 Section 12 of Library of World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 4. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Fred Preston. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 4. By Julian Hawthorne, Editor. Section 12. The Invisible Eye. By Erkman Chatrian. About this time, said Christian, poor as a church mouse, I took refuge in the roof of an old house in Minisango Street, Nuremberg, and made my nest in the corner of the garret. I was compelled to work over my straw bed to reach the window, but this window was in the gable end, and the view from it was magnificent, both town and country being spread out before me. I could see the cats walking gravely in the gutters, the stalks, their beaks filled with frogs, carrying nourishment to their ravenous brood, the pigeons springing from their coats, their tails spread like fans hovering over the streets. In the evening, when the bells called the world to the Angelus, with my elbows upon the edge of the roof, I listened to their melancholy chimes. I watched the windows as, one by one, they were lighted up, the good burgers smoking their pipes on the sidewalks, the young girls in their red skirts, with their pictures under their arms, laughing and chatting around the fountains sans sabote. Insensibly, all this faded away. The bats commenced their rapid course, and I retired to my mattress in a sweet peace and tranquility. The old curiosity-seller, Tubak, knew the way to my little lodging as well as I did, and was not afraid to climb the ladder. Every week his ugly head, adorned with a reddish cap, raised the trapdoor. His fingers grasped the ledge, and he cried out in a nasal tone, Well, well, Master Christian, have you anything? To which I replied, Come in. Why in the devil don't you come in? I'm just finishing a little landscape, and you must tell me what you think of it. Then his great back, seeming to elongate, grew up, even to the roof, and the good man laughed silently. I must do justice to Tubak. He never haggled with me about prices. He bought all my paintings at fifteen Florence, one with the other, and sold them again for forty each. This was an honest Jew. I began to grow fond of this mode of existence, and to find new charms in it day by day. Just at this time the city of Nuremberg was agitated by a strange and mysterious event. Not far from my dormer window, a little to the left, stood the inn Böfkra, an old obéorche, much patronised throughout the country. Three or four wagons filled with sacks or casks were always drawn up before the door, where the rustic drivers were in the habit of stopping on their way to the market to take their morning draught of wine. The gable end of the inn was distinguished by its peculiar form. It was very narrow, pointed, and on two sides cut in teeth like a saw. The carvings were strangely grotesque, interwoven and ornamenting the cornices and surrounding the windows, but the most remarkable fact was that the house opposite reproduced exactly the same sculptures, the same ornaments, even the signboard, with its post and spiral of iron, was exactly copied. One might have thought that these two ancient houses reflected each other. Behind the inn, however, was a grand old oak, whose sombre leaves darkened the stones of the roof, while the other house stood out in bold relief against the sky. To complete the description, this old building was as silent and dreary as the inn Böfkra was noisy and animated. On one side, a crowd of merry drinkers were continually entering in and going out, singing, tripping, cracking their whips. On the other, profound silence reigned. Perhaps once or twice during the day, the heavy door seemed to open of itself, to allow a little old woman to go out, with her back almost in a semi-circle, her dress fitting tight about her hips, an enormous basket on her arm, and her hand contracted against her breast. It seemed to me that I saw, at a glance as I looked upon her, a whole existence of good works and pious meditations. The physiognomy of this old woman had struck me more than once. Her little green eyes, long, thin nose, the immense bouquets of flowers on her shore, which must have been at least a hundred years old, the withered smile which puckered her cheeks into a cockade, the lace of her bonnet falling down to her eyebrows, all this was fantastic and interested me much. Why did this old woman live in this great deserted house? I wished to explore the mystery. One day, as I paused in the street and followed her with my eyes, she turned suddenly and gave me a look, a horrible expression of which I know not how to paint, made three or four hideous grimaces, and then, letting her pole-seed head fall upon her breast, drew her great shawl closely around her and advanced slowly to the heavy door, behind which I saw her disappear. She's an old fool, I said to myself, in a sort of stupor. My faith it was the height of folly in me to be interested in her. However, I would like to see her grimace again. Old two-back would willingly give me fifteen florins if I could paint it for him. I must confess that these pleasantries of mine did not entirely reassure me. The hideous glance which the old shrew had given me pursued me everywhere. More than once, while climbing the almost perpendicular ladder to my loft, feeling my clothing caught on some point, I trembled from head to foot, imagining that the old wretch was hanging to the tails of my coat in order to destroy me. Two-back, to whom I related this adventure, was far from laughing at it. Indeed he assumed a grave in solemn air. Master Christian said he, If the old woman wants you, take care. Her teeth are small, pointed, and of marvellous whiteness, and that is not natural at her age. She has an evil eye. Children flee from her, and the people of Nuremberg call her Fledermaus. I admired the clear, surgesious intellect of the Jew, and his words gave me cause for reflection. Several weeks passed away during which I often encountered Fledermaus without any alarming consequences. My fears were dissipated, and I thought of her no more. But an evening came, during which, while sleeping very soundly, I was awakened by a strange harmony. It was a kind of vibration, so sweet, so melodious, that the whispering of the breeze among the leaves can give but a faint idea of its charm. For a long time I listened intently, with my eyes wide open, and holding my breath, so as not to lose a note. At last I looked toward the window, and saw two wings fluttering against the glass. I thought at first that it was a bat caught in my room. But the moon rising at that instant, I saw the wings of a magnificent butterfly of the night delineated upon her shining disc. Their vibrations were often so rapid that they could not be distinguished. Then they reposed, extended upon the glass, and their frail fibres were again brought to view. This misty apparition, coming in the midst of the universal silence, opened my heart to all sweet emotions. It seemed to me that an airy silph touched with a sense of my solitude had come to visit me, and this idea melted me almost to tears. Be tranquil, sweet captive. Be tranquil, said I. Your confidence shall not be abused. I will not keep you against your will. Return to heaven and to liberty. I then opened my little window. The night was calm, and millions of stars were glittering in the sky. For a moment I contemplated this sublime spectacle, and words of prayer and praise came naturally to my lips. But judged by amazement when, lowering my eyes, I saw a man hanging from the cross-beam of the sign of the berfkra. The hair dishevelled, the arms stiff, the legs elongated to a point, and casting their gigantic shadows down to the street. The immobility of this figure under the moon's rays was terrible. I felt my tongue freezing, my teeth clenched. I was about to cry out in terror when, by some incomprehensible mysterious attraction, my glance fell below, and I distinguished, confusedly, the old woman, crouched at her window in the midst of dark shadows, and contemplating the dead man with an air of diabolic satisfaction. Then I had a vertigo of terror. All my strength abandoned me, and, retreating to the wall of my loft, I sank down and became insensible. I do not know how long this sleep of death continued. When restored to consciousness, I saw that it was broad day. The mists of the night had penetrated to my garret and deposited their fresh dew upon my hair, and the confused murmurs of the street ascended to my little lodging. I looked without. The burgamaster and his secretary were stationed at the door of the inn and remained there a long time. Crowds of people came and went and paused to look in, then recommended their course. The good women of the neighbourhood, who were sweeping before their doors, looked on from afar and talked gravely with each other. At last a litter, and upon this litter a body, covered with a linen cloth, issued from the inn, carried by two men. They descended to the street, and the children, on their way to school, ran behind them. All the people drew back as they advanced. The window opposite was still open. The end of a rope floated from the cross-beam, not dreamed. I had indeed seen the butterfly of the night. I had seen the man hanging. And I had seen, flayed a mouse. That day Tubak made me a visit, and as his great nose appeared on a level with the floor, he exclaimed, Master Christian, have you nothing to sell? I did not hear him. I was seated upon my one chair, my hands clasped upon my knees, and my eyes fixed before me. Tubak, surprised at my inattention, repeated in a louder voice, Master Christian, Master Christian! Then, striding over the sill, he advanced and struck me on the shoulder. Well, well, what is the matter now? Ah, is that you, Tubak? Eh, Parc Bleu, I rather think so. Are you ill? No, I'm only thinking. What in the devil are you thinking about? Of the man who was hanged. Oh, oh, cried the curiosity vendor. You have seen him then. Poor boy. What a singular history. The third in the same place. The third? Ah, yes, I ought to have warned you, but it is not too late. There will certainly be a fourth who will follow the example of the others. Il y aque le premier le Parc qui écoute. Saying this, Tubak took a seat on the corner of my trunk, struck his matchbox, lighted his pipe, and blew three or four powerful whiffs of smoke with a meditative air. My faith, said he, I am not fearful, but if I had full permission to pass the night in that chamber, I should much prefer to sleep elsewhere. Listen, Master Christian. Nine or ten months ago, a good man of Tubingen, wholesale dealer in Furs, dismounted at the inn Berfger. He called for supper. He ate well. He drank well, and was finally conducted into the story. It is called the Green Room. Well, the next morning, he was found hanging to the cross-beam of the signboard. Well, that might do for once. Nothing could be said. Every proper investigation was made, and the stranger was buried at the bottom of the garden. But look you, about six months afterwards, a brave soldier from Neustadt arrived. He had received his final discharge and was rejoicing in the thought of the village. During the whole evening, while emptying his wine-cups, he spoke fondly of his little cousin who was waiting to marry him. At last, this big monsieur was conducted to his room, the Green Room. And the same night, the watchman, passing down the street in his hunger, perceived something hanging to the cross-beam. He raised his lantern, with his final discharge in a bow on his left hip, and his hands gathered up to the seam of his pantaloons, as if on parade. Truth to say, this is extraordinary, cried the Burgermaster, the devil's to pay. Well, the chamber was much visited. The walls were replastered and the dead man was sent to Neustadt. The registrar wrote this marginal note, died of apoplexy. All Nuremberg was enraged against the innkeeper. There were many, indeed, who wished to force him to take down his iron cross-beam under the pretext that it inspired people with dangerous ideas. But you may well believe that old Michael Schmidt would not lend his ear to this proposition. This cross-beam, said he, was placed here by my grandfather. It has borne the sign of Befgra for one hundred and fifty years, from father to son. It harms no one, not even the hay-wagons which pass beneath, for it is thirty feet above them. Those who don't like it can turn their heads aside and not see it. Well, gradually the town calmed down and during several months no new event agitated it. Unhappily, a student of Heidelberg returning to the university stopped day before yesterday at the inn Befgra meeting. He was the son of a minister of the gospel. How could anyone suppose that the son of a pastor could conceive the idea of hanging himself on the cross-beam of a signboard because a monsieur and an old soldier had done so? We must admit, Master Christian, that the thing was not probable. These reasons would not have seemed sufficient to myself or to you. Enough, enough, I exclaimed. This is too horrible. I see a frightful mystery involved in all this. It is not the cross-beam. It is not the room. What? Do you suspect the innkeeper, the most honest man in the world, and belonging to one of the oldest families in Nuremberg? No, no. May God preserve me from indulging in unjust suspicions. But there is an abyss before me into which I scarcely dare glance. You are right, said Tubaq, punished at the violence of my excitement. We will speak of other things. Apropos, Master Christian, where is our landscape of St. Odile? This question brought me back to the world of realities. I showed the old man the painting I had just completed. The affair was soon concluded, and Tubaq, well satisfied, descended the ladder, in treating me to think no more of the student of Heidelberg. I would gladly have followed but when the devil once mixes himself up in our concerns, it is not easy to disembarrase ourselves of him. In my solitary hours all these events were reproduced with frightful distinctness in my mind. This old wretch, I said to myself, is the cause of it all. She alone has conceived these crimes and has consummated them. But by what means? Has she had recourse to cunning alone, or has she obtained the intervention of invisible powers? I walked to and fro in my retreat. An inward voice cried out, it is not in vain that Providence permitted you to see Fladermaus contemplating the agonies of her victim. It is not in vain that the soul of the poor young man came in the form of butterfly of the night to awake you. No, no, all of this was not accidental, Christian. The heavens impose upon you a terrible mission. If you do not accomplish it, tremble lest you fall yourself into the hands of the old murderous. Perhaps at this moment she is preparing her snares in the darkness. During these several days these hideous images followed me without intermission. I lost my sleep. It was impossible for me to do anything. My brush fell from my hand and horrible to confess I found myself sometimes gazing at the cross-being with a sort of complacency. At last I could endure it no longer and one evening I descended the ladder and hid myself behind the door of Fladermaus hoping to surprise her fatal secret. From that time no day passed in which I was not en route following the old wretch, watching, spying, never losing sight of her. But she was so cunning that I sent so subtile that without even turning her head she knew I was behind her. However she feigned not to perceive this. She went to the market, to the butchers, like any good simple woman, only hastening her steps and murmuring confused words. At the close of the month I saw that it was impossible for me to attain my object in this way and my conviction made me inexpressibly sad. What can I do? I said to myself. The old woman devines my plans. She is on her guard. Every hope abandons me. Ah, old hag, you think you already see me at the end of your rope. I was continually asking myself this question what can I do, what can I do? At last a luminous idea struck me. My chamber overlooked the house of Fledermaus. But there was no window on this side. I adroitly raised a slate and no pen could paint my joy when the whole ancient building was thus exposed to me. At last I have you. I exclaimed, you cannot escape me now. From here I can see all that passes, your goings, your comings, your arts and snares. You will not suspect this invisible eye, this watchful eye, which will surprise crime at the moment it blooms. Oh, justice, justice, she marches slowly, but she arrives. Nothing could be more sinister than the den now spread out before me, a great courtyard, the large slabs of which were covered with moss, in one corner a well, whose stagnant waters you shuddered to look upon, a stairway covered with old shells, at the farther end a gallery with wooden balustrade and hanging upon it some old linen and the tick of an old straw mattress. On the first floor to the left the stone covering of a common sewer indicated the kitchen. To the right, the lofty windows of the building looked out upon the street. Then a few pots of dried, withered flowers, all was cracked, somber, moist. Only one or two hours during the day could the sun penetrate this loathsome spot. After that the shadows took possession. Then the sunshine fell upon the crazy walls, the worm-eaten balcony, the dull and tarnished glass, and upon the whirlwind of atoms floating in its golden rays disturbed by no breath of air. I had scarcely finished these observations and reflections when the old woman entered, having just returned from market. I heard the grating of her heavy door and she appeared with her basket. She seemed fatigued, almost out of breath. The lace of her bonnet fell to her nose. With one hand she grasped the banister and ascended the stairs. The heat was intolerable, suffocating. It was precisely one of those days in which all insects— crickets, spiders, mosquitos, etc. make old ruins resound with their strange sounds. Flay the mouse across the gallery slowly, like an old ferret who feels at home. She remained more than a quarter of an hour in the kitchen, then returned, spread out her linen, took the broom, and brushed away some blades of straw on the floor. At last she raised her head and turning her little green eyes in every direction, searching, investigating carefully. Could she, by some strange intuition, suspect anything? I do not know. But I gently lowered a slate and gave up my watch for the day. In the morning, Flay the mouse appeared reassured. One angle of light fell upon the gallery. In passing she caught a fly on the wing and presented it delicately to a spider established in a corner of the roof. This spider was so bloated that, notwithstanding the distance, I saw it descend from round to round, then glide along a fine web like a drop of venom, seize its prey from the hands of the old shrew, and remount rapidly. Flay the mouse looked at it very attentively with her eyes half closed, then sneezed and said to herself in a jeering tone, God bless you, beautiful one. God bless you. I watched during six weeks and could discover nothing concerning the power of Flay the mouse. Sometimes seated upon a stool she peeled her potatoes then hung out her linen upon the balustrade. Sometimes I saw her spinning, but she never sang as good, kind old women are accustomed to do, their trembling voices mingling well with the humming of the wheel. Profound silence always reigned around her. She had no cat, that cherished society of old women. Not even a sparrow came to rest under her roof. It seemed as if all animated nature shrank from her glance. The bloated spider alone took delight in her society. I cannot now conceive how my patience could endure these long hours of observation. Nothing escaped me, nothing was matter of indifference. At the slightest sound I raised my slate. My curiosity was without limit insatiable. Two back complained greatly. Master Christian said he, How in the devil do you pass your time? Formerly you painted something for me every week. Now you do not finish a piece once a month. Who you painters? Lazy as a painter is a good wise proverb. As soon as you have a few croitzes in possession you put your hands in your pockets and go to sleep. I confessed that I began to lose courage. I had watched, spied, and discovered nothing. I said to myself that the old woman could not be so dangerous as I had supposed. That I had perhaps done her injustice by my suspicions. In short I began to make excuses for her. One lovely afternoon, with my eye fixed at my post of observation, I abandoned myself to these benevolent reflections. When suddenly the scene changed. Fledermaus passed through the gallery with the rapidity of lightning. She was no longer the same person. She was erect. Her jaws were clinched. Her glance fixed. Her neck extended. She walked with grand strides. Her gray locks floating behind her. At last I said to myself, Something is coming. Attention! But alas the shadows of evening descended upon the old building. The noises of the city expired and silence prevailed. Fatigued and disappointed, I lay down upon my bed when casting my eyes toward my dormer window. I saw the room opposite illuminated. So a traveller occupied the green room, fatal to strangers. Now all my fears were reawakened. The agitation of Fledermaus was explained. She sent a new victim. No sleep for me that night. The rustling of the straw, the nibbling of the mice under the floor gave me nervous chills. I rose and leaned out of my window. I listened. The light in the room opposite was extinguished. In one of those moments of poignant anxiety, I cannot say if it was illusion or reality. I thought I saw the old wretch also watching and listening. The night passed and the gray dawn came to my windows. By degrees the noise and movements in the street ascended to my loft. Harassed by fatigue and emotion, I fell asleep. But my slumber was short and by eight o'clock I had resumed my post of observation. It seemed as if the night had been as disturbed and tempestuous to Fledermaus as to myself. When she opened the door of the gallery, I saw that a livid pallor covered her cheeks and thin throat. She had on only her chemise and a woollen skirt. A few locks of reddish-gray hair fell on her shoulders. She looked towards my hiding place with a dreamy, abstracted air. But she saw nothing. She was thinking of other things. Suddenly she descended, leaving her old shoes at the bottom of the steps. Without doubt, thought I, she is going to see if the door below is well fastened. I saw her remount hastily, springing up three or four steps at a time. It was terrible. She rushed into the neighbouring chamber and I heard something like the falling of the top of a great chest. Then Fledermaus appeared in the gallery, dragging a mannequin after her. And this mannequin was clothed like the Heidelberg student. With surprising dexterity the old woman suspended this hideous object to a beam of the shed, then descended rapidly to the courtyard to contemplate it. A burst of sardonic laughter escaped from her lips. She remounted, then descended again like a maniac, and each time uttered new cries and new bursts of laughter. A noise was heard near the door, and the old woman bounded forward, unhooked the mannequin and carried it off. Then, leaning over the balustrade with her throat elongated, her eyes flashing. She listened earnestly. The noise was lost in the distance. The muscles of her face relaxed and she drew long breaths. It was only a carriage which had passed. The old wretch had been frightened. She now returned to the room and I heard the chest and I heard the chest close. This strange scene confounded all my ideas. What did this mannequin signify? I became more than ever attentive. Fledermaus now left the house with her basket on her arm. I followed her with my eyes till she turned the corner of the street. She had re-assumed the error of a trembling old woman, took short steps and from time to time turned her head partly round to peer behind from the corner of her eye. Fledermaus was absent fully five hours. For myself I went. I came. I meditated. The time seemed insupportable. The sun heated the slate of the roof and scorched my brain. Now I saw at the window the good man who occupied the fatal green chamber. He was a brave peasant of Nassau with a large three-cornered hat, a scarlet vest and a laughing face. He smoked his pipe of Ulm tranquillity and seemed to fear no evil. I felt a strong desire to cry out to him, Good man, be on your guard. Do not allow yourself to be entrapped by the old wretch. Distrust yourself. But he would not have comprehended me. Fledermaus returned. The noise of her door resounded through the vestibule. Then alone, all alone, she entered the yard and seated herself on the interior step of the stairway. She put down her basket before her and drew out first some packets of herbs and vegetables, then a red vest, then a three-cornered hat, a coat of brown velvet, pants of plush, a coarse woollen hose, the complete costume of the peasant from Nassau. For a moment I felt stunned, then flames passed before my eyes. I recollected those precipices which enticed with an irresistible power, those wells or pits which the police have been compelled to close because men threw themselves into them, those trees which had been cut down because they inspired men with the idea of hanging themselves, that contagion of suicides, of robberies, of murders at certain epochs by desperate means, that strange and subtile enticement of example which makes you yawn because another yawns, suffer because you see another suffer, kill yourself because you see others kill themselves and my hair stood up with horror. How could this Fledermaus this base, sordid creature have derived so profound a law of human nature? How had she found the means to use this law to the profit or indulgence of her sanguinary instincts? This I could not comprehend. It surpassed my wildest imaginations. But reflecting longer upon this inexplicable mystery, I resolved to turn the fatal law against her and to draw the old murderous into her own net. So many innocent victims called out for vengeance. I felt myself to be on the right path. I went to all the old clothes cellars in Nuremberg and returned in the afternoon to the inn Berfkra with an enormous packet under my arm. Nisred Smith had known me for a long time. His wife was fat and good-looking. I had painted her portrait. Ah, Mr. Christian, said he, squeezing my hand. What happy circumstance brings you here? What procures me the pleasure of seeing you? My dear Mr. Smith, I feel a vehement insatiable desire to sleep in the green room. We were standing on the threshold of the inn, and I pointed to the room. The good man looked at me distrustfully. Fear nothing, I said. I have no desire to hang myself. Ah, la bonne heure! Ah, la bonne heure! For frankly, that would give me pain. An artist of such merit. When do you wish the room, Mr. Christian? This evening. Impossible! It is occupied. Monsieur can enter immediately, said a voice just behind me. I will not be in the way. We turned around in great surprise. The peasant of Nassau stood before us, with his three-cornered hat, and his packet at the end of his walking stick. He had just learned the history of his three predecessors in the green room, and was trembling with rage. Rooms like yours, cried he, stuttering. But it is murderous to put people in there. It is assassination. You deserve to be sent to the galleys immediately. Go, go, calm yourself, said the innkeeper. That did not prevent you from sleeping well. Happily I said my prayers at night, said the peasant. Without that, where would I be? And he withdrew with his hands raised to heaven. Well, said Nichelle Smith, stupefied. The room is vacant. But I entreat you. Do not serve me a bad trick. It would be a worse trick for myself than for you, monsieur. I gave my packet to the servants and installed myself for the time with the drinkers. For a long time I had not felt so calm and happy. After so many doubts and disquietudes, I touched the goal. The horizon seemed to clear up and it appeared that some invisible power gave me the hand. I lighted my pipe, placed my elbow on the table, my wine before me, and listened to the chorus in freischütz, played by a troop of gypsies from the black forest. The trumpets, the hue and cry of the chase, the hood boys, plunged me into a vague reverie and at times rousing up to look at the hour, I asked myself gravely if all which had happened to me was not a dream. But the watchman came to ask us to leave the cell and soon other and more solemn thoughts were surging in my soul and in deep meditation I followed little Charlotte who proceeded me with a candle to my room. We mounted the stairs to the third story. Charlotte gave me the candle and pointed to the door. There said she and descended rapidly. I opened the door. The green room was like any other inn room. The ceiling was very low, the bed very high. With one glance I explored the interior and then glided to the window. Nothing was to be seen in the house of Fledermaus. Only in some distant room an obscure light was burning. Someone was on the watch. That is well, said I, closing the curtain. I opened my packet. I put on a woman's bonnet with hanging lace. Then placing myself before a mirror I took a brush and painted wrinkles in my face. This took me nearly an hour. Then I put on the dress and a large shawl. And I was actually afraid of myself. Fledermaus seemed to me to look at me from the mirror. At this moment the watchman cried out 11 o'clock. I seized the mannequin which I had brought in my packet and muffled it in a costume precisely similar to that worn by the old wretch. I then opened the curtain. Certainly after all that I had seen of the Fledermaus, of her infernal cunning, her prudence, her adroitness, she could not in any way surprise me. And yet I was afraid. The light which I had remarked in the chamber was still immovable. And now cast its yellow rays on the mannequin of the peasant of Nassau which was crouched on the corner of the bed with the head hanging on the breast. The three cornered hat pulled down over the face. The arm suspended and the whole aspect that of absolute despair. The shadows, managed with diabolical art were nothing to be seen but the general effect of the face. The red vest and six round buttons alone seemed to shine out in the darkness. But the silence of the night, the complete immobility of the figure, the exhausted mournful air were well calculated to take possession of a spectator with a strange power. For myself, although forewarned, I was chilled even to my bones. How would it then have fared with the poor simple peasant if he had been surprised unawares? He would have been utterly cast down. Despairing, he would have lost all power of self-control and the spirit of imitation would have done the rest. Scarcely had I moved the curtain when I saw a flader mouse on the watch behind her window. She could not see me. I opened my window softly. The window opposite was opened. Then her mannequin appeared to rise slowly and advance before me. I also advanced my mannequin and, seizing my torch with one hand with the other, I quickly opened the shutter. And how the old woman and myself were face to face struck with sudden terror. She had let her mannequin fall. We're gazed at each other with almost equal horror. She extended her finger. I advanced mine. She moved her lips. I agitated mine. She breathed the profound sigh and leaned upon her elbow. I imitated her. To describe all the terrors of this scene would be impossible. It bordered upon confusion, madness, delirium. It was a death struggle between two wills, between two intelligences, between two souls, each one wishing to destroy the other. And in this struggle I had the advantage. Her victims struggled with me. After having imitated for some seconds every movement of Flader Mouse I pulled a rope from under my skirt and attached it to the cross-beam. The old woman gazed at me with her gaping mouth. I passed the rope around my neck. Her pupils expanded. Lightened. Her face was convulsed. No. Said she in a whistling voice. I pursued her with the impossibility of an executioner. Then rage seemed to take possession of her. Old fool! She exclaimed, straightening herself up and her hands contracted on the cross-beam. Old fool! I gave her no time to go on blowing out my lamp. I stooped like a man going to make a vigorous spring and, seizing my mannequin, I passed the rope around its neck and precipitated it below. A terrible cry resounded through the street. And then silence. Which I seemed to feel. Perspiration bathed my forehead. I listened a long time. At the end of a quarter of an hour I heard far away. Very far away. The voice of the watchman crying. Inhabitants of Nuremberg. Midnight. Midnight sounds. Now justice is satisfied. I cried. And three victims are avenged. Pardon me, oh Lord. About five minutes after the cry of the watchman I saw a flater-mouse attracted. Allured by my mannequin. Her exact image. Spring from the window with a rope around her neck. And rest suspended from the cross-beam. I saw the shadow of death undulating through her body. While the moon calm, silent, majestic inundated the summit of the roof. And her cold pale rays reposed upon the old dishevelled hideous head. Just as I had seen the poor young student of Heidelberg just so did I now see flater-mouse. In the morning all Nuremberg learned that the old wretch had hanged herself. And this was the last event of that kind in the street, Minnesunga. End of section 12 Recording by Fred Preston Australia Section 13 of Library of World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories Volume 4 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Fred Preston Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories Volume 4 by Julian Hawthorne Editor Section 13 The Waters of Death by Erkman Chatryan The warm mineral waters of Spinbronn situated in the Hunsruck several leagues from Permissons formerly enjoyed a magnificent reputation. All who were afflicted with gout or gravel in Germany repaired wither. The savage aspect of the country did not deter them. They had to go through many decottages at the head of the defile. They bathed in the cascade which fell in large sheets of foam from the summit of the rocks. They drank one or two decanters of mineral water daily and the doctor of the place, Daniel Husslenoss, who distributed his prescriptions clad in a great wig and chestnut coat had an excellent practice. Today the Waters of Spinbronn is a poor village, one no longer sees anyone but a few miserable woodcutters and, sad to say, Dr. Husslenoss has left. All this resulted from a series of very strange catastrophes which lawyer Bremer of Permissons told me about the other day. You should know, Master France, said he, that the spring of Spinbronn issues from a sort of cavern about five feet high and twelve or fifteen feet wide. The water has a warmth of sixty-seven degrees centigrade. It is salt, as for the cavern entirely covered without with moss, ivy and brushwood, its depth is unknown because the hot exhalations prevent all entrance. Nevertheless, strangely enough, it was noticed early in the last century that birds of the neighborhood, thrushes, doves, hawks, were engulfed in it in full flight and it was never known to what serious influence to attribute this particular. In eighteen-o-one at the height of the season, owing to some circumstance which is still unexplained, the spring became more abundant and the bathers walking below on the green sward saw a human skeleton as white as snow fall from the cascade. You may judge, Master France, of the general fright. It was thought naturally that a murder had been committed in recent year and that the body of the victim had been thrown in the spring, but the skeleton weighed no more than a dozen francs and Hasslenos concluded that it must have sojourned there more than three centuries in the sand to have become reduced to such a state of desiccation. This very plausible reasoning did not prevent a crowd of patrons wild at the idea of having drunk the saline water from leaving before the end of the day. Those worst afflicted with gout and gravel console themselves. But the overflow continuing all the rubbish, slime and detritus which the cavern contained was disgorged on the following days. A veritable boneyard came down from the mountain skeletons of animals of every kind of quadrupeds, birds and reptiles in short all at one could conceive as most horrible. Hasslenos issued a pamphlet demonstrating that all these bones were derived from an antediluvian world that they were fossil bones accumulated there in a sort of funnel during the universal flood that is to say four thousand years before Christ and that consequently one might consider them as nothing but stones and that it was needless to be disgusted. But his work had scarcely reassured the gouty when one fine morning the corpse of a fox then that of a hawk with all its feathers fell from the cascade. Well it was impossible to establish that these remains antedated the flood anyway the disgust was so great that everybody tied up his bundle and went to take the waters elsewhere. How infamous cried the beautiful ladies, how horrible so that's what the virtue of these mineral waters came from to a better to die of gravel than continue such a remedy. At the end of a week there remained at Spinbron only a big Englishman who had gout in his hands as well as in his feet who had himself addressed as Sir Thomas Hauerbirch, Commodore and he brought a large retinue according to the usage of a British subject in a foreign land this personage big and fat with a florid complexion that with hands simply not it with gout would have drunk skeleton soup if it would have cured his infirmity he laughed heartily over the desertion of the other sufferers and installed himself in the prettiest chalet at half price announcing his design to pass the winter at Spinbron here lawyer Bremer slowly absorbed an ample pinch of snuff as if to quicken his reminiscences he shook his laced rough with his fingertips and continued five or six years before the revolution of 1789 a young doctor of permesans named Christian Weber had gone out to San Domingo in the hope of making his fortune he had actually amassed some hundred thousand francs in the exercise of his profession when the negro revolt broke out I need not recall to you the barbarous treatment to which our unfortunate fellow countrymen were subjected at Haiti Dr. Weber had the good luck to escape the massacre and to save part of his fortune then he traveled in South America and especially in French Guyana in 1801 he returned to permesans and established himself at Spinbron where Dr. Hasselnoss made over his house and defunct practice Christian Weber brought with him an old negroes called Agatha a frightful creature with a flat nose and lips as large as your fist and her head tied up in three bandanas of razor edged colors this poor old woman adored red she had earrings which hung down to her shoulders and the mountaineers of Hunsruck came from six leagues around to stare at her as for Dr. Weber he was a tall, lean man invariably dressed in a sky blue coat with codfish tails and deerskin britches he wore a hat of flexible straw and boots with bright yellow tops on the front of which hung two silver tassels he talked little his laugh was like a nervous attack and his grey eyes usually calm and meditative shone with singular brilliance a sign of contradiction every morning he fetched a turn around about the mountain letting his horse ramble at a venture whistling for ever the same tune some negro melody or other lastly this rum chap had brought from Haiti a lot of band boxes filled with queer insects some black and reddish brown big as eggs others little and shimmering like sparks he seemed to set great a store by them than by his patience and from time to time on coming back from his rides he brought a quantity of butterflies pinned to his hat brim scarcely was he settled in Hasslenoss's vast house when he peepled the backyard with outlandish birds barbaric geese with scarlet cheeks guinea hens and a white peacock which perched habitually on the garden wall and which divided with the negris the admiration of the mountaineers if I enter into these details master france it's because they recall my early youth Dr. Christian found himself to be at the same time my cousin and my tutor and as early as on his return to Germany he had come to take me and install me in his house at Spinbronn the black agatha at first sight inspired me with some fright and I only got seasoned to that fantastic visage with considerable difficulty but she was such a good woman she knew so well how to make spiced patties she hummed such strange songs in a guttural voice snapping her fingers and keeping time with a heavy shuffle that I ended by taking her in fast friendship Dr. Weber was naturally thick with Sir Thomas Hauerbirch as representing the only one whose clientele then in evidence and I was not slow in perceiving that these two eccentrics held long conventicals together they conversed on mysterious matters on the transmission of fluids and indulged in certain odd signs which one or the other had picked up in his voyages Sir Thomas in the Orient and my tutor in America this puzzled me greatly as children will I was always lying in wait for what they seemed to want to conceal from me but despairing in the end of discovering anything I took the course of questioning Agatha and the poor old woman after making me promise to say nothing about it I admitted that my tutor was a sorcerer for the rest Dr. Weber exercised a singular influence over the mind of this negress this woman, habitually so gay and forever ready to be amused by nothing trembled like a leaf when her master's grey eyes chanced to a light on her all this, master Franz seems to have no bearing on the springs of spin-bron but wait, wait you shall see by what a singular concourse of circumstances my story is connected with it I told you that birds darted into the cavern and even other and larger creatures after the final departure of the patrons some of the old inhabitants of the village recalled that a young girl named Louise Muller who lived with her infirm old grandmother in a cottage on the pitch of the slope had suddenly disappeared half a hundred years before she had gone out to look for herbs in the forest and there had never been any more news of her afterwards except that three or four days later some woodcutters who were descending the mountain had found her sickle and her apron a few steps from the cavern from that moment it was evident to everyone that the skeleton which had fallen from the cascade on the subject of which Husslenoss had turned such fine phrases was no other than that of Louise Muller the poor girl had doubtless been drawn into the gulf by the mysterious influence which almost daily overcame weaker beings what could this influence be? none new but the inhabitants of Spinbron superstitious like all mountaineers maintained that the devil lived in the cavern and a terror spread in the whole region now one afternoon in the middle of the month of July 1802 my cousin undertook a new classification of the insects in his band boxes he had secured several rather curious ones in his preceding afternoon I was with him holding the lighted candle with one hand and with the other a needle which I heated red hot Sir Thomas seated his chair tipped back against the sill of a window his feet on a stool watched as work and smoked his cigar with a dreamy air I stood in with Sir Thomas Howeberge and I accompanied him every day to the woods in his carriage bringing me chatter in English and wished to make of me, as he said a thorough gentleman the butterflies labelled Dr. Weber at last opened the box of the largest insects and said yesterday I secured a magnificent horn beetle the great Lucana service of the oaks of the hearts it has this peculiarity the right claw divides in five branches it's a rare specimen at the same time I offered him the needle and as he pierced the insect before fixing it on the cork Sir Thomas, until then impassive got up and drawing near a band box he began to examine the spider-crab of Guyana with a feeling of horror which was strikingly portrayed on his fat vermilion face that is certainly he cried the most frightful work of the creation the mere sight of it it makes me shudder in truth the sudden pallor overspread his face bah! said my tutor all that is only the prejudice from childhood one hears his nurse cry out one is afraid and the impression sticks but if you should consider the spider with a strong microscope you would be astonished at the finish of his members at their admirable arrangement their elegance disgusts me interrupted the Commodore brusquely it had turned over in his fingers I don't know why he declared spiders have always frozen my blood Dr. Weber began to laugh and I who shared the feelings of Sir Thomas exclaimed yes, Cousin you ought to take this villainous beast out of the box it is disgusting little chump he said his eyes sparkling what makes you look at it if you don't like it go take yourself off somewhere evidently he had taken offence and Sir Thomas who was then before the window contemplating the mountain turned suddenly took me by the hand and said to me in a manner full of goodwill your tutor France sets great store by his spider we like the trees better the verdure come let's go for a walk yes go cried the doctor and come back for supper at six o'clock then raising his voice no hard feelings Sir Halberge the Commodore replied laughingly and we got into the carriage which was always waiting in front of the door of the house Sir Thomas wanted to drive himself and dismissed his servant he made me sit beside him on the same seat and we started off for rothelps while the carriage was slowly ascending the sandy path an invincible sadness possessed itself of my spirit Sir Thomas on his part was grave he perceived my sadness and said you don't like spiders France nor do I either but thank heaven there aren't any dangerous ones in this country the spider crab which your tutor has in his box in French Guiana it inhabits the great swampy forests filled with warm vapours with scalding exhalations this temperature is necessary to its life its web or rather its vast snare envelops an entire thicket in it it takes birds as our spiders take flies but drive these disgusting images from your mind and drink a swallow of my old burgundy then turning he raised the cover of the rear seat and drew from the straw a sort of gourd from which he poured me a full bumper in a leather goblet when I had drunk all my good humour returned and I began to laugh at my fright the carriage was drawn by a little Ardennes horse thin and nervous as a goat which clambered up the nearly perpendicular path thousands of insects hummed in the bushes at our right at a hundred paces or more the somber outskirts of the rothelp forests extended below us the profound shades of which choked with briars and foul brush showed here and there an opening filled with light at our right at a hundred paces or more the somber outskirts of the rothelp forests extended below us the profound shades of which with briars and foul brush showed here and there an opening filled with light on our left tumbled this stream of spin-bron and the more we climbed the more did its silvered sheets floating in the abyss grow tinged with azure and redouble their sound of cymbals I was captivated by this spectacle Sir Thomas leaning back in the seat his knees as high as his chin abandoned himself to his habitual reveries while the horse, laboring with his feet and hanging his head on his chest as a counterweight to the carriage held on as if suspended on the flank of the rock soon however we reached a pitch less steep the haunt of the row-buck surrounded by tremulous shadows I always lost my head and my eyes too in an immense perspective at the apparition of the shadows I turned my head and saw the cavern of spin-bron close at hand the encompassing mists were a magnificent green and the stream which before falling extends over a bed of black sand and pebbles was so clear that one would have thought it frozen if pale vapours did not follow its surface the horse had just stopped of its own accord to breathe Sir Thomas rising cast his eye over the countryside how calm everything is said he then after an instant of silence if you weren't here, France I should certainly bathe in the basin but Commodore said I, why not bathe I would do well to stroll around in the neighbourhood on the next hill is a great glade filled with wild strawberries I'll go and pick some I'll be back in an hour I should like to, France it's a good idea Dr. Weber contends that I drink too much burgundy it's necessary to offset wine with mineral water this little bed of sand pleases me then, having set both feet on the ground he hitched the horse to the trunk of a little birch and waved his hand as if to say you may go I saw him sit down on the moss and draw off his boots as I moved away he turned and called out in an hour, France they were his last words an hour later I returned to the spring the horse, the carriage and the clothes of Sir Thomas alone met my eyes the sun was setting the shadows were getting long not a bird's song under the foliage not the hum of an insect in the tall grass a silence like death looked down on this solitude the silence frightened me I climbed up on the rock which overlooks the cavern I looked to the right and to the left nobody I called no answer the sound of my voice repeated by the echoes filled me with fear night settled down slowly a vague sense of horror oppressed me suddenly the story of the young girl who had disappeared occurred to me and I began to descend on the run but arriving before the cavern I stopped seized with unaccountable terror in casting a glance in the deep shadows of the spring I had caught sight of two motionless red points then I saw long lines wavering in a strange manner in the midst of the darkness and that at a depth where no human eye had ever penetrated fear lent my sight and all my senses an unheard of subtlety of perception for several seconds I heard very distinctly the evening plaint of a cricket down at the edge of the wood a dog barking far away very far in the valley in my heart compressed for an instant by emotion began to beat furiously and I no longer heard anything then uttering a horrible cry I fled abandoning the horse the carriage in less than twenty minutes bounding over the rocks and brush I reached the threshold of our house and cried in a stifled voice run run so how a birch is dead so how a birch is in the cavern after these words spoken in the presence of my tutor of the old woman Agatha and of two or three people invited in that evening by the doctor I fainted I have learned since that during a whole hour I raved deliriously the whole village had gone in search of the Commodore Christian Weber hurried them off at ten o'clock in the evening all the crowd came back bringing the carriage and in the carriage the clothes of so how a birch they had discovered nothing it was impossible to take ten steps in the cavern without being suffocated during their absence Agatha and I waited sitting in the chimney corner I howling incoherent words of terror she with hands crossed on her knees eyes wide open going from time to time to the window to see what was taking place for from the foot of the mountain one could see torches flitting in the woods one could hear horse voices in the distance calling to each other in the night at the approach of her master Agatha began to tremble the doctor entered brusquely pale, his lips compressed despair written on his face a score of woodcutters followed him too altruously in great felt hats with wide brims swarthy visaged shaking the ash from their torches scarcely was he in the hall her tutor's glittering eyes seemed to have looked for something he caught sight of the negris without a word having passed between them the poor woman began to cry no no I don't want to and I wish it replied the doctor in a hard tone one would have said that the negris had been seized by an invincible power she shuddered from head to foot and Christian Vabo showing her a bench she sat down with a corpse-like stiffness all the bystanders witnesses of this shocking spectacle good folk with primitive and crude manners but full of pious sentiments made the sign of the cross and I who knew not then even by name of the terrible magnetic power of the will began to tremble believing that Agatha was dead Christian Vabo approached the negris and making a rapid pass over her forehead are you there? said he yes, master Sir Thomas Harbourch at these words she shuddered again do you see him? yes she gasped in a strangling voice I see him where is he? up there in the back of the cavern dead dead? said the doctor how? spider oh the spider crab control your agitation said the doctor who was quite pale tell us plainly the spider crab holds him by the throat he is there at the back under the rock round by webs Christian Vabo cast a cold glance towards his assistants who crowding around with their eyes sticking out of their heads were listening intently and I heard him murmur it's horrible horrible and he resumed you see him? I see him and the spider is it big? oh master master never never have I seen such a large one not even on the banks of the bucarus or in the lowlands of Konanama it is as large as my head there was a long silence all the assistants looked at each other their faces livid their hair standing up Christian Vabo alone seemed calm having passed his hand several times over the negris' forehead he continued Agatha tell us how death befell Sir Howard Birch he was bathing in the basin of the spring the spider saw him from behind with his bare back it was hungry it had fastened for a long time it saw him with his arms on the water suddenly it came out like a flash and placed its fangs around the commodore's neck and he cried out oh my god it stung and fled Sir Howard Birch sank down in the water and died then the spider returned and rounded him with its web and he floated gently gently back to the cavern it drew in on the web now he is all black the doctor turning to me who no longer felt the shock asked is it true, France, that the commodore went bathing? yes, cousin Christian at what time? at four o'clock at four o'clock it was very warm, wasn't it? oh yes it certainly so said he, striking his forehead the monster could come out without fear he pronounced a few unintelligible words and then looking towards the mountaineers my friends he cried that is where this mass of debris came from of skeletons spread terror among the bathers that is what has ruined you all it is the spider-crab it is there, hidden in its web awaiting its prey in the back of the cavern who can tell the number of its victims and full of fury he led the way shouting faggots, faggots the woodcutters followed him, vociferating ten minutes later the victims laden with faggots were slowly mounting the slope a long file of woodcutters their backs bent double followed enveloped in the somber night my tutor and I walked ahead leading the horses by their bridles and the melancholy moon vaguely lighted this funereal march from time to time the wheels grated then the carts raised by the irregularities of the rocky road fell again in the track with a heavy jolt as we drew near the cavern on the playground of the robux our cortege halted the torches were lit and the crowd advanced towards the gulf the limpid water running over the sand reflected the bluish flame of the resinous torches the rays of which revealed the tops of the black furs leaning over the rock this is the place to unload the doctor then said it was necessary to block up the mouth of the cavern and it was not without a feeling of terror that each undertook the duty of executing his orders the faggots fell from the top of the loads a few stakes driven down before the opening of the spring prevented the water from carrying them away toward midnight the mouth of the cavern was completely closed the water running over spread to both sides on the moss the top faggots were perfectly dry then doctor Weber supplying himself with a torch himself lit the fire the flames ran from twig to twig with an angry crackling and soon leapt towards the sky chasing clouds of smoke before them it was a strange and savage spectacle the great pile with trembling shadows lit up in this way the cavern poured forth black smoke unceasingly renewed and disgorged the rounds stood the woodcutters somber, motionless, expectant their eyes fixed on the opening and I, although trembling from head to foot in fear could not tear away my gaze it was a good quarter of an hour that we waited and doctor Weber was beginning to grow impatient when a black object with long hooked claws appeared suddenly in the shadow and precipitated itself toward the opening a cry resounded about the pire the spider driven back by the live coals re-entered its cave then smothered doubtless by the smoke it returned to the charge and leaped out into the midst of the flames its long legs curled up it was as large as my head and of a violet red one of the woodcutters fearing lest it leap clear of the fire through his hatchet at it and with such good aim that on the instant the fire around it was covered with blood but soon the flames burst out more vigorously over it and consumed the horrible destroyer such masterfrance was the strange event which destroyed the fine reputation which the waters of spin-bron formally enjoyed I can certify the scrupulous precision of my account but as for giving you an explanation that would be impossible for me to do at the same time allow me to tell you that it does not seem to me absurd to admit that a spider under the influence of a temperature raised by thermal waters which affords the same conditions of life and development as the scorching climates of Africa and South America should attain a fabulous size it was this same extreme heat which explained the prodigious exuberance of the anti-diluvian creation however that may be my tutor judging that it would be impossible after this event to re-establish the waters of spin-bron sold the house back to Hasslenos in order to return to America with his negress and his collections I was sent to board in Strasbourg where I remained until 1809 the great political events of the epoch then absorbing the attention of Germany and France explained why the affair I have just told you about passed completely unobserved end of section 13 the waters of death