
‘It was locked, but I had no difficulty in finding the small key on the bunch... I unlocked it and raised the lid. I went down on my knees in order to see better, and the sight that met my eyes forced a cry of horror from me...
‘The trunk contained bloodstained clothes and the axe which had struck the blow still spotted with rust...
‘How I managed, after what I had seen, to live with Herbert through the few weeks which preceded the convicted man’s execution I cannot tell...
‘I was afraid that he might kill me...
‘How was it that my attitude, the dread that possessed me, failed to enlighten him? The fact is that at that time his mind was wholly a prey to fears not less great than my own. The thought of Mathis Müller never left him.
‘To enable him to escape the obsession, apparently, he now shut himself up in the little study, and I sometimes heard him delivering tremendous blows, which made the floor and walls resound, as if he were fighting with his axe against the ghosts and phantoms which beset him.
‘Strange to say, and it seemed at first impossible to understand, Herbert recovered his calmness a couple of days before Müller’s execution — the calmness of marble, the calmness of a statue. That evening he said:
‘“I am going away tomorrow morning early. I have some important business to do near Freiburg. I shall probably be away for a couple of days. Don’t worry.”
‘It was at Freiburg that the execution was to take place, and I had the impression that Herbert’s composure was the result of the resolution that he had taken.
‘He was going to give himself up!
‘The thought was so much of a relief to me that for the first time for many a night I fell into a sound sleep. It was broad daylight when I awoke. My husband had already left the house.
‘I dressed in haste and without saying a word to the old servant I started for Todtnau. Here, I took a conveyance and drove to Freiburg. I reached Freiburg when the light had begun to wane. I went at once to the Court House, and the first person whom I saw entering the building was my husband. I stood rooted to the spot. And as Herbert did not come out again I felt sure that he had surrendered and was being held there at the disposal of the authorities.
‘The prison at that time was next to the Court House. I walked round it like a madwoman. All that night I wandered about the streets, returning every now and then to this gloomy building, and the first gleams of day were beginning to break when my eyes encountered two men clad in black frockcoats mounting the front steps of the Court.
‘I ran up to them and said that I wanted to see the public prosecutor as soon as possible as I had a communication of the utmost gravity to make to him about the Basckler murder.
‘As it happened, one of the gentlemen was the public prosecutor, and he invited me to accompany him to his office. Here I explained who I was and said that he must hav
e received a visit from my husband the night before. He told me that he had in fact seen him, and then as he took refuge in silence I threw myself on my knees before him beseeching him to have pity on me and tell me whether Herbert had confessed his crime. He seemed surprised, helped me to rise to my feet, and questioned me.
‘Slowly I told him the story of my life, such as I have told it to you, and at last I described the awful discovery which I had made in the little study in the chalet at Todtnau. I ended by declaring that I should never have allowed an innocent man to be executed, and that had not my husband given himself up, I should not have hesitated to inform the police. And then I asked him as a final act of mercy, to be allowed to see Herbert.
‘“Yes, you shall see him, madame,” he said. “Come with me.”
‘He took me, more dead than alive, to the prison, through the corridors and up a staircase. Here he stood me before a small barred window which jutted over a large hall and left me, telling me to have patience. A number of other persons soon took up their positions at this window, and looked into the hall.
‘I did as they did. It was as though I was fastened to the bars, and I had the feeling that I was about to witness some monstrous spectacle.
‘The hall was gradually lined with a number of persons all of whom maintained a mournful silence. Daylight now rendered the scene more visible. In the centre of the hall we could clearly discern a heavy block of wood, and someone exclaimed:
“‘That’s the headsman’s block!”
‘So Midler was to be executed! An icy perspiration began to trickle down my forehead, and I cannot say even now how it was that I did not fall into a dead faint. A door opened, and a procession appeared headed by the condemned man, quivering in his shirt which was cut low and showed his bare neck. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was supported by two warders. A minister of religion was murmuring in his ear.
‘The wretched man began to speak. In a few trembling words he confessed his crime and asked forgiveness of God and man. A civic officer took note of the confession and read out the sentence of the Court; and then the two warders thrust the convict on his knees and placed his head on the block.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 518