The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories

by Émile Erckmann

  “Yes, it would look odd for a man of my years to send a mere child in my place.”

  “Very good; I understand.”

  He took the watch, but I believe that only his pride drove him to this resolution. He would have been ashamed to show less courage than I before his comrades. We went down from the loft in a thoughtful mood. As we crossed the alleyway that comes out on the Rue Saint Christopher, we heard the clicking of glasses. I recognized the voice of old Bremer and his sons, Ludwig and Karl. “By Jove,” said I, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a glass before we start.” I pushed open the door of the tap-room as I spoke, and we found all our company gathered there, their instruments variously deposited about the room. We were received with shouts of satisfaction and places were quickly made for us at the table. “Ho! Good morning, comrades,” said Bremer; “more snow and wind. All the taverns are full of people, and every bottle that is opened means a florin in our pockets.” I saw little Annette looking as fresh and fair as a rose, and smiling fondly at me with her lips and eyes. This sight reanimated me. It was I who got the daintiest morsels, and whenever she approached to set a glass of wine at my elbow, she touched me caressingly on the shoulder, and I thought, with a beating heart, of the days when we used to go chestnutting together. But in spite of this, the pale face of our strange visitor of the night before recurred to me from time to time, and made me tremble. I looked at Wilfred; he, too, seemed thoughtful.

  Eight o’clock came and our party was about to start out, when the door was thrown open, and three big fellows, with lead-colored complexions, their eyes shining like rats, and their hats awry, appeared on the threshold, followed by several others of a like description. One of them, with a razor-back nose, and with a heavy club bound to his wrist, stepped forward, crying: “Your passports, gentlemen!” Each one hastened to comply with the request. Unfortunately, Wilfred, who stood near the stove, was seized with a sudden trembling. The officer’s experienced eye detected his agitation, and as he paused in his reading to give him a questioning look, my comrade conceived the unlucky idea of slipping the watch into his boot; but before it had reached its destination, the official slapped his hand against the other’s hip, and said jeeringly: “Something seems to trouble you here.” To everybody’s amazement, Wilfred was seized with a fainting spell and dropped upon a bench pale as death. Without further ceremony, Madoc, the Chief of Police, pulled up his trousers’ leg and drew out the watch with a burst of evil laughter. He had no sooner glanced at it, however, than he became sober, and, turning to his men, he cried in a terrible voice: “Let no one leave the room! We have caught the whole band at last! Look! this is the watch of Dean Daniel Van den Berg. Bring hither the handcuffs!” This order chilled us to the marrow. A tumult followed, and I, believing that we were lost, slid under a bench near the wall. As I was watching them chain the hands of poor old Bremer and his sons, Karl and Ludwig, together with Heinrich and Wilfred, I felt Annette’s little hand brush against my cheek and she drew me gently toward her—slowly and quietly toward the open cellar door. I was unnoticed in the general confusion; I slipped within; the door closed behind me. It was but the matter of a second. Scarcely had I concealed myself, before I heard my poor comrades depart; then all became silent.

  I will leave you to imagine the nature of my reflections during an entire day, crouched down behind a wine cask with my legs gathered under me, and realizing that if a dog should enter the cellar, if the landlady should take the notion to come downstairs to fill a pitcher, if the cask should run out before night and were to be replaced; in short, if the slightest thing went amiss, it would be all up with me. All these thoughts and a thousand others passed through my mind, and I fancied that I already saw my comrades being led to execution. Little Annette, no less anxious than myself, closed the door prudently each time that she came up from the cellar. At last, I heard the old woman cry: “Leave the door open! Are you mad to lose half your time in shutting it?” After that the door remained ajar, and from my nook in the shadows I could see the tables gradually filling with new customers.

  Stories, discussions, and exclamations concerning the famous band of robbers reached my ears. “Oh! the rascals!” cried one; “thank Heaven they are caught. What a scourge they have been to Heidelberg! No one dared risk himself in the streets after ten o’clock, and even business was beginning to suffer; but now things are changed and in a fortnight it will all be forgotten.”

  “Those musicians of the Black Forest are a lot of bandits!” chimed in another; “they make their way into the houses under pretext of playing, and meanwhile they are examining the locks, bolts, chests, and windows, and some fine morning we hear that such a one has had his throat cut in his bed; that his wife has been murdered, his children strangled, and his house rifled from top to bottom. The wretches should be strung up without mercy! Then we might have some peace.”

  “The whole village will turn out to see them hanged,” said Mother Grédel, “and as for me, it will be the happiest day of my life.”

  “Do you know, if it hadn’t been for Dean Daniel’s watch, no trace of them would have been found. Last night the watch disappeared, and this morning the Dean notified the police. An hour later, Madoc bagged them all! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  The entire roomful burst out laughing, and I trembled with shame, indignation, and fear in turn.

  Meanwhile, the night drew on. Only a few loungers remained. The people of the inn, who had sat up the night before, were anxious to get to bed. I heard the landlady yawn and mutter: “Oh, dear! How long before we can get some sleep?” Most of the tipplers comprehended the force of this remark and withdrew; only one remained, sitting half asleep before his glass. The watchman, going his rounds, woke him up and he went off grumbling and staggering.

  “At last!” I said to myself; “this is good luck; Mother Grédel has gone to bed and Annette will not be slow in getting me out.” With this agreeable prospect in view, I had already stretched out my stiffened limbs, when Dame Grédel’s voice reached my ear: “Annette, go and lock up, and don’t forget to bolt the door! I am going down cellar.” It appeared that this was a wise custom of hers to assure herself that everything was right.

  “But, madame,” stammered the girl, “the cask isn’t empty. You needn’t bother to—”

  “Mind your own business,” interrupted the mistress, whose candle was already lighting up the passageway. I had barely time to squat down again behind the cask, when the old woman, stooping beneath the low, dingy ceiling, passed from one keg to another, mumbling as she went: “Oh! the little wretch. How she lets the wine leak. I’ll teach her to close the spigots tighter; did ever any one see the like?” The candle threw great shadows against the damp wall. I huddled closer and closer. Suddenly, just as I thought the visit happily ended, and was beginning to breathe easier again, I heard the old creature give a sigh so long and so full of woe that I knew something unusual was happening. I risked just the least glance, and I saw Dame Grédel Dick, her under jaw dropped and her eyes sticking out of her head, staring at the bottom of the barrel behind which I lay. She had caught sight of one of my feet underneath the joist that served as a wedge to keep the cask in place. She evidently believed she had discovered the chief of the robbers concealed there for the purpose of strangling her during the night. I formed a sudden resolution. “Madame, for God’s sake, have pity on me!” I cried: “I am—” Without looking at me, or listening to a word I said, she set up an ear-splitting shriek and started up the stairs as quickly as her great weight would permit. Seized with inexpressible terror, I clung to her skirt and went down on my knees. This only made matters worse. “Help! seize the assassin! Oh, my God! release me! Take my money! Oh! Oh!”

  It was horrible. In vain did I cry: “Only look at me, my dear madame; I am not what you think me!” She was beside herself with fear; she raved and screamed in such piercing tones that had we not been underground, the whole neighborhood would inevitably have been aroused. In this extremity, consulting
only my rage, I overturned her, and gaining the door before her, I slammed it in her face, taking care to slip the bolt. During the struggle the candle had been extinguished and Dame Grédel was left in the dark. Her cries grew fainter and fainter. I stared at Annette, giddy, and with hardly strength enough left to stand. Her agitation equaled mine. We neither of us seemed able to speak, and stood listening to the expiring cries of the mistress, which soon ceased altogether. The poor woman had fainted.

  “Oh! Kasper,” cried Annette, wringing her hands, “what is to be done? Fly! fly! You may have been heard! Did you kill her?”

  “Kill her? I?”

  “I am so glad! But fly! I will open the door for you.” She unbarred it, and I fled into the street, without stopping even to thank her; but I was so terrified and there was not a moment to lose. The night was inky black; not a star in the sky, and the street lamps unlighted. The weather was abominable; it was snowing hard and the wind howled dismally.

  Not until I had run for a good half-hour did I stop to take breath. Imagine my horror when I found myself directly opposite the Pied de Mouton Tavern. In my terror I had run around the square a dozen times for aught I knew. My legs felt like lead and my knees tottered under me.

  The inn, but a moment before deserted, swarmed like a bee-hive, and lights danced about from window to window. It was evidently filled with the police. And now, at my wits’ end, desperate, exhausted with cold and hunger, and not knowing where to find refuge, I resolved upon the strangest possible course.

  “By Jove,” I said to myself, “as well be hanged as leave my bones on the road to the Black Forest.” And I walked into the tavern with the intention of giving myself up to the officials. Besides the fellows with their cocked hats tilted rakishly over their ears, and the clubs fastened to their wrists, whom I had already seen in the morning, and who were now running here and there, and turning everything upside down, there was the bailiff, Zimmer, standing before one of the tables, dressed in black, with a grave air and penetrating glance, and near him the secretary Roth, with his red wig, imposing countenance, and large ears, flat as oyster shells. They paid no attention to my entrance, and this circumstance altered my resolution at once. I sat down in a corner of the room behind the big cast-iron stove, in company with two or three of the neighbors, who had run hither to see what was going on, and I ordered a pint of wine and a dish of sauerkraut. Annette came near betraying me. “Goodness!” she cried, “is it possible!” But one exclamation, more or less, in such a babel of voices possessed but little significance. It passed unnoticed, and, while I ate with a ravenous appetite, I listened to the examination to which Dame Grédel was subjected as she lay back in a large armchair, her hair falling down and her eyes bulged out with fright.

  “How old did the man appear to be?” asked the bailiff.

  “Between forty and fifty, sir. He was an enormous man with black side whiskers, or maybe brown, I don’t exactly remember, with a long nose and green eyes.”

  “Did he have any birthmark or scars?”

  “I don’t remember any. He only had a big hammer and pistols.”

  “Very good! And what did he say to you?”

  “He seized me by the throat, but fortunately I screamed so loud it frightened him, and I defended myself with my finger-nails. When any one tries to murder you, you fight hard for your life, sir.”

  “Nothing is more natural or legitimate, madame. Take this down, Roth! The coolness of this good woman is remarkable.”

  The rest of the deposition was in the same strain. They questioned Annette afterward, but she testified to having been so frightened that she could remember nothing.

  “That will do,” said the bailiff; “if we need anything further, we will return to-morrow morning.”

  Everybody withdrew, and I asked Dame Grédel for a room for the night. So great had been her fear that she had not the slightest recollection of having seen me before. “Annette,” said she, “Show the gentleman to the little room on the third floor. I can not stand on my legs. Oh! dear! what trials we have to bear in this world.” She began to weep.

  Annette, having lighted a candle, led me up to the little chamber, and when we found ourselves alone, she cried innocently: “Oh! Kasper, Kasper! Who would have believed that you were one of the band! I can never console myself for having loved a robber!”

  “What! you, too, believe us guilty, Annette?” I exclaimed despairingly, dropping into a chair; “that is the last straw on the camel’s back.”

  “No! no! you can not be. You are too much of a gentleman, dear Kasper! And you were so brave to come back.” I explained to her that I was perishing with cold and hunger, and that that was the only consideration which led me to return.

  We were left to ourselves for some time; then Annette departed, lest she should arouse Madame Grédel’s suspicions. Left to myself, after having ascertained that the windows were not approached by any wall, and that the sashes were securely fastened, I thanked God that I had thus far been brought safely through the perils which surrounded me, and then going to bed, I was soon fast asleep.

  CHAPTER II

  I got up at about eight o’clock the next morning. It was foggy and dark. As I drew aside the hangings of the bed, I noticed that the snow was drifted on a level with the windows; the sashes were all white. I began to reflect upon the sad condition of my companions; they must have suffered with the cold, particularly old Bremer and Bertha, and the idea filled me with sorrow. As I was reflecting thus, a strange noise arose outside. It drew near the inn, and I sprang anxiously to the window to see if some new dangers were threatening. They were bringing the famous band of robbers to confront Dame Grédel Dick, who was not yet sufficiently recovered from her fright to venture out of doors. My poor comrades came down the street between a double file of police, and followed by a crowd of street urchins, who screamed and yelled like savages. It seems to me that I can still see that terrible scene; poor Bremer chained between his sons, Ludwig and Karl, Wilfred behind them, and Bertha bringing up the rear and crying piteously: “In the name of Heaven, my masters, have pity on a poor, innocent harpist! I kill? I steal? O God! can it be?” She wrung her hands distractedly. The others proceeded with bowed heads, their hair falling over their faces.

  The crowd swarmed into the dark alleyway of the inn. The guards drove back the rabble, and the door was closed and barred. The eager crowd remained outside, standing ankle-deep in slush, with their noses flattened against the panes. A profound silence settled upon the house. Having by this time got into my clothes, I opened the door part way to listen, and see if it would be possible to escape from my unpleasant quarters. I heard the sound of voices and of people moving about on the lower floors, which convinced me that the passages were strongly guarded. My door opened on the landing, directly opposite the window through which the man had fled two nights before. I did not pay any attention to this circumstance at first, but as I stood there I suddenly noticed that the window was open, and that there was no snow on the sill; approaching it, I saw fresh tracks along the wall. I shuddered. The man must have returned last night; perhaps visited the inn every night. It was a revelation to me, and at once the mystery began to clear up.

  “Oh! if it were only true,” I said to myself, “that fortune had placed the murderer’s fate in my hands, my unhappy fellows would be saved!” And I followed with my eyes the footprints, which led with surprising distinctness to the opposite roof. At this moment some words fell on my ear. The door of the dining hall had just been opened to let in the fresh air, and I heard the following conversation: “Do you recall having taken part in the murder of Ulmet Elias on the twentieth of this month?” Some unintelligible words followed. “Close the door, Madoc!” said the bailiff; “the woman is ill.” I heard no more. As I stood with my head resting against the balusters, a sudden resolution seized me. “I can save my comrades!” I exclaimed; “God has pointed out to me the means, and if I fail to do my duty, their blood will be upon my head. My self-re
spect and peace of mind will be forever lost, and I shall consider myself the most cowardly of wretches.” It took me some time, however, to summon up resolution enough. Then I went downstairs and entered the dining-room.

  “Did you ever see this watch before?” the bailiff was saying to Dame Grédel. “Do your best to remember!” Without waiting for her answer, I stepped forward and replied firmly: “That watch, bailiff? I have seen it before in the hands of the murderer himself. I recognize it perfectly, and if you will only listen to me, I will agree to deliver the man into your hands this very night.” Perfect stillness followed my bold declaration.

  The officials stared at each other, dumfounded; my comrades seemed to cheer up a bit. “I am the companion of these unfortunate people,” I continued, “and I say it without shame, for every one of them is honest, even if he is poor, and there is not one among them capable of committing the crimes imputed to him.”

  Again silence followed. Dame Bertha began to weep quietly. At last the bailiff aroused himself. Looking at me sharply, he said: “Where do you pretend to deliver the assassin into our hands?”

  “Right here in this very house! And to convince you of it, I only ask for a moment’s private conversation.”

  “Let us hear what you have to say,” he replied, rising.

  He motioned Madoc to follow us; the others remained. We left the room. I went hastily up the stairs, with the others at my heels. Pausing at the window on the third floor, I showed them the man’s footprints in the snow.

  “Those are the murderer’s tracks!” I said; “he visits this house every night. Yesterday he came at two in the morning; last night he returned, and he will undoubtedly be back again this evening.”

  The bailiff and Madoc examined the footprints without a word.

  “How do you know that these are the murderer’s tracks?” asked the chief of police, doubtfully. Thereupon I told him of the man’s appearance in our loft. I pointed out to them the little window above us through which I had watched him as he fled in the moonlight, and which Wilfred had not seen, as he remained in bed. I admitted that it was mere chance that had led me to the discovery of the tracks made the night before.