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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f90493d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62030 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62030) diff --git a/old/62030-0.txt b/old/62030-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f92ec0f..0000000 --- a/old/62030-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4866 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's A Capillary Crime and other Stories, by F. D. Millet - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Capillary Crime and other Stories - -Author: F. D. Millet - -Release Date: May 5, 2020 [EBook #62030] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CAPILLARY CRIME AND OTHER *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - [Illustration: APPEARANCE OF MANDEL’S STUDIO THE MORNING AFTER HIS - DEATH.] - - - - - A CAPILLARY CRIME - - AND OTHER STORIES - - - BY - - F. D. MILLET - - - ILLUSTRATED - - - [Illustration: colophon] - - - NEW YORK - HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS - 1892 - - - Copyright, 1892, by HARPER & BROTHERS. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - -A CAPILLARY CRIME 3 - -A FADED SCAPULAR 53 - -YATIL 87 - -TEDESCO’S RUBINA 129 - -MEDUSA’S HEAD 165 - -THE FOURTH WAITS 191 - -THE BUSH 269 - - - - -A CAPILLARY CRIME - - -Near the summit of the hill in the Quartier Montmartre, Paris, is a -little street in which the grass grows between the paving-stones, as in -the avenues of some dead old Italian city. Tall buildings border it for -about one third its length, and the walls of tiny gardens, belonging to -houses on adjacent streets, occupy the rest of its extent. It is a -populous thoroughfare, but no wheels pass through it, for the very good -reason that near the upper end it suddenly takes a short turn, and -shoots up the hill at an incline too steep for a horse to climb. The -regular morning refuse cart, and on rare occasions a public carriage, -venture a short distance into the lower part of the street, and even -these, on wet, slippery days, do not pass the door of the first house. -Scarcely two minutes’ walk from the busy exterior boulevards, this -little corner of the great city is as quiet as a village nearly all day -long. Early in the morning the sidewalks clatter with the shoes of -workmen hurrying down to their work, children scamper along playing -hide-and-seek in the doorways on their way to school, and then follows a -long silence, broken only by the glazier with his shrill cry, -“Vi-i-i-tri-er!” or the farmer with his “À la crème, fromage à la -crème!” In the late summer afternoons the women bring their babies out -and sit on the doorsteps, as the Italians do, gossiping across the -street, and watching the urchins pitch sous against the curb-stone, or -draw schoolboy hieroglyphics on the garden walls. There is a musical -quiet in this little street. Birds sing merrily in the stunted trees of -the shady gardens, the familiar calls of hens and chickens and the -shrill crows of the cock come from every enclosure, and all the while is -heard the deep and continuous note of the rumble of the city down below. -At night the street is lighted by two lanterns swung on ropes between -opposite houses; and the flickering, dim light, sending uncertain -shadows upon the blank walls and the towering façades, gives the place a -weird and fantastic aspect. - -Montmartre is full of these curious highways. Quite distinct from the -rest of the city by reason of its elevated position, few or no modern -improvements have changed its character, and a large extent of it -remains to-day much the same as it was fifty years ago. - -It is perhaps the cheapest quarter of the city. Rents are low, and the -necessities and commodities of life are proportionately cheaper than in -other parts of the town. This fact, and the situation the quarter -affords for unobstructed view of the sky, have always attracted artists, -and many cosy studios are hidden away in the maze of housetops there. On -the little street I have just described are several large windows -indicating unmistakably the profession of those occupying the -apartments. - -Late one dark and stormy evening a gate creaked and an automatic bell -sounded at the entrance to one of the little gardens halfway up the -street. A young woman came out into the light of the swinging lantern, -and hurried down the sidewalk. Her unnaturally quick and spasmodic -movements showed she was anxious to get away from the neighborhood as -quickly as possible. Her instinctive avoidance of the bad places in the -sidewalk gave evidence of her familiarity with the locality. In a few -moments she had left the tortuous narrow side street that led down the -hill, and stood upon the brilliantly lighted boulevard. Pausing for an -instant only, she rapidly crossed the street, and soon stood beside the -fountain in the Place Pigalle. Here she watched for a moment the surface -of the water, ruffled by the gusts of wind and beaten by the fierce -rain-drops. Suddenly she turned and hurried away down the Rue Pigalle, -across to the Rue Blanche, and was shortly lost in the crowd that was -pouring out of the doorway of the skating-rink. - -The little street on the hill remained deserted and desolate. The -lights in the windows went out one by one. The wind gusts swayed the -lanterns to and fro, creaking the rusty pulleys and rattling the glass -in the iron frames. Now and then a gate was blown backward and forward -with a dull sound, a shutter slammed, and between the surges of the wind -could be heard the spirting of the stream from the spouts and the rush -of the water in the gutters. Towards midnight a single workman staggered -up the street from the cheap cabaret kept in the wood-and-charcoal shop -on the corner. A little later a _sergent de ville_, wrapped in a cloak, -passed slowly up the sidewalk, until he came to a spot where the asphalt -was worn away, and there was a great pool of muddy water. There he -stopped, turned around, and strode down the street again. The melancholy -music of the storm went on. - -Suddenly, towards morning, there was a dull, prolonged report like the -sound of a distant blast of rocks. The great studio window over the -little garden flashed red for an instant, then grew black again, and -all was still. Away up on the opposite side of the street a window was -opened, a head thrust out, and, meeting the drenching rain, was quickly -withdrawn. A hand and bare arm were pushed through the half-open window, -feeling for the fastening of the shutter. In an adjoining house a light -was seen in the window, and it continued to burn. Then the mournful -music of the tempest went on as before. - -Shortly after daybreak the same young woman who had fled so hastily the -evening before, slowly and with difficulty mounted the hill. Her clothes -were saturated with the rain, and clung to her form as the violent wind -caught her and sent her staggering along. Her bonnet was out of shape -and beaten down around her ears, and her dark hair was matted on her -forehead. Her face was haggard, and her eyes were large and full of a -strange gleam. She was evidently of Southern birth, for her features had -the sculpturesque regularity of the Italian, and her skin, though pallid -and bloodless, was still deep in tone. She hesitated at the garden gate -for a while, then opened it, entered, and shut it behind her, the -automatic bell tinkling loudly. No one appearing at the door, she opened -and shut the gate again to ring the bell. A second and third time she -rang in the same way, and without any response from the house. At last, -hearing no sound, she crossed the garden, tried the house door, and, -finding it unlocked, opened it and went in. Shortly afterwards a -frightened cry was heard in the studio, and a moment later the girl came -out of the house, her haggard face white with fear. Clutching her hands -together with a nervous motion, she hastened down the street. A -half-hour later a _femme de ménage_ opened the gate, passed through the -garden, and tried her key in the door. Finding it unlocked, she simply -said, “Perhaps he’s gone out,” and went into the kitchen and began to -prepare breakfast. Before the water boiled the gate opened sharply, and -three persons entered; first, the martial figure of a _sergent de -ville_; second, a tall, blond young man in a brown velveteen coat and -waistcoat and light trousers; and, lastly, the girl, still trembling and -panting. The _sergent_ carefully locked the gate on the inside, taking -the key with him, and, followed by the young man, entered the house, -paused in the kitchen for a few rapid words with the _femme de ménage_, -and then went up into the studio. The girl crouched down upon the stone -step by the gate and hid her face. - -The studio was of irregular shape, having curious projections and -corners, and one third of the ceiling lower than the rest. The alcove -formed by this drop in the ceiling was about the size of an ordinary -bedchamber. The drawn curtain of the large side window shut out so much -of the dim daylight that the whole studio was in twilight. In the -farther corner of the deep alcove was a low divan, filling the recess -between a quaint staircase which led into the attic and the wall -opposite the window. This divan served as a bed, and on it, half covered -with the bedclothes, lay a man, stretched on his back, with his face -turned towards the window. The left arm hung over the edge of the -divan, and the hand, turned inertly under the wrist, rested on the -floor. There was the unmistakable pallor of death on the face, visible -even in the uncertain gloom. The _sergent_ quickly lowered the curtain, -letting in a flood of cold, gray light. Then great blood-stains were -seen on the pillow, and on the neck and shoulders of the shirt. Beside -the bed stood, like a grim guard of the dead body, the rigid and angular -figure of a manikin dressed in Turkish costume. Between the manikin and -the window lay on the floor a large flint-lock pistol. Near the window -stood an easel, with a large canvas turned away from the light. - -The two men paused in the middle of the studio, and looked at the -spectacle without speaking. Then the young man rushed to the divan, and -caught the arm that hung over the side, but dropped it instantly again. - -“Touch nothing. Do not touch a single object,” commanded the _sergent_, -sternly. Then he approached the body himself, put his hand on the face, -and said, “He is dead.” Taking the young man by the arm, he led him out -of the room, carefully locking the door behind him. In the kitchen he -wrote a few words on a leaf torn from his note-book, gave it to the -_femme de ménage_ with a hasty direction, checked her avalanche of -questions with a single, significant gesture, led the way into the -garden, unlocked the gate, and half pushed her into the street. - -He stood quietly watching the crouching figure of the young girl for -some time, then stooping over her, raised her, half forcibly, half -gently, to her feet, and pointed out that the place where she sat was -wet and muddy. Then he made a few commonplace remarks about the weather. -In a short time the _femme de ménage_ returned, breathless, accompanied -by two more officers, one of them a lieutenant. - -It was curious to see the instantaneous transformation of the little -street when the _femme de ménage_ and the two policemen entered the -gate. Windows were opened and heads thrust out on all sides. It was -impossible to say where the people came from, but in a very short time -the street was blocked with a crowd that gathered around the gate. Those -on the sidewalk struggled to get a peep through the gate, while those in -the street stared fixedly at the studio window. One or two tried to -force the gate open, but a _sergent de ville_, posted inside, pushed the -bolts in place. The _femme de ménage_, who had managed to get a glimpse -of the scene in the studio, sat weeping dramatically at the kitchen -window. - -The lieutenant and the _sergent_ who first came went from one room to -another, examining everything with care, to see if there had been a -robbery. In the studio they scrutinized every inch of the room, even to -the dust-covered stairway that led to the little attic over the alcove. -Then, after a hasty examination of the corpse, they mounted the stairway -that led from the entry to the roof, and searched for fresh scratches on -the lead-covered promenade there. Apparently satisfied with the -completeness of their search, they remained awhile there, looking at the -slated roof, and at the hawthorn-tree which stretched two or three -strong branches almost up to the iron railing of the balcony. - -The lieutenant then, with great deliberation, took down in his note-book -the exact situation in the studio, measuring carefully the distance of -the pistol from the body, noting the angle of the wound (for the ball -had gone through the head just over the ear), taking account of many -things that would have escaped the attention of the ordinary observer. -When this was finished, he sent away one of the _sergents_, who shortly -returned with two men bearing a stretcher, or rather a rusty black bier. -The men were conducted to the studio, and there, with business-like -haste, they placed the body on the bier, strapped it firmly there, -covered it with a soiled and much-worn black cloth, and with the aid of -the officers carried it down the stairs and out of the house into the -garden. The girl, who had remained standing where the _sergent_ had -placed her, sank down again on the stone steps at the sight of the black -bier and its burden, and hid her face in her hands. There was a -momentary gleam of something like satisfaction in the eye of the -_sergent_ who stood beside her. - -The lieutenant, who had remained to put seals on the door of the studio, -on the door which led out upon the promenade, and upon all the windows -of the upper stories, came out of the house, followed by the young man -in the velveteen coat, and the weeping _femme de ménage_. The lieutenant -had a bundle in his arms a foot and a half long, done up in a newspaper. -He gave the _sergent_ at the gate a brief order, then went out into the -street, clearing the sidewalk of the crowd. The body was next borne out, -and the young man and the two women, followed by one of the _sergents_, -presented themselves to the eyes of the curious multitude. Without delay -the two bearers marched off down the street at a rapid pace, the heavy -burden shaking with the rhythm of their step. The little procession of -officers and prisoners, accompanied by the whole of the great crowd, -followed the bier to the prefecture. There a preliminary examination of -the two women and the young man was held, and they were all detained as -witnesses. The body was carried to the morgue. - -It would be tedious to describe in detail the different processes of law -which to our Anglo-Saxon eyes appear but empty and useless indignities -heaped upon the defenceless dead. Neither would it be an attractive task -to give a minute account of the meagre funeral ceremonies which the -friends of the dead artist conducted, after they had succeeded in -getting possession of the body for burial. The grave was dug in the -cemetery of Montmartre, and the few simple tributes of friendship placed -on the mound were lost among the flashing filigree emblems and gaudy -wreaths which adorned the surrounding tombstones. - -The theories which were advanced by the three officers who had examined -the premises were distinguished by some invention and ingenuity. From -carefully collected information concerning the intimate life and whole -history of the three persons kept as witnesses, the officers -constructed each his separate romance about the motives for the crime -and the manner in which it was committed. The lieutenant had quite a -voluminous biography of each character. - -Concerning Charles Mandel, the dead artist, it was found that he was a -native of Styria, in Austria; that his parents and all his relatives -were exceedingly poor; that he had worked his way up from a place as a -farmer’s boy to a position as attendant in the baths at Gastein, and -thence he had found his way to Munich, and to the School of Fine Arts -there. He had taken a good rank in the Academy, and after several years’ -study, supporting himself meanwhile on a small government subsidy and by -the sale of pen-and-ink sketches, he began to paint pictures. When he -had saved money enough he came to Paris, where he had lived about -eighteen months. His character was unimpeachable. He lived quietly, and -rarely went out of the quarter; was never seen at the balls in the old -windmill on the summit of Montmartre, nor did he frequent the Élisée -Montmartre, the skating rink, the Cirque Fernando, nor any other place -of amusement in the neighborhood. The little Café du Rat Mort, in the -Place Pigalle, was the only café he visited, and in this he was -accustomed to pass an hour or two every evening in company with his -friend, the sculptor Paul Benner. He was not known to have any enemies, -there was no suspicion that he was connected with the Internationalists, -and the only reason he had been remarked at all as an individual was -because he spoke French badly, and always conversed in German with his -friend Benner. - -The information concerning the latter was a great deal more accurate and -precise. A great deal of it, however, was irrelevant. He was born in -Strasburg, in 1849, and began the study of his profession there. He came -to Paris when he was twenty years old, and entered the Académie des -Beaux Arts. After he had finished the course he set up his studio in -Montmartre, and had already exhibited successful works in three -_salons_. He had a great many friends in the city, and was well spoken -of by all who knew him. The only thing that could possibly be urged -against him was the fact that he seemed very little disturbed at the -idea of being a Prussian subject. But he was consistently cosmopolitan, -as his intimate friendship with the Austrian and his equally close -relations with fellow-students in the Beaux Arts abundantly proved. - -The inquiries about the girl were, judging from the frequent gaps in the -history as written in the lieutenant’s note-book, conducted with -difficulty, and with only partial success. She was a Corsican, and was -generally called Rose Blanche, the translation of her Corsican name, -Rosina Bianchi. By the artists she was facetiously called La Rose -Blanche, partly because of her hair and complexion, which were of the -darkest Southern hue, and partly for the sake of the grammatical harmony -of the name thus altered. Nothing in particular was found out about her -early life. She herself declared she was born in a small village in the -mountains of Corsica, and that her father, mother, and several brothers -and sisters were still living there. She had come to Paris as a model -just before the siege, having first begun to pose in Marseilles, whither -she had gone from Corsica to live with an aunt. This aunt had married a -crockery merchant, and was a respectable member of the community. From -her was gleaned some notion of the family. It was of genuine Corsican -stock, and they all had the violent passions which are the common -characteristic of that people. Rosina, while in Marseilles, had been -quiet and proper enough except when she had been, as her aunt described, -_un peu toquee_. At long intervals it seems that she became highly -sensitive and excitable. She would on these occasions fly into a mad -rage at a trifle, and when she grew calmer would sob and weep for a -while, and end by remaining sullen and morose for hours, sometimes for -days. Her aunt had opposed her going to Paris, prophesying all sorts of -evil. She had never seen her since her departure, and had only heard -from her twice or three times since she had left Marseilles. - -There was scarcely a better-known model in Paris than La Rose Blanche. -She was not one of those choice favorites who are engaged for months and -sometimes for a year in advance at double prices, but she was in great -demand, especially among sculptors. Her head was Italian enough to serve -as a model for the costume pictures of the Campagna peasants, but she -was much more picturesque as a Spanish girl, and her employment among -the painters was chiefly with those who painted Spanish or Eastern -subjects. The sculptors found in her form a certain girlishness which -had not disappeared with age, and although she was twenty-five years -old, she had the lithe, slender figure of a girl of seventeen. There was -something of the faun in the accents of her limbs, and she was active, -wiry, and muscular. The artists connected the peculiarities of her -figure with the characteristics of her disposition, and often said to -her, “What a hand and arm for a stiletto!” “Yes,” she would answer, with -a glittering eye; “and it isn’t afraid to hold one either!” Every one -had noticed her violent temper, and some of those who were best -acquainted with her confessed to the feeling that it was like playing -with gunpowder to have much to do with her. When she was in good -spirits, she was soft-mannered and amiable; but when roused in the -least, she became like a fury. She had frequently posed in the -_ateliers_, and then she had been treated with great respect by the -students. For the past year she had served often as a model for Benner -in the execution of his statue “Diana surprised at her Bath,” and when -she was not at work with him was generally in Mandel’s studio, where she -posed for a figure in a picture from the history of Hungary, an event in -one of the Turkish invasions. With the exception of the report of her -eccentricities of temper, nothing had counted against her. Even this was -partly counterbalanced by the testimony of many to whom she had been -both kind and useful. As far as her moral character went, some had said, -with an expressive shrug of the shoulders, “She’s a model, and like all -the rest of them.” Others had declared that she was undoubtedly honest -and virtuous. No one knew anything--at least no one confessed to any -positive knowledge--of her suspected transgressions. - -The poor _femme de ménage_, whose life had been hitherto without an -event worth the attention of the police, did not escape the most rigid -scrutiny. Her history was sifted out as carefully as that of the other -three. She was married to a second husband, and the mother of a boy of -eighteen, who was salesman in one of the large dry-goods shops. Her -husband, besides the duties of concierge in the house where they -lived--an occupation which paid for the rent of the rooms they -occupied--managed to make a trifle at his trade of tailor, repairing and -turning old garments, and on rare occasions making a new coat or a pair -of trousers for an old customer. He was also employed as a supernumerary -in the Grand Opera, a duty which obliged him to attend the theatre -often, to the serious interruption of his home occupations. He could not -well give up the place in the theatre, for his salary was just enough, -with the rest he earned, to make both ends meet. The wife was obliged to -be at home so much, to fill her husband’s place in the care of the great -house, that she could only manage to do very little outside work. The -families in the house were all working people, and consequently could -not afford the luxury of assistance in the kitchen. She therefore found -a place as _femme de ménage_ with some family in the vicinity. For some -time she had been in the employ of the dead artist, and was particularly -satisfied with the place, first because she could choose her own hours, -and then because she had very little to do, and was paid as much as if -she took care of a family--twenty francs a month. One circumstance -excited the suspicion of the police. She had been gone nearly the whole -afternoon of the day before the murder. When she returned at dark her -husband noticed that she was heated and confused, and asked her where -she had been. She refused to tell him, painfully trying to make the -refusal palatable by jokes. And the police with little difficulty found -out exactly what she had been doing for the three or four hours in -question. She had been to the Cemetery of Montmartre. She had been seen -by the keepers there busy near a grave on the third side avenue to the -left, about a quarter way up the slope. They had observed her digging up -the two small flowering shrubs she had planted there years before, and -had constantly tended. These shrubs she had wrapped up in an old colored -shirt, and had carried them away. Further, a neighbor of the dead artist -in the little street on Montmartre deposed that late in the afternoon of -the day before the tragedy she had seen the _femme de ménage_ enter the -gate of the studio garden, bearing an irregular-shaped bundle of -considerable size. The police, on visiting the garden, found the two -shrubs described by the keepers of the cemetery freshly planted in the -little central plot. - -Then for the first time they questioned the _femme de ménage_ herself, -and she confessed, with an abundance of tears, that her only daughter -had died five years previous, and that she had been buried in the -Cimetière Montmartre, and the grave had been purchased for the period of -five years. The term was to expire within a few days, and the poor -woman, unable to pay for a further lease of ground, was obliged to give -up her claim to the grave. She could not bear to lose the shrubs, for -they were souvenirs of her dead child, who cultivated them when very -small plants in flower-pots on the balcony. The mother had dug them up -in the cemetery, and transplanted them in the garden of the house where -she worked, having no garden-plot of her own. She intended the next day -to tell the artist what she had done, and to get his permission to let -the shrubs flourish there. She had refused to explain her absence to her -husband because the girl had been dead a year when she married him, and -he had sometimes reproached her for spending her time in the cemetery. -As it was not his child, he could not be expected to care for it; and -the poor mother, not having the courage to ask for money to renew the -lease of the grave, kept her own counsel about the matter. - -The examination of the witnesses, and the investigation of their -personal history, threw but little light upon the exact state of the -relations which existed between the painter and La Rose Blanche. The -neighbors had overheard at various times loud talking in the studio, and -occasionally some violent language that sounded very much like a -quarrel. One or two of the shrewd ones, especially an old woman who sold -vegetables from a little hand-cart on the corner, volunteered their -opinion that the model was in love with the artist. The withered and -blear-eyed old huckster gave as reason for her opinion that the model -had generally stayed long after painting hours, and was unusually prompt -in the morning. But there was quite as much proof that Mandel did not -care for the model as that she was enamoured of him. He never watched -for her in the morning, never came to the door with her; treated her -always, as far as was noticed by any one who had seen them together, as -if on the most formal terms with her. In the Café du Rat Mort it was -found that La Rose Blanche had often come in during the evening, -sometimes in fine costume and elaborate toilet, and had placed herself -at the table where Mandel and Benner sat. The latter always appeared -glad to see her, and joked and chatted with her, while Mandel was -evidently annoyed by her presence, and did not try very hard to conceal -his feelings. - -An almost inquisitorial examination of Benner elicited the fact that his -friend had confided to him that the model tormented him with her -attentions, and so thrust herself upon him that he was at a loss what to -do about it. He had thought seriously of giving up the picture he was at -work on, so that she might have no excuse for coming to his studio. The -same examination drew out the confession that he was in love with La -Rose Blanche himself, and had been for some time. - -Now the most plausible theory of the three officers was apparently well -enough supported by the fact to warrant a most careful investigation. -This theory was based chiefly on the common French axiom that a woman is -at the bottom of every piece of mischief. The strongest suspicion -pointed towards La Rose Blanche, and no motive but that of jealousy -could be assigned for the deed. It was necessary, then, to find some -cause for jealousy before this theory could be accepted. Mandel was, as -the study of his character had proved to the officers, of a quiet and -peaceable disposition, and not in the habit of frequenting society. -Although, like most young men, he spent part of his time in the café, he -was more disposed to stay at home than to join in any time-killing -amusement. After the most diligent search, the officers only succeeded -in finding one girl besides La Rose Blanche who had been at all on -friendly terms with the artist. She was a model who had posed for a -picture he painted while he occupied a studio in Rue Monsieur le Prince, -in the Latin Quarter. But it was also found out that La Rose Blanche -had never seen Mandel until long after the picture was finished and the -model dismissed. In this way the investigation went on with all possible -ingenuity and most wearisome deliberation. No effort was more fruitful -than the one just described. Every clue which promised to lead to the -slightest knowledge of the life of the artist or the character of the -model was followed out persistently, doggedly, and often even cruelly. -Thus months passed. - -Benner had been discharged from custody after his first long and trying -examination. Unable to work, he wandered around the city in an aimless -way. He could not help having a faint yet agonizing glimmer of hope that -he might meet with a solution of the mystery of his friend’s death. This -solution would, he was sure, prove La Rose Blanche innocent. His -unfinished statue in the clay, moistened only at irregular intervals, -cracked and shrunk, and gradually fell to pieces. Dust settled in his -studio, and his modelling tools rusted where they lay. At first he had -tried to work, and, summoning another model, he had uncovered the clay. -But he only spoiled what he touched, and after a short time he threw -down his tools and walked away. - -La Rose Blanche languished in the house of detention. Benner gradually -began to lose courage, and perhaps even his faith wavered a little. When -he learned that in the course of the examination the sleepy concierge of -the house where the model lived had testified that she was absent all -night at the time of the tragedy, Benner felt convinced that -circumstances had combined to convict the girl. Her explanation had been -most unsatisfactory. She had quarrelled with the artist because he told -her he was annoyed by her. She did not remember what she said or did; -she only knew that she left the house in a great passion, and walked the -streets all night in the rain. Her passion gave way to her affection for -the artist, and as soon as it was light she went to the studio to ask -him to forgive her. She found him dead. - -It was the apathy of La Rose Blanche quite as much as her inability to -prove herself innocent that caused the increasing uneasiness in Benner’s -mind. Not that he believed her for a moment guilty, but he knew that she -was convicting herself with fatal rapidity. He, knowing her character, -could understand how she could walk the streets all night in the storm. -He, in the warmth of his passion for her, had often fought with the -weather for the relief the struggle afforded him. Love-madness is -nothing new, and the model’s actions were only one phase of it. At the -little Café du Rat Mort, Benner now spent all his evenings, and on some -days part of the afternoon. He grew to be one of the fixtures of the -establishment. The habitués of the place had ceased to talk about him, -and no longer pointed him out to the new-comers as the friend of the -dead artist. The self-consciousness, which in the beginning was painful -to him, gradually wore away, and he almost forgot himself at times in -connection with the tragedy, and only kept constantly a dull sense of -waiting--waiting for he knew not what. Evening after evening he sat at -the little corner table of the front room of the café, smoking -cigarettes, playing with the curious long-handled spoons, and -occasionally sipping coffee or a glass of beer. The two tables between -his seat and the window on the street changed occupants many times -during the evening, and the newspapers grew sticky, fumbled, and worn at -the hands of the frequent readers. The opposite side of this room of the -café was filled by a long counter, covered on top with shining zinc, and -divided into several compartments, on the highest of which stood the -water carafes and a filter. Behind this counter sat Madame Lépic, the -wife of the proprietor, placidly knitting from morning until midnight. -When the street door opened she raised her eyes and greeted the comer -with a hospitable smile; then her face resumed its normal expression of -contentment. By carefully watching her it could be discovered that she -had a habit of quickly glancing out from under her eyebrows and taking -in the whole interior of the café in a flash of her dark little eye. -Just beyond the end of the counter a partition, wainscoted as high as a -man’s shoulder and with glass above, divided the café into two rooms. -From where she sat Madame Lépic could overlook the four tables in the -inner room as well as the three in the front. Her habit of constant -watchfulness was cultivated, of course, by the necessity of keeping run -of the two tired-looking waiters, who, like the rest of their class, had -the weakness of being tempted by the abundance of money which passed -through their hands. The police had already approached Madame Lépic, and -she had given her testimony in regard to the actions of the model with -the two young men. The police would not have been Parisian if they had -not engaged madame to keep an eye on Benner. If he had not been too much -occupied with his own thoughts, he might have detected her watching him -constantly and persistently, even after he had ceased to be interesting -in the eyes of the old habitués of the café. - -It was a long four months after that terrible morning when Benner sat, -late one afternoon, in the café brooding as usual. Before him on the -stained marble slab stood a glass of water, a tall goblet and long spoon -with twisted handle, and a porcelain match-holder half full of matches. -Bent over the table, Benner was absent-mindedly arranging bits of -matches on the slab, something in the shape of a guillotine. There were -few people in the café. The click of the dominoes in the back room, an -occasional word from one of the players, and the snap, snap, of Madame -Lépic’s needles alone broke the quiet of the interior. As Benner sat -watching the outline of the guillotine he had formed of broken matches, -he saw one of the corner pieces straighten out, and thus destroy the -symmetry of the arrangement. This was a piece which had been bent at -right angles and only half broken off. Without paying particular -attention to the occurrence, he took up the bit, threw it on the floor, -and put another one, similarly broken, in its place. In a few moments -this straightened out also, and this time the movement attracted -Benner’s curiosity. Throwing it aside, he replaced it by a fresh piece, -and this repeated the movement of the first two. Now his curiosity was -excited in earnest, and his face and figure expressed such unusual -interest that the sharp glitter was visible under Madame Lépic’s -eyebrows, and her knitting went on only spasmodically. A fourth, fifth, -and sixth piece was put in place on the corner of the little guillotine, -and as the last one was moving in the same way as the first one did, -Benner perceived that the water spilled on the table trickled down to -where the broken match was placed. He took another match, as if to break -it, but before the brittle wood snapped, his face lit up with a sudden -expression of surprise and joy, and he started to his feet so violently -as to nearly throw the marble slab from the iron legs. The click of the -dominoes ceased, faces were seen at the glass of the partition, and -Madame Lépic fairly stared, forgetting for once her rôle of -disinterested knitter. - -Without stopping to pay, without seeming to see anybody or anything, -Benner strode nervously and quickly out of the café. When he was gone, -Madame Lépic touched her bell, one of the drowsy waiters came, received -a whispered order, and went out of the front door hatless. A few moments -later, even before Benner had disappeared along the boulevard in the -direction of his studio, a neatly dressed man came out of the police -station near the café and walked in the same direction, the sculptor had -taken. After Benner had entered the _porte-cochère_ of the great -building where his studio was, the police agent went into the -concierge’s little office near the door, and sat there as if he were at -home. In a few moments a nervous step was heard on the asphalt of the -court-yard, and the agent had only time to withdraw into the gloom of -the corner behind the stove when Benner passed out again, looking -neither to the right nor the left. He was evidently much excited, and -clutched rather than held a small parcel in his hand. The agent followed -him a short distance behind, and, meeting a _sergent de ville_, paused -to say a word to him. As Benner climbed on the top of an Odéon omnibus, -the agent took a seat inside. Benner had not reached the interior -boulevard before his studio was searched. - -It was now nearly six o’clock, and the omnibus was crowded all the way -across the city. As soon as the foot of the Rue des Beaux Arts was -reached, Benner hurriedly descended, without waiting to stop the -omnibus, and ran to the Academy. Here he sought the concierge, asked him -a few questions, and then walked quickly away to the east side of the -Luxembourg Gardens, where he rang the bell at the door of a house. He -asked the servant who answered the bell if Professor Brunin was at home, -and was evidently chagrined at being told he was absent and would not -return for an hour or two. Entering the nearest café, he called for pen -and paper, and wrote three pages rapidly, but legibly. By this time he -had grown calmer in mind, not losing, however, the physical spring which -his first excitement had induced. When his letter was finished he put it -in an envelope, addressed it, and left it at the professor’s house. This -done, he walked rapidly across the Luxembourg Gardens to the Odéon, -took an omnibus, accompanied as before by the agent, and at the end of -the route, in the Place Pigalle, he descended, hastened to his studio, -and did not come out again that evening. The great window was lighted -all night long, and the agent in the entry could hear sawing, hammering, -and filing at intervals, as he listened at the door every hour or two. - -The gray morning broke, and Benner was still at his work. As the -daylight dimmed the light of the lamp, he seemed not to notice it, but -continued bent over his table, where various blocks, pieces of sheet -brass, and a few tools were scattered promiscuously about. A piece of -brown paper lay on the floor with what appeared to be a glove. On the -corner of the table was a rude imitation of a human hand made of wood, -hinged so that the fingers would move. This was not of recent -construction; but on a small drawing-board, over which Benner was -leaning, was fixed a curious piece of mechanism which he was adjusting, -having apparently just put it in working order. He had joined together -five pieces of oak-wood, about three quarters of an inch wide and half -an inch thick, arranged according to their length. The joints had been -cut in the shape of quarter-circles, like the middle hinge of a -carpenter’s rule. After these were fitted to each other, a sawcut was -made in each one, and a piece of sheet brass inserted which joined the -concave to the convex end. Two rivets on one end and one on the other, -serving as a pivot, completed the hinge. The joints were so arranged -that, when opened to the greatest extent, the five pieces composing the -whole made a straight line. The longest piece of wood was fastened at -the middle and outer end by screws, which held it firmly to the -drawing-board. The shortest piece, on the opposite end of the line, had -attached to it on the under side a pointed bit of brass like an index. -As morning broke, Benner was engaged in fixing a bit of an ivory metre -measure, which is marked to millimetres, underneath this index point. -After this scale was securely fastened in its place the mechanism was -evidently completed, for he straightened up, looked at his work from a -distance, then bent over it again, and gently tried the joints, watching -with some satisfaction the index as it moved along the scale. While -preoccupied with this study, a sudden knock at the door caused him to -start like a guilty man. He threw open the door almost tragically. It -was only the concierge, who brought him a letter. He tore it open, and -read it and re-read it with eagerness; then went to the table and -carefully measured several times the whole length of the mechanism, from -the inner screw of the longest piece to the end of the shortest. He then -began to calculate and to cipher on the edge of the drawing-board. The -letter read as follows: - - - “MONSIEUR,--En fait de renseignements sur la dilatation du bois je - ne connais que ceux donnés par M. Reynaud dans son traité - d’architecture, vol. i., pages 84 à 87 de la 2ᵉ êdition. - - “Il en résulte que: - - “1. Les bois verts se dilatent beaucoup plus que ceux purgés de - sève. - - “2. Que le chêne se dilate tantôt plus tantôt moins que le sapin, - mais plus que le noyer. - - “3. Que dans les conditions ordinaires, c’est à dire, avec les - variations hygrométriques de l’air seulement, le coefficient de - dilatation atteint au plus 0.018, d’où résulte qu’une planche de - 0.20 deviendrait 0.2036. - - “4. Qu’en plongeant dans l’eau pendant longtemps une planche - primitivement très sèche, le coefficient de dilatation peut - atteindre 0.0375, ce que donnerait pour la planche de 0.20, 0.2075. - - “Peut-être vous trouverez d’autres renseignements dans le traité de - charpente du Colonel Emy, ou dans celui de menuiserie de Roubo. - - “Recevez, Monsieur, l’assurance de mes sentiments distingués. - - P. BRUNIN. - - -A few days later there was gathered in a small room in the prefecture -quite a knot of advocates and police officers. They were soon joined by -Benner himself, accompanied by a short, stout gentleman with -eye-glasses. Besides the ordinary furniture of the room, there was a -wash-tub, a pail of water, a manikin, and the drawing-board with the -mechanism on it. The entrance of the judge put a stop to the buzz of -conversation, and when he took a seat on the low platform the rest of -the company placed themselves on the benches in front. The judge, after -a few preliminary remarks on the subject of the mystery of Montmartre, -said that there had lately been developed such a new and surprising -theory to account for the death of the artist that he had consented to -give a hearing to the explanation of the theory. Benner then arose and -made the following statement: “In the Café du Rat Mort, a few days ago, -I noticed a peculiar movement in a broken match as it lay on the table -before me. At first my curiosity was excited only to a moderate degree, -but shortly this inexplicable motion interested me so that I -experimented until I found the cause of it. At the same moment there -flashed into my mind what I had learned long ago at school about -capillary force, and the solution of the mystery of my friend’s death -was at once plain to me. Hurrying to my studio, I cut off the hand of my -manikin, and carried it to the Academy of Fine Arts to show it to -Professor Brunin, of the Architectural Department, and ask his -assistance. Finding him neither there nor at his house, I wrote him a -note and left it for him. All that night I worked constructing a -working model of a manikin’s finger, and the next morning I received a -letter from Professor Brunin which gave me the data I was in search -of--the facts in regard to the expansion of wood when moistened. I -should read that letter here, but Professor Brunin is present, and will -explain the phenomenon. My theory is very simple. My friend Charles -Mandel was shot by his own manikin. There are witnesses enough to prove -that the pistol had been loaded for a long time, and that Mandel had -often tried in vain to draw the charge. It is also well known that the -pistol was cocked when it was in the manikin’s belt, for on the -half-completed picture it was so painted by Mandel on the last day of -his life. Furthermore, the position of the right index finger of the -manikin can also be plainly seen in the picture; for the artist, not -having a model to hold the weapon, had roughly rubbed in the angular -fingers of the lay figure, preparatory to finishing the hand from life. -The pistol then, being loaded and cocked, needed but the pressure of -the finger to discharge it. That pressure was given by the rain on the -night of the death of my friend. The lieutenant will find, on reference -to his note-book, that on the morning when he examined the studio there -had been quite a serious leak in the ceiling, and that the water had -fallen directly on the manikin. He will find also in his notes the exact -position of the manikin in reference to the divan on which the corpse -lay. Now, it is clear that when the wrist of the manikin was bent, and -the index finger was placed on the trigger of the pistol, only a very -slight motion of the whole was necessary to give the pressure required -to fire a pistol. The weapon was braced against the inside of the thumb -of the hand, and thus held firmly there as it stuck in the belt ready to -be drawn and fired. When the water first fell from the ceiling, it -soaked the covering of the wrist and hand, and swelled the wrist joint -so that it became absolutely immovable. Next the moisture extended to -the tip of the fingers, the hand being held somewhat downward. In the -manikin we have here, the exact construction of the fingers and the -movement of the joints of the hand and wrist can be plainly seen. In my -working model I have imitated the mechanism of one finger, so arranging -it that the least deflection of the finger from the straight line will -be measured on a scale of millimetres. The joints are so constructed -that any elongation of the pieces of wood will curve the line of joints -away from the straight line which I have drawn on the board. I propose -to experiment with this model so as to make it perfectly plain that my -friend’s death was accidental. If the experiment were tried on the -manikin, and with a flint-lock pistol, it would doubtless fail -ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. In the accident which caused my -friend’s death everything happened to be perfectly adjusted. If my model -works, of course the manikin might have worked in exactly the same way.” - -The lieutenant gave his explanation of the position in which the body -was found, and added that he had calculated at the time that the shot -must have been fired from the direction of the manikin, and from about -the height of its waist. He found in his notes the statement that the -roof had leaked, and the manikin was wet. Furthermore, the pistol was -found just where the recoil would have thrown it backward out of the -manikin’s hand. He ended by declaring that the theory just advanced was -new to him then, and that he was convinced of its probability by the -manner in which it harmonized with the conditions of the tragedy. - -The professor proceeded next to give a full account of the expansion of -wood by moisture, and went into the study of the whole phenomenon of -capillary force. He was somewhat verbose in his statement, probably -because he, like other regular lecturers, had been accustomed to spread -a very little fact over a great deal of time. His closing argument in -favor of the theory set forth by Benner was this: “In the ancient -quarries wedges of wood were driven into holes in the rock, water was -poured on the wedges, and the wood, expanding, split the solid mass. -Capillary force is irresistible. It was this force which caused the -deplorable accident which Mr. Benner has so ingeniously and logically -explained.” - -At the command of the judge the sculptor proceeded with his experiment. -He simply fastened the drawing-board with the mechanism to the bottom of -the inside of the tub by means of screws. When it was in place it was -covered by about an inch of water. The lieutenant then recorded on his -note-book the time of day and the position of the index, and every one -present made mental note of it. It was necessary, in order to give the -wood sufficient time to swell, to leave it in the water for four or five -hours. Consequently the judge adjourned the sitting until the afternoon -at four o’clock. The room was locked and put in charge of the lieutenant -and two men. - -When the same company assembled at the appointed hour the door was -opened by the lieutenant, and the judge, with genuine human curiosity, -stepped up to the tub, looked into it, and gave an exclamation of -surprise. The others approached and looked in. The lieutenant -announced, almost triumphantly, that the index had moved seven -millimetres--enough to have fired a cannon. The judge turned to the -excited company and said, simply, “Messieurs, it was a capillary -crime.” - - - - -A FADED SCAPULAR - - -We are seldom able to trace our individual superstitions to any definite -cause, nor can we often account for the peculiar sensations developed in -us by the inexplicable and mysterious incidents in our experience. Much -of the timidity of childhood may be traced to early training in the -nursery, and sometimes the moral effects of this weakness cannot be -eradicated through a lifetime of severe self-control and mental -suffering. The complicated disorders of the imagination which arise from -superstitious fears can frequently be accounted for only by inherited -characteristics, by peculiar sensitiveness to impressions, and by an -overpowering and perhaps abnormally active imagination. I am sure I am -confessing to no unusual characteristic when I say that I have felt -from childhood a certain sentiment or sensation in regard to material -things which I can trace to no early experience, to the influence of no -literature, and to no possible source, in fact, but that of inherited -disposition. - -The sentiment I refer to is this: whatever has belonged to or has been -used by any person seems to me to have received some special quality, -which, though often invisible and still oftener indefinable, still -exists in a more or less strong degree, according to the amount of the -impressionable power, if I may call it so, which distinguished the -possessor. I am aware that this sentiment may be stigmatized as of the -school-girl order; that it is, indeed, of the same kind and class with -that which leads an otherwise honest person to steal a rag from a famous -battle flag, a leaf from an historical laurel wreath, or even to cut a -signature or a title-page from a precious volume; but with me the -feeling has never taken this turn, else I should not have confessed to -the possession of it. Whatever may be said or believed, however, I must -refer to it in more or less comprehensible terms, because it may -explain the conditions, although it will not unveil the causes, of the -incidents I am about to describe with all honesty and frankness. - -Nearly twenty years ago I made my first visit to Rome, long before it -became the centre of the commercial and political activity of Italy, and -while it was yet unspoiled for the antiquarian, the student, the artist, -and the traveller. Never shall I forget the first few hours I spent -wandering aimlessly through the streets--so far as I then knew, a total -stranger in the city, with no distinct plan of remaining there, and with -only the slight and imperfect knowledge of the place that one gains from -the ordinary travellers’ descriptions. The streets, the houses, the -people, the strange sounds and stranger sights, the life so entirely -different from what I had hitherto seen--all this interested me greatly. -Far more powerful and far more vivid and lasting, however, was the -impression of an inconceivable number of presences--I hesitate to call -them spirits--not visible, of course, nor tangible, but still -oppressing me mentally and morally, exactly the same as my physical -self is often crushed and overpowered in a great assembly of people. I -walked about, visited the cafés and concert-halls, and tried in various -ways to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of ghostly company, but was -unsuccessful, and went to my lodgings much depressed and nervous. I took -my note-book, and wrote in it: “Rome has been too much lived in. Among -the multitude of the dead there is no room for the living.” It seemed -then a foolish memorandum to write, and now, as I look at the -half-effaced pencil lines, I wonder why I was not ashamed to write it. -Yet there it is before me, a witness to my sensations at the time, and -the scrawl has even now the power to bring up to me an unpleasantly -vivid memory of that first evening in Rome. - -After a few days passed in visiting the galleries and the regular sights -of the town, I began to look for a studio and an apartment, and finally -found one in the upper story of a house on the Via di Ripetta. Before -moving into the studio, I met an old friend and fellow-artist, and, as -there was room enough for two, gladly took him in with me. - -The studio, with apartment, in the Via di Ripetta was by no means -unattractive. It was large, well lighted, comfortably and abundantly -furnished. It was, as I have said, at the top of the house; the studio -overlooked the Tiber, and the sitting-room and double-bedded -sleeping-room fronted the street. The large studio window was placed -rather high up, so that the entrance door--a wide, heavy affair, with -large hinges and immense complicated lock and a “judas”--opened from the -obscurity of the hall directly under the large window into the full -light of the studio. The roof of the house slanted from back to front, -so that the two rooms were lower studded than the studio, and an empty -space or low attic opening into the studio above them was partly -concealed by an ample and ragged curtain. The fireplace was in the -middle of the left wall as you entered the studio; the door into the -sitting-room was in the farther right-hand corner, and the bedroom was -entered by a door on the right-hand wall of the sitting-room, so that -the bedroom formed a wing of the studio and sitting-room, and from the -former, looking through two doors, the bedroom window and part of the -street wall could be seen. Both the beds were hidden from sight of any -one in the studio, even when the doors were open. - -The apartment was furnished in a way which denoted a certain amount of -liberality, but everything was faded and worn, though not actually -shabby or dirty. The carpets were threadbare, the damask-covered sofa -and chairs showed marks of the springs, and the gimp was fringed and -torn off in places. The beds were not mates; the basin and ewer were of -different patterns; the few pictures on the wall were, like everything -else in the place, curiously gray and dusty-looking, as if they had been -shut up in the darkened rooms for a generation. Beyond the fireplace in -the studio, the corner of the room was partitioned off by a dingy -screen, six feet high or more, fixed to the floor for the space of two -yards, with one wing which shut like a door, enclosing a small space -fitted up like a miniature scullery, with a curious and elaborate -collection of pots and pans and kitchen utensils, all hung in orderly -rows, but every article with marks of service on it, and more recent and -obtrusive traces of long disuse. - -In one of the first days of my search for a studio I had found and -inspected this very place, but it had given me such a disagreeable -feeling--it had seemed so worn out, so full of relics of other -people--that I could not make up my mind to take it. After a thorough -search and diligent inquiry, however, I came to the conclusion that -there was absolutely no other place in Rome at that busy season where I -could set up my easel, and, after having the place recommended to me by -all the artists I called upon as a well-known and useful studio, and a -great find at the busy season of the year, I took a lease of the place -for four months. - -My friend and I moved in at the same time, and I will not deny that I -planned to be supported by his presence at the moment of taking -possession. When we arrived and had our traps all deposited in the -middle of the studio, there came over the spirits of us both a strange -gloom, which the bustle and confusion of settling did not in the least -dispel. It was nearly dark that winter afternoon before we had finished -unpacking, and the street lights were burning before we reached the -little restaurant in the Via Quattro Fontane, where we proposed to take -our meals. There was a cheerful company of artists and architects -assembled there that evening, and we sat over our wine long after -dinner. When the jolly party at last dispersed, it was well past -midnight. - -How gloomy the outer portal of the high building looked as we crossed -the dimly lighted street and pushed open the back door! A musty, damp -smell, like the atmosphere of the catacombs, met us as we entered. Our -footsteps echoed loud and hollow in the empty corridor, and the large -wax match I struck as we came in gave but a flickering light, which -dimly shadowed the outline of the stone stairway, and threw the rest of -the corridor into a deep and mysterious gloom. We tramped up the five -long flights of stone stairs without a word, the echo of our footsteps -sounding louder and louder, and the murky space behind us deepening into -the damp darkness of a cavern. At last, after what seemed an -interminable climb, we came to the studio entrance. I put the large key -in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door. A strong draught, like -the lifeless breath from the mouth of a tunnel, extinguished the match -and left us in darkness. I hesitated an instant, instinctively dreading -to enter, and then went in, followed by my friend, who closed the door -behind us. The heavy hinges creaked, the door shut into the jambs with a -solid thud, the lock sprang into place with a sharp click, and a noise -like the clanging of a prison gate resounded and re-echoed through the -corridor and through the spacious studio. I felt as if we were shut in -from the whole world. - -Lighting all the candles at hand and stirring up the fire, we endeavored -to make the studio look cheerful, and, neither of us being inclined to -go to bed, we sat for a long time talking and smoking. But even the -bright fire and the soothing tobacco smoke did not wholly dispel the -gloom of the place, and when we finally carried the candles into the -bedroom, I felt a vague sense of dismal anticipation and apprehension. -We left both doors open, so that the light from our room streamed across -the corner of the sitting-room, and threw a great square of strong -reflection on the studio carpet. While undressing, I found that I had -left my matchbox on the studio table, and thought I would return for it. -I remember now what a mental struggle I went through before I made up my -mind to go without a candle. I glanced at my friend’s face, partly to -see if he noticed any indication of nervousness in my expression, and -partly because I was conscious of a kind of psychological sympathy -between us. But fear of his ridicule made me effectually conceal my -feelings, and I went out of the room without speaking. As I walked -across the non-resonant, carpeted stone floor I had the most curious -set of sensations I have ever experienced. At nearly every step I took I -came into a different stratum or perpendicular layer of air. First it -was cool to my face, then warm, then chill again, and again warm. -Thinking to calm my nervous excitement, I stood still and looked around -me. The great window above my head dimly transmitted the sky reflection, -but threw little light into the studio. The folds of the curtain over -the open space above the sitting-room appeared to wave slightly in the -uncertain light, and the easels and lay figure stood gaunt and ghostly -along the further wall. I waited there and reasoned with myself, arguing -that there was no possible cause for fear, that a strong man ought to -control his nerves, that it was silly at my time of life to begin to be -afraid of the dark; but I could not get rid of the sensation. As I went -back to the bedroom I experienced the same succession of physical -shocks; but whether they followed each other in the same order or not I -was unable to determine. - -It was some time before I could get to sleep, and I opened my eyes once -or twice before I lost consciousness. From the bedroom window there was -a dim, very dim, light on the lace curtains, but the window itself was -visible as a square mass, and did not appear to illuminate the room in -the least. Suddenly, after a dreamless sleep of some duration, I awoke -as completely as if I had been startled by a loud noise. The lace -curtains were now quite brilliantly lighted from somewhere, I could not -tell where, but the window itself seemed to be as little luminous as -when I went to sleep. Without moving my head, I turned my eyes in the -direction of the studio, and could see the open door as a dark patch in -the gray wall, but nothing more. Then, as I was looking again at the -curious illumination of the curtains, a moving mass came into the angle -of my vision out of the corner of the room near the head of the bed, and -passed slowly into full view between me and the curtain. It was -unmistakably the figure of a man, not unlike that of the better type of -Italian, and was dressed in the commonly worn soft hat and ample cloak. -His profile came out clearly against the light background of the lace -curtain, and showed him to be a man of considerable refinement of -feature. He did not make an actually solid black silhouette against the -light, neither was the figure translucent, but was rather like an object -seen through a vapor or through a sheet of thin ground glass. - -I tried to raise my head, but my nerve force seemed suddenly to fail me, -and while I was wondering at my powerlessness, and reasoning at the same -time that it must be a nightmare, the figure had moved slowly across in -front of the window, and out through the open door into the studio. - -I listened breathlessly, but not a sound did I hear from the next room. -I pinched myself, opened and shut my eyes, and noticed that the -breathing of my room-mate was irregular, and unlike that of a sleeping -man. I am unable to understand why I did not sit up or turn over or -speak to my friend to find out if he were awake. I was fully conscious -that I ought to do this, but something, I know not what, forced me to -lie perfectly motionless watching the window. I heard my room-mate -breathing, opened and shut my eyes, and was certain, indeed, that I was -really awake. As I reasoned on the phenomenon, and came naturally to the -unwilling conclusion that my hallucination was probably premonitory of -malaria, my nerves grew quiet, I began to think less intensely, and then -I fell asleep. - -The next morning I awoke with a feeling of disagreeable anticipation. I -was loath to rise, even though the warm Italian sunlight was pouring -into the room and gilding the dingy interior with brilliant reflections. -In spite of this cheering glow of sunshine, the rooms still had the same -dead and uninhabited appearance, and the presence of my friend, a -vigorous and practical man, seemed to bring no recognizable vitality or -human element to counteract the oppressiveness of the place. Every -detail of my waking dream or hallucination of the night before was -perfectly fresh in my mind, and the sense of apprehension was still -strong upon me. - -The distracting operations of settling the studio, and the frequent -excursions to neighboring shops to buy articles necessary to our meagre -housekeeping, did much towards taking my mind off the incident of the -night; but every time I entered the sitting-room or the bedroom it all -came up to me with a vividness that made my nerves quiver. We explored -all the corners and cupboards of the place. We even crawled up over the -sitting-room behind the dingy curtain, where a large quantity of disused -frames and old stretchers were packed away. We familiarized ourselves, -in fact, with every nook and cranny of each room; moved the furniture -about in a different order; hung up draperies and sketches; and in many -ways changed the character of the interior. The faded, weary-looking -widow from whom I had hired the place, and who took care of the rooms, -carried away to her own apartment many of the most obnoxious trifles -which encumbered the small tables, the étagère, and the wall spaces. She -sighed a great deal as we were making the rapid changes to suit our own -taste, but made no objection, and we naturally thought it was the -regular custom of every new occupant to turn the place upside down. - -Late in the afternoon I was alone in the studio for an hour or more, and -sat by the fire trying to read. The daylight was not gone, and the -rumble of the busy street came plainly to my ears. I say “trying to -read,” for I found reading quite impossible. The moment I began to fix -my attention on the page, I had a very powerful feeling that some one -was looking over my shoulder. Do what I would, I could not conquer the -unreasonable sensation. Finally, after starting up and looking about me -a dozen times, I threw down the book and went out. When I returned, -after an hour in the open air, I found my friend walking up and down in -the studio with open doors, and two guttering candles alight. - -“It’s a curious thing,” he said, “I can’t read this book. I have been -trying to put my mind on it a whole half-hour, and I can’t do it. I -always thought I could get interested in ‘Gaboriau’ in a moment under -any circumstances.” - -“I went out to walk because I couldn’t manage to read,” I replied, and -the conversation ended. - -We went to the theatre that evening, and afterwards to the Café Greco, -where we talked art in half a dozen languages until midnight, and then -came home. Our entrance to the house and the studio was much the same as -on the previous night, and we went to bed without a word. My mind -naturally reverted to the experience of the night before, and I lay -there for a long time with my eyes open, making a strong effort of the -imagination to account for the vision by the dim shapes of the -furniture, the lace curtains, and the suggestive and shadowy -perspective. But, although the interior was weird enough, by reason of -the dingy hangings and the diffused light, I was unable to trace the -origin of the illusion to any object within the range of my vision, or -to account for the strange illumination which had startled me. I went to -sleep thinking of other things, and with my nerves comparatively quiet. - -Sometime in the early morning, about three o’clock, as near as I could -judge, I slowly awoke, and saw the lace curtains illuminated as before. -I found myself in an expectant frame of mind, neither calm nor excited, -but rather in that condition of philosophical quiet which best prepared -me for an investigation of the phenomenon which I confidently expected -to witness. Perhaps this is assuming too eagerly the position of a -philosopher, but I am certain no element of fear disturbed my reason, -that I was neither startled nor surprised at awakening as I did, and -that my mind was active and undoubtedly prepared for the investigation -of the mystery. - -I was therefore not at all shocked to observe the same shape come first -into the angle of my eye, and then into the full range of my vision, -next appear as a silhouette against the curtains, and finally lose -itself in the darkness of the doorway. During the progress of the shape -across the room I noticed the size and general aspect of it with keen -attention to detail, and with satisfactory calmness of observation. It -was only after the figure had passed out of sight, and the light on the -window curtains grew dim again, much as an electric light loses its -brilliancy with the diminution of the strength of the current, that it -occurred to me to consider the fact that during the period of the -hallucination I had been utterly motionless. There was not the slightest -doubt of my being awake. My friend in the adjoining bed was breathing -regularly, the ticking of my watch was plainly audible, and I could feel -my heart beating with unusual rapidity and vigor. - -The strange part of the whole incident was this incapacity of action; -and the more I reasoned about it the more I was mystified by the utter -failure of nerve force. Indeed, while the mind was actively at work on -this problem, the physical torpor continued, a languor not unlike the -incipient drowsiness of anæsthesia came gradually over me, and, though -mentally protesting against the helpless condition of the body, and -struggling to keep awake, I fell asleep, and did not stir till morning. - -With the bright, clear winter’s day returned the doubts and -disappointments of the day before--doubts of the existence of the -phenomenon, disappointment at the failure of any solution of the -hallucination. A second day in the studio did little towards dispelling -the mental gloom which possessed us both, and at night my friend -confessed that he thought we must have stumbled into a malarial quarter. - -At this distance of time it is absolutely incomprehensible to me how I -could have gone on as I did from day to day, or rather from night to -night--for the same hallucination was repeated nightly--without speaking -to my friend, or at least taking some energetic steps towards an -investigation of the mystery. But I had the same experience every night -for fully a week before I really began to plan serious means of -discovering whether it was an hallucination, a nightmare, or a -flesh-and-blood intruder. First, I had some curiosity each night to see -whether there would be a repetition of the incident. Second, I was eager -to note any physical or mental symptom which would serve as a clue to -the mystery. Pride, or some other equally authoritative sentiment, -continued to keep me from disclosing my secret to my friend, although I -was on the point of doing so on several occasions. My first plan was to -keep a candle burning all night, but I could invent no plausible excuse -to my comrade for this action. Next I proposed to shut the bedroom door, -and on speaking of it to my friend, he strongly objected on the ground -of the lack of ventilation, and was not willing to risk having the -window open on account of the malaria. After all, since this was an -entirely personal matter, it seemed to me the only thing to do was to -depend on my own strength of mind and moral courage to solve this -mystery unaided. I put my loaded revolver on the table by the bedside, -drew back the lace curtain before going to bed, and left the door only -half open, so I could not see into the studio. The night I made these -preparations I awoke as usual, saw the same figure, but, as before, -could not move a hand. After it had passed the window, I tried hard to -bring myself to take my revolver, and find out whether I had to deal -with a man or a simulacrum. But even while I was arguing with myself, -and trying to find out why I could not move, sleep came upon me before I -had carried out my purposed action. - -The shock of the first appearance of the vision had been nearly -overbalanced by my eagerness to investigate, and my intense interest in -the novel condition of mind or body which made such an experience -possible. But after the utter failure of all my schemes and the collapse -of my theories as to evident causes of the phenomenon, I began to be -harassed and worried, almost unconsciously at first, by the ever-present -thought, the daily anticipation, and the increasing dread of the -hallucination. The self-confidence that first supported me in my nightly -encounter diminished on each occasion, and the curiosity which -stimulated me to the study of the phenomenon rapidly gave way to the -sentiment akin to terror, when I proved myself incapable of grappling -with the mystery. - -The natural result of this preoccupation was inability to work and -little interest in recreation, and as the long weeks wore away I grew -morose, morbid, and hypochondriacal. The pride which kept me from -sharing my secret with my friend also held me at my post, and nerved me -to endure the torment in the rapidly diminishing hope of finally -exorcising the spectre or recovering my usual healthy tone of mind. The -difficulty of my position was increased by the fact that the apparition -failed to appear occasionally; and while I welcomed each failure as a -sign that the visits were to cease, they continued spasmodically for -weeks, and I was still as far away from the interpretation of the -problem as ever. Once I sought medical advice, but the doctor could -discover nothing wrong with me except what might be caused by tobacco, -and, following his advice, I left off smoking. He said I had no malaria; -that I needed more exercise, perhaps; but he could not account for my -insomnia, for I, like most patients, had concealed the vital facts in my -case, and had complained of insomnia as the cause of my anxiety about my -health. - -The approach of spring tempted me out of doors, and in the warm villa -gardens and the sun-bathed Campagna I could sometimes forget the -nightmare that haunted me. This was not often possible, unless I was in -the company of cheerful companions, and I grew to dread the hour when I -was to return to the studio after an excursion into the country among -the soothing signs of returning summer. To shut the clanging door of the -studio was to place an impenetrable barrier between me and the outside -world; and the loneliness of that interior seemed to be only intensified -by the presence of my companion, who was apparently as much depressed in -spirits as myself. - -We made various attempts at the entertainment of friends, but they all -lacked that element of spontaneous fun which makes such occasions -successful, and we soon gave it up. On pleasant days we threw open the -windows on the street to let in the warm air and sunshine, but this did -not seem to drive away the musty odors of the interior. We were much too -high up to feel any neighborly proximity to the people on the other -side of the street. The chimney-pots and irregular roofs below and -beyond were not very cheerful objects in the view; and the landlady, -who, as far as we knew, was the only other occupant of the upper story, -did not give us a great sense of companionship. Never once did I enter -the studio without feeling the same curious sensation of alternate warm -and cool strata of air. Never for a quarter of an hour did I succeed in -reading a book or a newspaper, however interesting it might be. We -frequently had two models at a time, and both my friend and myself made -several beginnings of pictures, but neither of us carried the work very -far. - -On one occasion a significant remark was made by a lady friend who came -to call. She will undoubtedly remember now when she reads these lines -that she said, on leaving the studio: “This is a curiously draughty -place. I feel as if it had been blowing hot and cold on me all the time -I have been here, and yet you have no windows open.” - -At another time my comrade burst out as I was going away one evening -about eleven o’clock to a reception at one of the palaces: “I wish you -wouldn’t go in for society so much. I can’t go to the café; all the -fellows go home about this time of the evening. I don’t like to stay -here in this dismal hole, all cooped up by myself. I can’t read, I can’t -sleep, and I can’t think.” - -It occurred to me that it was a little queer for him to object to being -left alone, unless he, like myself, had some disagreeable experiences -there, and I remembered that he had usually gone out when I had, and was -seldom, if ever, alone in the studio when I returned. His tone was so -peevish and impatient that I thought discussion was injudicious, and -simply replied, “Oh, you’re bilious; I’ll be home early,” and went away. -I have often thought since that it was the one occasion when I could -have easily broached the subject of my mental trouble, and I have always -regretted I did not do so. - -Matters were brought to a climax in this way: My friend was summoned to -America by telegraph a little more than two months after we took the -studio, and left me at a day’s notice. The amount and kind of moral -courage I had to summon up before I could go home alone the first -evening after my comrade left me can only be appreciated by those who -have undergone some similar torture. It was not like the bracing up a -man goes through when he has to face some imminent known danger, but was -of a more subtle and complex kind. “There is nothing to fear,” I kept -saying to myself, and yet I could not shake off a nameless dread. “You -are in your right mind and have all your senses,” I continually argued, -“for you see and hear and reason clearly enough. It is a brief -hallucination, and you can conquer the mental weakness which causes it -by persistent strength of will. If it be a simulacrum, you, as a -practical man, with good physical health and sound enough reasoning -powers, ought to investigate it to the best of your ability.” In this -way I endeavored to nerve myself up, and went home late, as usual. The -regular incident of the night occurred. I felt keenly the loss of my -friend’s companionship, and suffered accordingly, but in the morning I -was no nearer to the solution of the mystery than I was before. - -For five weary, torturing nights did I go up to that room alone, and, -with no sound of human proximity to cheer me or to break the wretched -feeling of utter solitude, I endured the same experience. At last I -could bear it no longer, and determined to have a change of air and -surroundings. I hastily packed a travelling-bag and my color-box, -leaving all my extra clothes in the wardrobes and the bureau drawers, -told the landlady I should return in a week or two, and paid her for the -remainder of the time in advance. The last thing I did was to take my -travelling-cap, which hung near the head of my bed. A break in the -wall-paper showed that there was a small door here. Pulling the knob -which had held my cap, the door was readily opened, and disclosed a -small niche in the wall. Leaning against the back of the niche was a -small crucifix with a rude figure of Christ, and suspended from the -neck of the image by a small cord was a triangular object covered with -faded cloth. While I was examining with some interest the hiding-place -of these relics, the landlady entered. - -“What are these?” I asked. - -“Oh, signore!” she said, half sobbing as she spoke. “These are relics of -my poor husband. He was an artist like yourself, signore. He was--he -was--ill, very ill--and in mind as well as body, signore. May the -Blessed Virgin rest his soul! He hated the crucifix, he hated the -scapular, he hated the priests. Signore, he--he died without the -sacrament, and cursed the holy water. I have never dared to touch those -relics, signore. But he was a good man, and the best of husbands;” and -she buried her face in her hands. - -I took the first train for Naples, and have never been in Rome since. - - * * * * * - -Three years later I was making an afternoon call in Boston, and met for -the first time since we parted in Rome the friend who had occupied the -studio with me there. - -When our greetings were over I asked, without any preliminary remark or -explanation: - -“Did you ever notice anything peculiar about that studio in Rome?” - -“If you hadn’t asked me that question,” he replied, “I should have put a -similar one to you. I remember it as the most dismal and oppressive -place I ever was in. I had a constant presentiment that something -terrible was going to happen there. The air in the studio was often cold -and warm in streaks. I couldn’t read, write, or paint without feeling -that some one was looking over my shoulder. Every night I waked up -towards morning and lay awake for some time, and often thought of -speaking to find out whether you were awake too; for it seemed as if you -must be, from your breathing. I couldn’t bear to stay alone there either -in the daytime or at night, and even now I would rather live in the -catacombs than set my easel up in that studio again. Now, what made you -ask me about it?” - -“Because I have never felt quite certain that I was in my right mind -during the season we spent in Rome, and the memory of that studio has -always haunted me like a horrid dream,” I replied. “Did you never have -any hallucinations or nightmares there?” - -“No,” he said, “unless you call the whole thing a nightmare.” - -“Why didn’t you say something to me about it at the time?” I asked. - -“Why didn’t you say something, if you felt as you say you did?” was his -reply. - - - - -YATIL - - -While in Paris, in the spring of 1878, I witnessed an accident in a -circus, which for a time made me renounce all athletic exhibitions. Six -horses were stationed side by side in the ring before a springboard, and -the whole company of gymnasts ran and turned somersaults over the -horses, alighting on a mattress spread on the ground. The agility of one -finely developed young fellow excited great applause every time he made -the leap. He would shoot forward in the air like a javelin, and in his -flight curl up and turn over directly above the mattress, dropping on -his feet as lightly as a bird. This play went on for some minutes, and -at each round of applause the favorite seemed to execute his leap with -increased skill and grace. Finally, he was seen to gather himself a -little farther in the background than usual, evidently to prepare for a -better start. The instant his turn came, he shot out of the crowd of -attendants and launched himself into the air with tremendous momentum. -Almost quicker than the eye could follow him, he had turned and was -dropping to the ground, his arms held above his head, which hung -slightly forward, and his legs stretched to meet the shock of the -elastic mattress. - -But this time he had jumped an inch too far. His feet struck just on the -edge of the mattress, and he was thrown violently forward, doubling up -on the ground with a dull thump, which was heard all over the immense -auditorium. He remained a second or two motionless, then sprang to his -feet, and as quickly sank to the ground again. The ring attendants and -two or three gymnasts rushed to him and took him up. The clown, in -evening dress, personating the mock ring-master, the conventional -spotted merryman, and a stalwart gymnast in buff fleshings, bore the -drooping form of the favorite in their arms, and, followed by the -by-standers, who offered ineffectual assistance, carried the wounded man -across the ring and through the draped arch under the music gallery. -Under any other circumstances the group would have excited a laugh, for -the audience was in that condition of almost hysterical excitement when -only the least effort of a clown is necessary to cause a wave of -laughter. But the moment the wounded man was lifted from the ground, the -whole strong light from the brilliant chandelier struck full on his -right leg dangling from the knee, with the foot hanging limp and turned -inward. A deep murmur of sympathy swelled and rolled around the crowded -amphitheatre. - -I left the circus, and hundreds of others did the same. A dozen of us -called at the box-office to ask about the victim of the accident. He was -advertised as “The Great Polish Champion Bare-back Rider and Aerial -Gymnast.” We found that he was really a native of the East, whether Pole -or Russian the ticket-seller did not know. His real name was Nagy, and -he had been engaged only recently, having returned a few months before -from a professional tour in North America. He was supposed to have -money, for he commanded a good salary, and was sober and faithful. The -accident, it was said, would probably disable him for a few weeks only, -and then he would resume his engagement. - -The next day an account of the accident was in the newspapers, and -twenty-four hours later all Paris had forgotten about it. For some -reason or other I frequently thought of the injured man, and had an -occasional impulse to go and inquire after him; but I never went. It -seemed to me that I had seen his face before, when or where I tried in -vain to recall. It was not an impressive face, but I could call it up at -any moment as distinct to my mind’s eye as a photograph to my physical -vision. Whenever I thought of him, a dim, very dim memory would flit -through my mind, which I could never seize and fix. - -Two months later, I was walking up the Rue Richelieu, when some one, -close beside me and a little behind, asked me in Hungarian if I was a -Magyar. I turned quickly to answer no, surprised at being thus -addressed, and beheld the disabled circus-rider. The feeling that I had -met him before came upon me even stronger than at the time of the -accident, and my puzzled expression was evidently construed by him into -vexation at being spoken to by a stranger. He began to apologize for -stopping me, and was moving away, when I asked him about the accident, -remarking that I was present on the evening of his misfortune. My next -question, put in order to detain him, was: - -“Why did you ask if I was a Hungarian?” - -“Because you wear a Hungarian hat,” was the reply. - -This was true. I happened to have on a little, round, soft felt hat, -which I had purchased in Buda-Pesth. - -“Well, but what if I were Hungarian?” - -“Nothing; only I was lonely and wanted company, and you looked as if I -had seen you somewhere before. You are an artist, are you not?” - -I said I was, and asked him how he guessed it. - -“I can’t explain how it is,” he said, “but I always knew them. Are you -doing anything?” - -“No,” I replied. - -“Perhaps I may get you something to do,” he suggested. “What is your -line?” - -“Figures,” I answered, unable to divine how he thought he could assist -me. - -This reply seemed to puzzle him a little, and he continued: - -“Do you ride or do the trapeze?” - -It was my turn now to look dazed, and it might easily have been -gathered, from my expression, that I was not flattered at being taken -for a sawdust artist. However, as he apparently did not notice any -change in my face, I explained without further remark that I was a -painter. The explanation did not seem to disturb him any: he was -evidently acquainted with the profession, and looked upon it as kindred -to his own. - -As we walked along through the great open quadrangle of the Tuileries, I -had an opportunity of studying his general appearance. He was neatly -dressed, and, though pale, was apparently in good health. -Notwithstanding a painful limp, his carriage was erect and his movements -denoted great physical strength. On the bridge over the Seine we paused -for a moment and leaned on the parapet, and thus, for the first time, -stood nearly face to face. He looked earnestly at me a moment without -speaking, and then, shouting “_Torino_” so loudly and earnestly as to -attract the gaze of all the passers, he seized me by the hand, and -continued to shake it and repeat “_Torino_” over and over again. - -This word cleared up my befogged memory like magic. There was no longer -any mystery about the man before me. The impulse which now drew us -together was only the unconscious souvenir of an early acquaintance, for -we had met before. With the vision of the Italian city, which came -distinctly to my eyes at that moment, came also to my mind every detail -of an incident which had long since passed entirely from my thoughts. - - * * * * * - -It was during the Turin carnival in 1875 that I happened to stop over -for a day and a night, on my way down from Paris to Venice. The festival -was uncommonly dreary, for the air was chilly, the sky gray and gloomy, -and there was a total lack of spontaneity in the popular spirit. The -gaudy decorations of the Piazza, and the Corso, the numberless shows and -booths, and the brilliant costumes, could not make it appear a season of -jollity and mirth, for the note of discord in the hearts of the people -was much too strong. King Carnival’s might was on the wane, and neither -the influence of the Church nor the encouragement of the State was able -to bolster up the superannuated monarch. There was no communicativeness -in even what little fun there was going, and the day was a long and a -tedious one. As I was strolling around in rather a melancholy mood, just -at the close of the cavalcade, I saw the flaming posters of a circus, -and knew my day was saved, for I had a great fondness for the ring. An -hour later I was seated in the cheerfully lighted amphitheatre, and the -old performance of the trained stallions was going on as I had seen it a -hundred times before. At last, the “Celebrated Cypriot Brothers, the -Universal Bare-back Riders,” came tripping gracefully into the ring, -sprang lightly upon two black horses, and were off around the narrow -circle like the wind, now together, now apart, performing all the while -marvellous feats of strength and skill. It required no study to discover -that there was no relationship between the two performers. One of them -was a heavy, gross, dark-skinned man, with the careless bearing of one -who had been nursed in a circus. The other was a small, fair-haired -youth of nineteen or twenty years, with limbs as straight and as shapely -as the Narcissus, and with joints like the wiry-limbed fauns. His head -was round, and his face of a type which would never be called beautiful, -although it was strong in feature and attractive in expression. His eyes -were small and twinkling, his eyebrows heavy, and his mouth had a -peculiar proud curl in it which was never disturbed by the tame smile of -the practised performer. He was evidently a foreigner. He went through -his acts with wonderful readiness and with slight effort, and, while -apparently enjoying keenly the exhilaration of applause, he showed no -trace of the _blasé_ bearing of the old stager. In nearly every act that -followed he took a prominent part. On the trapeze, somersaulting over -horses placed side by side, grouping with his so-called brother and a -small lad, he did his full share of the work, and, when the programme -was ended, he came among the audience to sell photographs while the -lottery was being drawn. - -As usual during the carnival, there was a lottery arranged by the -manager of the circus, and every ticket had a number which entitled the -holder to a chance in the prizes. When the young gymnast came in turn -to me, radiant in his salmon fleshings and blue trunks, with slippers -and bows to match, I could not help asking him if he was an Italian. - -“No, signore, Magyar!” he replied, and I shortly found that his -knowledge of Italian was limited to a dozen words. I occupied him by -selecting some photographs, and, much to his surprise, spoke to him in -his native tongue. When he learned I had been in Hungary, he was greatly -pleased, and the impatience of other customers for the photographs was -the only thing that prevented him from becoming communicative -immediately. As he left me I slipped into his hand my lottery-ticket, -with the remark that I never had any luck, and hoped he would. - -The numbers were, meanwhile, rapidly drawn, the prizes being arranged in -the order of their value, each ticket taken from the hat denoting a -prize, until all were distributed. “Number twenty-eight--a pair of -elegant vases!” “Number sixteen--three bottles of vermouth!” “Number one -hundred and eighty-four--candlesticks and two bottles of vermouth!” -“Number four hundred and ten--three bottles of vermouth and a set of -jewelry!” “Number three hundred and nineteen--five bottles of vermouth!” -and so on, with more bottles of vermouth than anything else. Indeed, -each prize had to be floated on a few litres of the Turin specialty, and -I began to think that perhaps it would have been better, after all, not -to have given my circus friend the ticket if he were to draw drink with -it. - -Many prizes were called out, and at last only two numbers remained. The -excitement was now intense, and it did not diminish when the conductor -of the lottery announced that the last two numbers would draw the two -great prizes of the evening, namely: An order on a Turin tailor for a -suit of clothes, and an order on a jeweller for a gold watch and chain. -The first of these two final numbers was taken out of the hat. - -“Number twenty-five--order for a suit of clothes!” was the announcement. - -Twenty-five had been the number of my ticket. I did not hear the last -number drawn, for the Hungarian was in front of my seat trying to press -the order on me, and protesting against appropriating my good-luck. I -wrote my name on the programme for him, with the simple address, U. S. -A., persuaded him to accept the windfall, and went home. The next -morning I left town. - -On the occasion of our mutual recognition in Paris, the circus-rider -began to relate, as soon as the first flush of his surprise was over, -the story of his life since the incident in Turin. He had been to New -York and Boston, and all the large sea-coast towns; to Chicago, St. -Louis, and even to San Francisco; always with a circus company. Whenever -he had had an opportunity in the United States, he had asked for news of -me. - -“The United States is so large!” he said, with a sigh. “Every one told -me that, when I showed the Turin programme with your name on it.” - -The reason why he had kept the programme and tried to find me in -America was because the lottery-ticket had been the direct means of his -emigration, and, in fact, the first piece of good-fortune that had -befallen him since he left his native town. When he joined the circus he -was an apprentice, and, besides a certain number of hours of gymnastic -practice daily and service in the ring both afternoon and evening, he -had half a dozen horses to care for, his part of the tent to pack up and -load, and the team to drive to the next stopping-place. For sixteen, and -often eighteen hours of hard work, he received only his food and his -performing clothes. When he was counted as one of the troupe his duties -were lightened, but he got only enough money to pay his way with -difficulty. Without a _lira_ ahead, and, with no clothes but his rough -working suit and his performing costume, he could not hope to escape -from this sort of bondage. The luck of number twenty-five had put him on -his feet. - -“All Hungarians worship America,” he said, “and when I saw that you were -an American, I knew that my good-fortune had begun in earnest. Of -course, I believed America to be the land of plenty, and there could -have been no stronger proof of this than the generosity with which you, -the first American I had ever seen, gave me, a perfect stranger, such a -valuable prize. When I remembered the number of the ticket and the -letter in the alphabet, Y, to which this number corresponds, I was dazed -at the significance of the omen, and resolved at once to seek my fortune -in the United States. I sold the order on the tailor for money enough to -buy a suit of ready-made clothes and pay my fare to Genoa. From this -port I worked my passage to Gibraltar, and thence, after performing a -few weeks in a small English circus, I went to New York in a -fruit-vessel. As long as I was in America everything prospered with me. -I made a great deal of money, and spent a great deal. After a couple of -years I went to London with a company, and there lost my pay and my -position by the failure of the manager. In England my good-luck all -left me. Circus people are too plenty there; everybody is an artist. I -could scarcely get anything to do in my line, so I drifted over to -Paris.” - -We prolonged our stroll for an hour, for, although I did not anticipate -any pleasure or profit from continuing the acquaintance, there was yet a -certain attraction in his simplicity of manner and in his naïve faith in -the value of my influence on his fortunes. Before we parted he expressed -again his ability to get me something to do, but I did not credit his -statement enough to correct the impression that I was in need of -employment. At his earnest solicitation I gave him my address, -concealing, as well as I could, my reluctance to encourage an -acquaintance which would doubtless prove a burden to me. - -One day passed, and two, and, on the third morning, the porter showed -him to my room. - -“I have found you work!” he cried, in the first breath. - -Sure enough, he had been to a Polish acquaintance who knew a -countryman, a copyist in the Louvre. This copyist had a superabundance -of orders, and was glad to get some one to help him finish them in -haste. My gymnast was so much elated over his success at finding -occupation for me that I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I was at -leisure only while hunting a studio. I therefore promised to go with him -to the Louvre some day, but I always found an excuse for not going. - -For two or three weeks we met at intervals. At various times, thinking -he was in want, I pressed him to accept the loan of a few francs; but he -always stoutly refused. We went together to his lodging-house, where the -landlady, an Englishwoman, who boarded most of the circus people, spoke -of her “poor, dear Mr. Nodge,” as she called him, in quite a maternal -way, and assured me that he had wanted for nothing, and should not as -long as his wound disabled him. In the course of a few days I had -gathered from him a complete history of his circus-life, which was full -of adventure and hardship. When we met in Turin, he was, as I thought -at the time, somewhat of a novice in the circus business, having left -his home less than two years before. He had, indeed, been associated as -a regular member of the company only a few months, after having served a -difficult and wearing apprenticeship. He was born in Koloszvar, where -his father was a professor in the university, and there he grew up with -three brothers and a sister, in a comfortable home. He always had had a -great desire to travel, and, from early childhood, developed a special -fondness for gymnastic feats. The thought of a circus made him fairly -wild. On rare occasions a travelling show visited this Transylvanian -town, and his parents with difficulty restrained him from following the -circus away. At last, in 1873, one show, more complete and more -brilliant than any one before seen there, came on the newly opened -railway, and he, now a man grown, went away with it, unable longer to -restrain his passion for the profession. Always accustomed to horses, -and already a skilful acrobat, he was immediately accepted by the -manager as an apprentice, and, after a season in Roumania and a -disastrous trip through Southern Austria, they came into Northern Italy, -where I met him. - -Whenever he spoke of his early life he always became quiet and -depressed, and, for a long time, I believed that he brooded over his -mistake in exchanging a happy home for the vicissitudes of Bohemia. It -came out slowly, however, that he was haunted by a superstition, a -strange and ingenious one, which was yet not without a certain show of -reason for its existence. Little by little I learned the following facts -about it: His father was of pure Szeklar, or original Hungarian, stock, -as dark-skinned as a Hindoo, and his mother was from one of the families -of Western Hungary, with probably some Saxon blood in her veins. His -three brothers were dark like his father, but he and his sister were -blondes. He was born with a peculiar red mark on his right shoulder, -directly over the scapula. This mark was shaped like a forked stick. His -father had received a wound in the insurrection of ’48, a few months -before the birth of him, the youngest son, and this birth-mark -reproduced the shape of the father’s scar. Among Hungarians his father -passed for a very learned man. He spoke fluently German, French, and -Latin (the language used by Hungarians in common communication with -other nationalities), and took great pains to give his children an -acquaintance with each of these tongues. Their earliest playthings were -French alphabet-blocks, and the set which served as toys and tasks for -each of the elder brothers came at last to him as his legacy. The -letters were formed by the human figure in different attitudes, and each -block had a little couplet below the picture, beginning with the letter -on the block. The Y represented a gymnast hanging by his hands to a -trapeze, and, being a letter which does not occur in the Hungarian -language except in combinations, excited most the interest and -imagination of the youngsters. Thousands of times did they practise the -grouping of the figures on the blocks, and the Y always served as a -model for trapeze exercises. My friend, on account of his birth-mark, -which resembled a rude Y, was early dubbed by his brothers with the -nickname Yatil, this being the first words of the French couplet printed -below the picture. Learning the French by heart, they believed the _Y -a-t-il_ to be one word, and, with boyish fondness for nicknames, saddled -the youngest with this. It is easy to understand how the shape of this -letter, borne on his body in an indelible mark, and brought to his mind -every moment of the day, came to seem in some way connected with his -life. As he grew up in this belief he became more and more superstitious -about the letter and about everything in the remotest way connected with -it. - -The first great event of his life was joining the circus, and to this -the letter Y more or less directly led him. He left home on his -twenty-fifth birthday, and twenty-five was the number of the letter Y in -the block-alphabet. - -The second great event of his life was the Turin lottery, and the -number of the lucky ticket was twenty-five. “The last sign given me,” he -said, “was the accident in the circus here.” As he spoke, he rolled up -the right leg of his trousers, and there, on the outside of the calf, -about midway between the knee and ankle, was a red scar forked like the -letter Y. - -From the time he confided his superstition to me he sought me more than -ever. I must confess to feeling, at each visit of his, a little -constrained and unnatural. He seemed to lean on me as a protector, and -to be hungry all the time for an intimate sympathy I could never give -him. Although I shared his secret, I could not lighten the burden of his -superstition. His wound had entirely healed, but, as his leg was still -weak and he still continued to limp a little, he could not resume his -place in the circus. Between brooding over his superstition and worrying -about his accident, he grew very despondent. The climax of his -hopelessness was reached when the doctor told him at last that he would -never be able to vault again. The fracture had been a severe one, the -bone having protruded through the skin. The broken parts had knitted -with great difficulty, and the leg would never be as firm and as elastic -as before. Besides, the fracture had slightly shortened the lower leg. -His circus career was therefore ended, and he attributed his misfortune -to the ill-omened letter Y. - -Just about the time of his greatest despondency, war was declared -between Russia and Turkey. The Turkish embassadors were drumming up -recruits all over Western Europe. News came to the circus boarding-house -that good riders were wanted for the Turkish mounted gendarmes. Nagy -resolved to enlist, and we went together to the Turkish embassy. He was -enrolled after only a superficial examination, and was directed to -present himself on the following day to embark for Constantinople. He -begged me to go with him to the rendez-vous, and there I bade him adieu. -As I was shaking his hand he showed me the certificate given him by the -Turkish embassador. It bore the date of May 25, and at the bottom was a -signature in Turkish characters which could be readily distorted by the -imagination into a rude and scrawling Y. - - * * * * * - -A series of events occurring immediately after Nagy left for -Constantinople resulted in my own unexpected departure for the seat of -war in a civil capacity in the Russian army. The series of curious -coincidences in the experience of the circus-rider had impressed me very -much when he related them, but in the excitement of the Turkish campaign -I entirely forgot him and his story. I do not, indeed, recall any -thought of Nagy during the first five months in the field. The day after -the fall of Plevna I rode towards the town through the line of deserted -earthworks. The dead were lying where they had fallen in the dramatic -and useless sortie of the day before. The corpses on a battle-field -always excite fresh interest, no matter if the spectacle be an every-day -one; and as I rode slowly along I studied the attitudes of the dead -soldiers, speculating on the relation between the death-poses and the -last impulse that had animated the living frame. Behind a rude barricade -of wagons and household goods, part of the train of non-combatants which -Osman Pasha had ordered to accompany the army in the sortie, a great -number of dead lay in confusion. The peculiar position of one of these -instantly attracted my eye. He had fallen on his face against the -barricade, with both arms stretched above his head, evidently killed -instantly. The figure on the alphabet-block, described by the -circus-rider, came immediately to my mind. My heart beat as I dismounted -and looked at the dead man’s face. It was unmistakably Turkish. - -This incident revived my interest in the life of the circus-rider, and -gave me an impulse to look among the prisoners to see if by chance he -might be with them. I spent a couple of days in distributing tobacco and -bread in the hospitals and among the thirty thousand wretches herded -shelterless in the snow. There were some of the mounted gendarmes among -them, and I even found several Hungarians; but none of them had ever -heard of the circus-rider. - -The passage of the Balkans was a campaign full of excitement, and was -accompanied by so much hardship that selfishness entirely got the -upperhand of me, and life became a battle for physical comfort. After -the passage of the mountain range, we went ahead so fast that I had -little opportunity, even if I had the enterprise, to look among the few -prisoners for the circus-rider. - -Time passed, and we were at the end of a three days’ fight near -Philippopolis, in the middle of January. Suleiman Pasha’s army, -defeated, disorganized, and at last disbanded, though to that day still -unconquered, had finished the tragic act of its last campaign with the -heroic stand made in the foot-hills of the Rhodope Mountains, near -Stanimaka, south of Philippopolis. A long month in the terrible cold, on -the summits of the Balkan range; the forced retreat through the snow -after the battle of Taskosen; the neck-and-neck race with the Russians -down the valley of the Maritza; finally, the hot little battle on the -river-bank, and the two days of hand-to-hand struggle in the vineyards -of Stanimaka--this was a campaign to break the constitution of any -soldier. Days without food, nights without shelter from the mountain -blasts, always marching and always fighting, supplies and baggage lost, -ammunition and artillery gone--human nature could hold out no longer, -and the Turkish army dissolved away into the defiles of the Rhodopes. -Unfortunately for her, Turkey has no literature to chronicle, no art to -perpetuate, the heroism of her defenders. - -The incidents of that short campaign are too full of horror to be -related. Not only did the demon of war devour strong men, but found -dainty morsels for its bloody maw in innocent women and children. Whole -families, crazed by the belief that capture was worse than death, fought -in the ranks with the soldiers. Women, ambushed in coverts, shot the -Russians as they rummaged the captured trains for much-needed food. -Little children, thrown into the snow by the flying parents, died of -cold and starvation, or were trampled to death by passing cavalry. Such -a useless waste of human life has not been recorded since the -indiscriminate massacres of the Middle Ages. - -The sight of human suffering soon blunts the sensibilities of any one -who lives with it, so that he is at last able to look upon it with no -stronger feeling than that of helplessness. Resigned to the inevitable, -he is no longer impressed by the woes of the individual. He looks upon -the illness, wounds, and death of the soldier as a part of the lot of -all combatants, and comes to consider him an insignificant unit of the -great mass of men. At last, only novelties in horrors will excite his -feelings. - -I was riding back from the Stanimaka battle-field, sufficiently elated -at the prospect of a speedy termination of the war--now made certain by -the breaking-up of Suleiman’s army--to forget where I was, and to -imagine myself back in my comfortable apartments in Paris. I only awoke -from my dream at the station where the highway from Stanimaka crosses -the railway line about a mile south of Philippopolis. The great wooden -barracks had been used as a hospital for wounded Turks, and, as I drew -up my horse at the door, the last of the lot of four hundred, who had -been starving there nearly a week, were being placed upon carts to be -transported to the town. The road to Philippopolis was crowded with -wounded and refugees. Peasant families struggled along with all their -household goods piled upon a single cart. Ammunition wagons and droves -of cattle, rushing along against the tide of human beings towards the -distant bivouacs, made the confusion hopeless. Night was fast coming on, -and, in company with a Cossack, who was, like myself, seeking the -headquarters of General Gourko, I made my way through the tangle of men, -beasts, and wagons in the direction of the town. It was one of those -chill, wet days of winter when there is little comfort away from a -blazing fire, and when good shelter for the night is an absolute -necessity. The drizzle had saturated my garments, and the snow-mud had -soaked my boots. Sharp gusts of piercing wind drove the cold mist -along, and as the temperature fell in the late afternoon, the slush of -the roads began to stiffen and the fog froze where it gathered. Every -motion of the limbs seemed to expose some unprotected part of the body -to the cold and wet. No amount of exercise that was possible with -stiffened limbs and in wet garments would warm the blood. Leading my -horse, I splashed along, holding my arms away from my body, and only -moving my benumbed fingers to wipe the chill drip from my face. It was -weather to take the courage out of the strongest man, and the sight of -the soaked and shivering wounded, packed in the jolting carts or limping -through the mud, gave me, hardened as I was, a painful contraction of -the heart. The best I could do was to lift upon my worn-out horse one -brave young fellow who was hobbling along with a bandaged leg. Followed -by the Cossack, whose horse bore a similar burden, I hurried along, -hoping to get under cover before dark. At the entrance to the town -numerous camp-fires burned in the bivouacs of the refugees, who were -huddled together in the shelter of their wagons, trying to warm -themselves in the smoke of the wet fuel. I could see the wounded, as -they were jolted past in the heavy carts, look longingly at the kettles -of boiling maize which made the evening meal of the houseless natives. - -Inside the town, the wounded and the refugees were still more miserable -than those we had passed on the way. Loaded carts blocked the streets. -Every house was occupied, and the narrow sidewalks were crowded with -Russian soldiers, who looked wretched enough in their dripping -overcoats, as they stamped their rag-swathed feet. At the corner, in -front of the great Khan, motley groups of Greeks, Bulgarians, and -Russians were gathered, listlessly watching the line of hobbling wounded -as they turned the corner to find their way among the carts, up the hill -to the hospital, near the Konak. By the time I reached the Khan the -Cossack who accompanied me had fallen behind in the confusion, and, -without waiting for him, I pushed along, wading in the gutter, dragging -my horse by the bridle. Half-way up the hill I saw a crowd of natives -watching with curiosity two Russian guardsmen and a Turkish prisoner. -The latter was evidently exhausted, for he was crouching in the freezing -mud of the street. Presently the soldiers shook him roughly, and raised -him forcibly to his feet, and, half supporting him between them, they -moved slowly along, the Turk balancing on his stiffened legs, and -swinging from side to side. - -He was a most wretched object to look at. He had neither boots nor fez; -his feet were bare, and his trousers were torn off near the knee, and -hung in tatters around his mud-splashed legs. An end of the red sash -fastened to his waist trailed far behind in the mud. A blue-cloth jacket -hung loosely from his shoulders, and his hands and wrists dangled from -the ragged sleeves. His head rolled around at each movement of the body, -and at short intervals the muscles of the neck would rigidly contract. -All at once he drew himself up with a shudder and sank down in the mud -again. - -The guardsmen were themselves near the end of their strength, and their -patience was well-nigh finished as well. Rough mountain marching had -torn the soles from their boots, and great, unsightly wraps of raw-hide -and rags were bound on their feet. The thin, worn overcoats, burned in -many places, flapped dismally against their ankles; and their caps, -beaten out of shape by many storms, clung drenched to their heads. They -were in no condition to help any one to walk, for they could scarcely -get on alone. They stood a moment shivering, looked at each other, shook -their heads as if discouraged, and proceeded to rouse the Turk by -hauling him upon his feet again. The three moved on a few yards, and the -prisoner fell again, and the same operation was repeated. All this time -I was crowding nearer and nearer, and as I got within a half-dozen -paces, the Turk fell once more, and this time lay at full length in the -mud. The guardsmen tried to rouse him by shaking, but in vain. Finally, -one of them, losing all patience, pricked him with his bayonet on the -lower part of the ribs exposed by the raising of the jacket as he fell. -I was now near enough to act, and with a sudden clutch I pulled the -guardsman away, whirled him around, and stood in his place. As I was -stooping over the Turk he raised himself slowly, doubtless aroused by -the pain of the puncture, and turned on me a most beseeching look, which -changed at once into something like joy and surprise. Immediately a -death-like pallor spread over his face, and he sank back again with a -groan. - -By this time quite a crowd of Bulgarians had gathered around us, and -seemed to enjoy the sight of a suffering enemy. It was evident that they -did not intend to volunteer any assistance, so I helped the wounded -Russian down from my saddle, and invited the natives rather sternly to -put the Turk in his place. With true Bulgarian spirit they refused to -assist a Turk, and it required the argument of the raw-hide (_nagajka_) -to bring them to their senses. Three of them, cornered and flogged, -lifted the unconscious man and carried him towards the horse; the -soldiers meanwhile, believing me to be an officer, standing in the -attitude of attention. As the Bulgarians bore the Turk to the horse, a -few drops of blood fell to the ground. I noticed then that he had his -shirt tied around his left shoulder, under his jacket. Supported in the -saddle by two natives on each side, his head falling forward on his -breast, the wounded prisoner was carried with all possible tenderness to -the Stafford House Hospital, near the Konak. As we moved slowly up the -hill, I looked back, and saw the two guardsmen sitting on the muddy -sidewalk, with their guns leaning against their shoulders--too much -exhausted to go either way. - -I found room for my charge in one of the upper rooms of the hospital, -where he was washed and put into a warm bed. His wound proved to be a -severe one. A Berdan bullet had passed through the thick part of the -left pectoral, out again, and into the head of the humerus. The surgeon -said that the arm would have to be operated on, to remove the upper -quarter of the bone. - -The next morning I went to the hospital to see what had become of the -wounded man, for the incident of the previous evening had made a deep -impression on my mind. As I walked through the corridor I saw a group -around a temporary bed in the corner. Some one was evidently about to -undergo an operation, for an assistant held at intervals a great cone of -linen over a haggard face on the pillow, and a strong smell of -chloroform filled the air. As I approached, the surgeon turned around, -and, recognizing me, said with a nod and a smile, “We are at work on -your friend.” While he was speaking, he bared the left shoulder of the -wounded man, and I saw the holes made by the bullet as it passed from -the pectoral into the upper part of the deltoid. Without waiting longer, -the surgeon made a straight cut downward from near the acromion through -the thick fibre of the deltoid to the bone. He attempted to sever the -tendons so as to slip the head of the humerus from the socket, but -failed. He wasted no time in further trial, but made a second incision -from the bullet-hole diagonally to the middle of the first cut, and -turned the pointed flap up over the shoulder. It was now easy to unjoint -the bones, and but a moment’s work to saw off the shattered piece of the -humerus, tie the severed arteries, and bring the flap again into its -place. - -There was no time to pause, for the surgeon began to fear the effects of -the chloroform on the patient. We hastened to revive him by every -possible means at hand, throwing cold water on him and warming his hands -and feet. Although under the influence of chloroform to the degree that -he was insensible to pain, he had not been permitted to lose his entire -consciousness, and he appeared to be sensible of what we were doing. -Nevertheless, he awoke slowly, very slowly, the surgeon meanwhile -putting the stitches in the incision. At last he raised his eyelids, -made a slight movement with his lips, and then deliberately surveyed the -circle of faces gathered closely around the bed. There was something in -his eyes which had an irresistible attraction for me, and I bent forward -to intercept his gaze. As his eyes met mine they changed as if a sudden -light had struck them, and the stony stare gave way to a look of -intelligence and recognition. Then, through the beard of a season’s -growth, and behind the haggard mask before me, I saw at once the -circus-rider of Turin and Paris. I remember being scarcely excited or -surprised at the meeting, for a great sense of irresponsibility came -over me, and I involuntarily accepted the coincidence as a matter of -course. He tried in vain to speak, but held up his right hand and feebly -made with his fingers the sign of the letter which had played such an -important part in the story of his life. Even at that instant the light -left his eyes, and something like a veil seemed drawn over them. With -the instinctive energy which possesses every one when there is a chance -of saving human life, we redoubled our efforts to restore the patient to -consciousness. But while we strove to feed the flame with some of our -own vitality, it flickered and went out, leaving the hue of ashes where -the rosy tinge of life had been. His heart was paralyzed. - -As I turned away, my eye caught the surgeon’s incision, which was now -plainly visible on the left shoulder. The cut was in the form of the -letter Y. - - - - -TEDESCO’S RUBINA - - -Any one may see among the fragments of antique sculpture in one of the -museums of Rome a marble head of a young maiden which has been rudely -broken off at the neck. It bears no marks of restoration, and is mounted -on the conventional pedestal or support. There is a half-coquettish -twinkle in the lines of the mouth and eyes, and a most bewitching -expression of innocent youthful happiness about the face, which at once -attract and fascinate the eye of even the most careless observer of -these relics of ancient art. The head is gracefully poised and -exquisitely proportioned, but is not conventionalized to the degree -usual in busts of a similar character. Indeed, notwithstanding its -classical aspect, there is a marked individuality of treatment -noticeable in its composition, if I may so call the arrangement of the -hair and the pose of the head. The features are small and regular; the -chin a trifle too delicate, if possible, to complete the full oval -suggested by the upper part of the face; and the hair, in which a wreath -of ivy is twined, clusters in slender, irregular curls around a low -forehead, and is gathered behind in a loose knot. One tress of hair, -escaping from the embrace of the ivy-branch, caressingly clings to the -neck. On the pedestal is the label: - - “A Roman Nymph--Fragment.” - -Visiting the museum one day in company with two artist friends, I -pointed this head out to them as we were hastily passing through the -room. Like myself, they were enchanted with the fragment, and lingered -to sketch it. They were very long in making their sketches; and after -they declared them finished, shut their books with a resolute air, -walked briskly off, but returned again, one after the other, to take -another look. At last I succeeded in dragging them away; but while we -were examining another part of the collection, in an adjoining room, -each disappeared in turn, and came back, after a few minutes’ absence, -with the volunteered excuse that he had found it necessary to put a last -touch on his drawing of the attractive fragment. When we left the museum -both of my infatuated friends had made arrangements with the custodian -to permit a moulder to come and take a cast of the head. - -The island of Capri is the most delightful spot in the Mediterranean. -Blessed with a fine climate, a comparatively fertile soil, and a -contented population, it is one of the best places accessible to the -ordinary traveller in which to spend a quiet season. In this refuge life -does not sparkle, but stagnates. Tired nerves recover their tone in the -eventless succession of lazy days. Overtaxed digestion regains its -normal strength through the simple diet, the pure air, and the repose of -mind and body which are found in this paradise. Of late years the island -has become a great resort for artists of all nationalities. Many good -studios are to be had there; plenty of trained models of both sexes and -all ages are eager to work for trifling wages; living is cheap, rents -are by no means exorbitant, and subjects for pictures abound at every -step. - -A few modern buildings of some pretensions to size and architectural -style have been erected within the last twenty or thirty years, but the -greater part of the houses on the island, both in the town of Capri and -in the village of Anacapri, are very old and exceedingly simple in -construction. The streets of the town are narrow and crooked, and twist -about in a perfect maze of tufa walls and whitewashed façades, -straggling away in all directions from the piazza. The dwellings of the -poorer classes are jumbled together along these narrow streets as if -space were very valuable. They overhang and even span the roadway at -intervals, and frequently the flat roof of one house serves as a -_loggia_, or broad balcony, for the one above it. Small gardens are -sometimes cultivated on these housetops, and the bleating of goats and -cackling of hens are often heard in the shrubbery there. Not the least -among the many attractions of Capri are its historical relics. Ruined -Roman villas and palaces abound all over the hills; traces of ancient -baths and grottos of the nymphs may be seen along the water’s edge; and -fragments of Roman architecture are built into every wall, and into -almost every house. The peculiar geological formation of the island -furnishes the excuse for a variety of short and pleasant excursions; for -there are numbers of interesting caves, strange rock forms, and grandly -picturesque cliffs and cañons within easy reach by sea or by land. - -When I was in Capri, there was one remarkably pretty girl among the -models, called Lisa. She was only fifteen years old, but, like the usual -type of Southern maiden, was as fully developed as if she were three or -four years older. Her father and mother were dead, and she lived with -her great-grandmother in a small house of a single room in a narrow -street which ran directly under my bedroom. None of the houses of the -quarter where my studio and apartment were situated had glass in the -windows, but the interiors were lighted, like those of the ancient -Romans, by square holes provided with wooden shutters. From the rude -window in my bedroom, and also from the _loggia_ in front of the studio, -I could look directly down into the small dwelling below, and at all -times of the day could see the old woman knitting in the shadow just -inside the open door, and Lisa flitting about, busy with the primitive -housekeeping. Whenever I wanted the girl to sit for me, I had only to -call down and she would come up to the studio. It takes but a few days -to become intimately acquainted with the simple-hearted islanders, and -in a short time the old woman grew very friendly and communicative. At -my invitation she frequently came to sit on the _loggia_, whence she -could look over the sea, towards the south, to watch for returning coral -fishermen, or on the other side, to the north and east, where Naples -shimmered in the sun, and Vesuvius reared its sombre cone. She was not -comely to look upon, for she was wrinkled beyond belief, and her -parchment skin was the color of oak-tanned leather. She often said that -Lisa was the image of her own family, but I could trace no resemblance -between the blooming maid and the withered dame. The chief beauty of the -young girl’s face, or at least the most remarkable feature of it, was -the eyes, which were of a deep-blue gray, almost as brilliant as the -rich, dark ones common to the Italian type, but more unique and more -charming in contrast with the olive-tinted skin and black hair. The old -woman’s eyes were as dark as those of the generality of her race, and -apparently but little dimmed by her great age. All over the island she -had the reputation of being the oldest inhabitant; but as she could not -remember the date of her birth--if, indeed, she ever knew it--and as -there had been no records kept at the time she was born, there was no -means of proving the truth or the falsity of the tales about her -wonderful age. She bore everywhere the peculiar name of La Rubina di -Tedesco--Tedesco’s Rubina--the significance of which, although it was -variously explained by common tradition, had really been forgotten more -than a generation before, and was now known only to herself. The -islanders are fond of giving nicknames, and I should not have remarked -this one among so many others if it had not been for the word Tedesco, -which in Italian means German. My curiosity was excited on this account, -to discover what the name really meant and why it had been given to her. - -In the long summer twilights I used to talk with the old woman by the -hour, or rather I used to listen to her by the hour, for without a word -of encouragement from me she would drone on in her queer patois in the -garrulous way very old people have, elaborating the details of the most -trivial incidents, and rehearsing the intimate family history of all her -numerous acquaintances. She looked upon me with the more favor because -it happened that I was the only artist who employed Lisa, and -consequently furnished all the money for the support of the small -household. Relying on the position I held in her esteem as patron, and -cannily increasing her obligation to me by various small presents, I -schemed for a long time to make her tell the history of her own life. -She had an aggravating way of either utterly ignoring all questions on -this subject, or else of taking refuge in a series of wails on the -change in the times and on the degeneracy of the islanders. By degrees -and at long intervals I did, however, succeed in getting a full account -of her early life and of the origin of her popular name. - -Long ago, even long before any steamers were seen on the Bay of Naples, -two young Germans--a sculptor and an architect--wandered down to Capri, -to study the antiquities of the island. They were both captivated by the -beauties of the spot, by the delights of the pastoral life they led -there, and possibly also by the charms of the island maidens, who even -then had a wide reputation for beauty, and they consequently stayed on -indefinitely. Rubina was then a girl of fourteen, and held the enviable -position of belle of Anacapri. The sculptor, whose name was Carl -Deutsch, somehow made the acquaintance of the beauty, and after a time -persuaded her to sit to him. He first made a bust in wax, and then began -to work it out in marble, using for his material an antique block found -in one of the ruined palaces of Tiberius. Days and weeks he toiled over -this bust, and as he worked he grew hopelessly in love with his model. -As time passed, the islanders, with their usual freedom with foreigners’ -names, translated Carl Deutsch into its Italian equivalent, Carlo -Tedesco, and Rubina, who was constantly employed by the sculptor as a -model, was naturally called Tedesco’s Rubina. - -Then on the peaceful island was enacted the same old tragedy that has -been played all over the world myriads of times before and since. -Tedesco’s friend, the architect, also fell in love with the model, and -took advantage of the sculptor’s preoccupation with his work to gain the -girl’s affection. Early in the morning, while his friend was engaged in -preparing his clay and arranging his studio for the day, he would toil -up the six hundred stone steps which led to the village of Anacapri, on -the plateau above, meet Rubina, and accompany her down as far as the -outskirts of the town. Then often, at the close of the day, when the -sculptor, oppressed with the hopeless feeling of discouragement and -despair which at times comes over every true artist, would give up his -favorite stroll with Rubina and remain to gaze at his work and ponder -over it, the architect would be sure to take his place. So it went on to -the usual climax. Rubina, flattered by the assiduous attentions of the -one, and somewhat piqued by the frequent fits of absent-mindedness and -preoccupation of the other, at last reluctantly gave her consent to -marry the architect, who planned an elopement without exciting a -suspicion on the part of the sculptor that his idol was stolen from him. -The faithless friend, pretending to the innocent girl that, being of -different religions, it was necessary for them to go to the mainland to -be married, sailed away with her one morning at daybreak without the -knowledge of any one save the two men who were hired to row them to -Naples. Where they went, and how long they lived together, I could not -find out, for she would not open her lips about that portion of her -history. Only after a great deal of persuasive interrogation did I learn -that when she came back she brought with her a girl baby a few months -old. It was always believed in the village that her husband had died. I -drew my own inference about the circumstances of her return. - -When she reached the island, Tedesco had long since disappeared, and, -although there were no absolute proofs, he was thought to be dead. For -months after he had learned of the faithlessness of both sweetheart and -friend he had been seen very little outside his studio. What he did -there was not known, for he invited nobody to enter. Even the neighbor’s -wife who had done the housekeeping for the two young men did not see the -interior of the studio after Rubina ran away. She gossiped of the -sculptor to the women down the street, and they all shook their heads, -touched their foreheads significantly with index-fingers, and sadly -repeated, “_Un po’ matto, un po’ matto_”--“A little mad.” Several weeks -passed after the flight of the young couple, and then the sculptor was -observed nearly every morning to walk over one of the hills in the -direction of a high cliff. Sometimes he was absent but a few hours, but -on other days he did not return until night. At length, towards the end -of winter, he gave up his studio and apartment without a word of his -plans to any one. When he had departed, carrying the few articles of -clothing which were kept in the outer room, the housekeeper entered the -studio and found, to her astonishment, that, with the sculptor, all -traces of his work had disappeared. - -After a while it was discovered that he had taken up his abode in a -certain cave near the water’s edge, at the foot of the cliff, along the -top of which he had been frequently seen walking. This cave had always -been considered approachable only from the water side; but some men who -were fishing for cuttlefish near the shore had seen the mad sculptor -clamber down the precipice and enter the mouth of the cave, which was -half closed by accumulated rubble and sand. The fishermen, of course, -exaggerated their story, and the simple islanders, who always regard a -demented person with awe, came to believe that the sculptor possessed -superhuman strength and agility; and, although their curiosity -concerning his mode of life and occupation was much excited, their -superstitious fears prevented them from interfering with him or -attempting to investigate his actions. At long intervals the hermit -would appear in the piazza, receive his letters, buy a few articles of -food, and disappear again, not to be seen for weeks. - -Summer passed and a second winter came on, and with it a succession of -unusually severe storms. During one of these long gales the sea rose -several feet, and the breakers beat against the rocks with terrific -force. On the weather side of the island all the boats which had not -been hauled up much higher than usual were dashed to pieces. No one -dared to leave the island, and there was no communication with the -mainland for nearly two weeks. After that storm the sculptor was never -seen again. Some fishermen ventured into the mouth of the cave, now -washed clear of rubbish, but discovered nothing. It was therefore -believed that the hermit, with all his belongings, was swept out to sea -by the waves. Of late years no one had visited the cave, because the -military guard stationed near by to prevent the people from gathering -salt on the rocks, and thus evading the payment of the national tax on -this article, had prohibited boats from landing there. This prohibition -was strengthened by the orders which forbade the exploration of any of -the Roman ruins or grottos on the island by persons not employed for -that purpose by the government. Several years before, the authorities -had examined all the ruins. They had carried to Naples all the -antiquities they could find, and then had put a penalty on the -explorations of the islanders, to whom the antiquities are popularly -supposed to belong by right of inheritance. This regulation had created -a great deal of bad feeling, particularly since several peasants had -been fined and imprisoned for simply digging up a few relics to sell to -travellers. - -I asked the old woman what became of her child, for she did not readily -volunteer any information concerning her. - -“_Ah, signor padrone_,” she said, “she was a perfect little German, with -hair as blond as the fleece of the yellow goats. She was a good child, -but was never very strong. She married a coral fisherman when she was -seventeen, and died giving birth to Lisa’s mother. Poor thing! May the -blessed Maria, mother of God, rest her soul! Lisa’s mother was blond -also, but with hair like the flame of sunset. She was a fine, strong -creature, and could carry a sack of salt up the steps to Anacapri as -well as any girl in the village--yes, even better than any other. She -married a custom-house officer and moved to Naples, where she had meat -on her table once every blessed week. But even in her prosperity the -misfortunes of the family followed her, and the cholera carried off her -husband, herself, and a boy baby--may their souls rest in -Paradise!--leaving Lisa alone in the world but for me, who have lived to -see all this misery and all these changes. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! -Lisa resembles her mother only in her eyes. All the rest of her is -Caprian. Ah me! ah me! She’s the image of what I was, except her eyes. -By the grace of God I am able to see it! May the Virgin spare her to -suffer--” and so on to the end of the chapter of mingled family history -and invocations. - -Lisa resemble her? I thought. Impossible. What! that wrinkled skin ever -know the bloom of youth like that on Lisa’s cheek; that sharp chin ever -have a rounded contour; that angular face ever show as perfect an oval -as the one fringed by the wavy hair straggling out from Lisa’s kerchief? -Did that mask, seared with the marks of years of suffering, privation, -and toil, ever bear the sweet, bewitching expression which in Lisa’s -face haunts me with a vague, half-remembered fascination? Never! It -cannot be! - -This history of a love-tragedy, enacted when Goethe was still walking -among the artificial antiquities in the groves of Weimar had a curious -charm for me. I patiently listened to hours of irrelevant gossip and -uninteresting description of family matters before I succeeded in -getting together even as meagre a thread of the story as the one I have -just repeated. The old woman had a feeble memory for recent events and -dates, but she seemed to be able to recollect as well as ever incidents -which took place at the beginning of the century. She retailed the -scandals of fifty years ago with as much delight as if the interested -parties had not all of them long since been followed to the hillside -graveyard or been buried in the waste of waters in that mysterious -region known as the coral fisheries. - -Partly in order to test the accuracy of her memory, and partly to -satisfy my curiosity, I persuaded her to show me the place where the -sculptor used to walk along the edge of the cliff. I had previously -taken a look at the cave from the water, and knew its position in -relation to the cliff, but had never been able to discover how the -German had succeeded in clambering up and down. Accordingly, one Sunday -afternoon, when most of the islanders were in church, she hobbled along -with me a short distance up the hillside and pointed out the spot where -the children had seen the mad sculptor vanish in the air. This place was -marked by a projecting piece of rock, which cropped out of the turf on -the very edge of the cliff, not at its highest point, but at some -distance down the shoulder of the hill, where it had been broken sheer -off in the great convulsion of nature which raised the isolated, lofty -island above the sea. I could not induce her to go within a dozen rods -or more of the edge of the cliff, and, having shown me the spot I wished -to find, she hobbled homeward again. - -There was no path across the hill in any direction, and the scant grass -was rarely trodden except by the goats and their keepers. On that Sunday -forenoon there was no one in sight except, a long distance off, a -shepherd watching a few goats. Thinking it a favorable opportunity to -investigate the truth of the story about the sculptor, I walked up to -the very brink of the precipice and lay down flat on the top of the -piece of rock pointed out by the old woman, and cautiously looked over -the abyss. The cliff below me was by no means sheer, for it was broken -by a number of irregular shelf-like projections, a few inches wide, upon -which loose bits of falling stone had caught from time to time. -Cautiously looking over the cliff, I saw at once that it would be -possible for me to let myself down to the first irregular projection, or -bench, provided I could get some firm hold for my hands. The turf -afforded no such hold, and at the very edge, where it was crumbled by -the weather, it was so broken as to be dangerous to stand on. I looked -along the smooth, perpendicular ledge, but found no ring to fasten a -rope to and no marks of any such contrivance. A careful search in the -immediate neighborhood disclosed no signs of a wooden post or stake, or, -indeed, anything which would serve as an anchor for a hand rope. I lay -down and hung over the cliff, to see if I could discover any traces of a -ladder, marks of spikes, tell-tale streaks of iron-rust, or anything to -show how the descent had been made. Nothing of the kind was visible. - -Far below, the great expanse of turquoise sea, stained with the shadows -of summer clouds, seemed to rise with a convex surface to meet the sky -at the distant horizon line. Away off to the south, towards Stromboli -and Sicily, a few sails, minute white dots relieved against the delicate -blue water, hung motionless, as if suspended in an opalescent ether. To -the left the green shores of the mainland stretched away to hazy Pæstum. -To the right the headland of Anacapri rose majestically against the -tender summer sky, and a bank of cumulus clouds was reflected in the -smooth sea. Beneath screamed a flock of sea-gulls, sailing hither and -thither in graceful flight. - -While dreaming over the beauty of the scene before me, I suddenly caught -sight out of the very corner of my eye, as it were, of a crevice in the -ledge beside me, almost hidden by the grass which grew tall against the -rock. Hastily tearing the grass away with my right hand, I found that -this cleft, which was only a couple of inches wide at the most, -continued downward along the face of the cliff in a slanting direction, -rapidly diminishing in width until it lost itself or became a simple -crack in the rock. With my knife and fingers I dug the cleft out clean, -as far in as I could reach, expecting to find an iron rod or a spike or -something to which a rope could be fastened. But I was again -disappointed, for there were no signs of iron and no visible marks of -man’s handiwork. Whether this was an artificial excavation in the rock, -or merely an accidental irregularity, I could not determine, but it made -a perfect hold for the hand, like an inverted draw-pull. The moment I -discovered this I saw how the descent could easily be accomplished, and -without stopping to reflect I clutched my right hand firmly in the cleft -and swung off the cliff. My feet struck a pile of loose stones, but I -soon kicked them off, made a solid foothold for myself, and then -cautiously turned around. The wall of rock pitched backward sufficiently -for me to lean up against it, with my face to the sea, and stand there -perfectly secure. When I turned again and stood facing the rock, my head -was above the edge of the cliff so that I could overlook quite an area -of the hilltop. Before attempting to descend the cliff I thought it -prudent to test my ability to reach the turf again. Seizing the cleft -with the fingers of my right hand, and clutching the irregularities of -the edge of the rock with my left, I easily swung myself upon my chest, -and then upon my knees, and stood on the turf. Elated now by my success, -I let myself over the edge again, and began the difficult task of -picking my way down the face of the cliff. By diligently kicking and -pushing the rubble from the bench I was on, I slowly made my way along, -steadying myself as well as I could by putting my fingers in the -crevices of the rock. In two places I found three or four holes, which -had the appearance of having been artificially made, and by the aid of -these I let myself down to the second and third projecting benches. From -this point the descent was made without much difficulty, although I -carefully refrained from casting my eyes seaward during the whole climb. -Fortunately I was on the face of the cliff, which was at a receding -angle, and consequently was not swept by the telescope of the guard on -the beach to the right, and I finished the descent and reached a point -to the left of the mouth of the cave, and on a level with it, without -any interruption. I was too much fatigued to care to risk discovery by -the guard in entering the cave, which was in full sight of his station; -so, after resting awhile on the rocks, I clambered up the path I had -come, and found that the ascent, though toilsome, was not particularly -difficult. - -I told no one of my adventure, not even the old woman; but early the -next Sunday morning I went down the cliff again, unobserved as before, -and, watching my chance when the guard was sweeping the shore to the -right with his glass, I stole into the cave. It was an irregular hole, -perhaps thirty feet deep at its greatest length, and not over ten feet -high in any part. Three shallow, alcove-like chambers led off the main -room. These were all three nearly full of gravel, sand, and -disintegrated rock, and the floor of the whole cavern was covered with -this same accumulation. There were plentiful marks of the labors of the -Italian antiquarians, for the ground had all been dug up, and the last -shallow pits which had been excavated to the bed-rock had not been -refilled. - -With no settled purpose I took up a piece of an old spade I found there, -and began to dig on one side of the cave near the largest alcove. The -accumulation was not packed hard, and I easily threw it aside. I had -removed a few feet of earth without finding anything to reward my -labors, and then began to dig in the heap of rubbish which was piled in -the alcove, nearly touching its low ceiling. Almost the first shovelful -of earth I threw out had a number of small gray tesseræ in it. Gathering -these up and taking them to the light, I found that part of them were of -marble, or other light-colored stone; but that a few were of glass with -a corroded surface, which could be clipped off with great ease, -disclosing beautiful iridescent cubes underneath. The whole day was -passed in this work, for I was much interested in my discovery. The -tesseræ were of no great value, to be sure, but they proved that the -cave had been used by the Romans, probably as a grotto of the nymphs, -and they were certainly worth keeping in a private collection. Possibly -not a little of the charm of the operation of excavating was due to the -element of danger in it. The guard was stationed less than a rifle-shot -away, and if I had been discovered, fine and possibly imprisonment would -have been my lot. - -To make a long story short, I made several excursions to the cave in the -same manner, and dug nearly the whole ground in a systematic way, -leaving until the last a small alcove near the mouth of the cave, -because I found very few tesseræ anywhere in the strong daylight. -Everything which was not a simple, uninteresting piece of stone or shell -I stowed away in a bag and carried to my studio. In a few Sundays I had -a peck or more of tesseræ, a quarter of them glass ones, and a great -many bits of twisted glass rod and small pieces of glass vessels. One -day the spade turned out, among other things, several small pieces of -brown, porous substance which looked in the dim light like decayed wood. -I put them in the bag with the rest, to be examined at my leisure at -home. The next morning, when I came to turn out the collection gathered -the day before, these curious pieces fell out with the rest, and -immediately attracted my attention. In the strong light of day, I saw at -once what they were. They were the decayed phalanges of a human hand. -The story of Tedesco and Rubina was always in my mind; and I compared -the bones with my own fingers, and found them to be without doubt the -bones of an adult, and probably of a man. - -I could scarcely wait for the next Sunday to arrive, but I did not dare -to risk the descent of the cliff on a week-day lest I should be seen by -the fishermen. When at last I did reach the cave again, I went at my -work with vigor, continuing my search in the place where I left off the -previous week. In a short time I unearthed several more bones similar -to those I already had, but, although I thoroughly examined every cubic -foot of earth which I had not previously dug over, I found no more of -the skeleton. - -In my studio that evening I arranged the little bones as well as I could -in the positions they had occupied in the human hand. As far as I could -make out, I had the thumb, the first and third fingers and one joint of -the second, three of the bones of the hand, and one of the wrist-bones. -There could be no question but these had once belonged to a human hand, -and to the right hand, too. There was no means of knowing how long ago -the person had died, neither could there be any possible way of -identifying these human relics. The possession of the grewsome little -objects seemed to set my imagination on fire. After going to bed at -night I often worked myself into a state of disagreeable nervous tension -by meditating on the history of the sculptor, and revolving in my mind -the theories I had formed of the mystery of his life and the manner of -his death. For some reason the old woman had never told me where his -studio had been, and it never occurred to me to ask her until the -thought suddenly came during one of these night-hours of wakefulness. -When I put the question to her the next afternoon, she replied, simply: - -“This studio was his, _signor padrone_.” - -The poor old soul had been living her life over again, day after day, as -she sat knitting and looking out to sea, her imagination quickened and -her memory refreshed by the surroundings which in many decades had -scarcely changed at all. - -This information gave a new stimulus to my thoughts, and I lay awake and -pondered and surmised more than ever. There seemed to be something -hidden away in my own consciousness, which was endeavoring to work its -way into recognition. It would almost come in range of my mental vision, -and then would lose itself again, just as some well-known name will -coquettishly elude the grasp of the memory. While lying awake in a real -agony of thought, a vague feeling would enter my mind for an instant, -that I had only to interpret what I already knew, and the mystery of my -imagination would be clear to me. Then I would revolve and revolve again -all the details of the story, but the fugitive idea always escaped me. -With that discouraging persistence which is utterly beyond our control, -whenever great anxiety weighs upon our minds, I would repeat, again and -again, the same series of arguments and the same line of theories until -at last, utterly worn out, I would go to sleep. It was quite -inexplicable that I should think so much about a sculptor of whom I had -never heard, except from Tedesco’s Rubina, and who died long before I -was born; but, in spite of my reason, I could not rid myself of the -vague consciousness that there was something I was unwittingly hiding -from myself. - -One warm night in summer I sat up quite late writing letters, and then, -thinking I should go to sleep at once on account of my fatigue, went to -bed. But sleep came only after some hours, and even then not until I had -stood for a long time looking out of the window on the moonlit houses -below, with my bare feet on the cold stone floor. The first thought that -came to my head, as I awoke the next morning, was about that marble head -I had seen in Rome a year before. The dark page of my mind became -illuminated in an instant. I did not need to summon Lisa to note the -resemblance of her face to the marble one which had so fascinated me, -for I was familiar enough with her features to require no aid to my -memory. Besides, I had a fairly accurate study of her head on my easel, -and I compared the face on the canvas with the marble one which I now -remembered so vividly. There was the identical contour of the cheeks and -forehead, with the hyper-delicate chin; the nose, the mouth, the eyes, -each repeated the forms of the marble bust. It was the color alone that -gave the painting its modern aspect, and it had been, I now saw, my -preoccupation with the color which had prevented my observing the -resemblance before. The only thing my portrait lacked, as a -representation of the model from whom the marble was made, was that -fascinating expression of girlhood, which, I was obliged to confess to -myself, I had not succeeded in catching. - -Full of my discovery, I wrote at once to the authorities in Rome, asking -for a history of the fragment. - -In a few days I received the not unexpected information that it had been -given by the Naples Museum in exchange for another piece of antique -sculpture. I hurried across to Naples and interviewed the authorities -there, requesting precise statements about the bust, on the plea that I -was interested in the particular period of art which it represented. In -the list of objects of antiquity excavated in the summer of 18--, I -found this entry, under the head of Capri: - -“Female head with ivy wreath in hair--Marble--Broken off at neck--No -other fragments discovered. Mem.: This probably belonged to a statue of -a sea-nymph, as it was found in a grotto with the remains of mosaic -pavement and ceiling.” - -In return for this information I gave the authorities my sincere -thanks, but not my secret. - -Three years later I met my two artist friends in New York. Like all who -have torn themselves away from the enchanting influences of Italy, we -reviewed with delight every incident of our sojourn there, not -forgetting the visit to the museum in Rome. Two plaster copies of the -head had been made, and the mould then broken. - -In each of the studios the plaster head occupied the place of honor, and -its owner exhausted the choicest terms of art phraseology in its praise. -Foolish fellows, they could not escape from the potent spell of its -bewitching expression, and, burdened with the weight of the sentimental -secret, each of them took occasion, privately and with great hesitation -and shamefacedness, to confess to me that he had stolen away, while we -were together in the museum in Rome, to kiss the marble lips of the -fascinating fragment. - -To each of them I made the same remark: - -“My dear fellow, if you were so foolish as to fall in love with a marble -head, and a fragment at that, what would you have done in my place? I -was intimately acquainted with the model who sat for it!” - - - - -MEDUSA’S HEAD - - -Henry Seymour fancied he was a realist. Indeed, he was very much annoyed -when his work was described by an art critic as idealistic, or when he -was alluded to in the art columns as “a rising young artist quite out of -place in the realistic circle to which he affects to belong.” But the -bias of mind which prevented him from recognizing the real qualities in -his own productions, equally hindered him from accomplishing what was -his present highest ambition--an accurate and realistic imitation of -nature. In common with the large majority of the young artists of the -day, he studied two or three years in Europe, notably in Paris, where he -learned to believe, or fancied he believed, that the most hopeful -tendency of modern art consisted in the elimination of all idea and all -sentiment from the motive of a picture, and the glorification of the -naturalistic and, if I may say so, earthly qualities of the model. - -After his return from the ateliers of Paris, Seymour divided his time -between the apotheosis of rags and squalor and the delineation of the -features of the New York banker, broker, or insurance president, with an -occasional excursion into the field of female portraiture, which was -opened to him through the large and influential circle of friends and -acquaintances of his family. His efforts in this direction frequently -resulted in popular and artistic success, and after a season or two -gained for him a profitable and exceedingly agreeable line of sitters. A -strange jumble of millionaires, bootblacks, society ladies, and -beggar-women covered the canvases that encumbered his studio. The -portraits went away in their turn, but the pictures, after brief -absences at exhibitions, remained his own property, testifying to the -practical worthlessness of the encouragement of his comrades, who would -sniff at his portraits of ladies and gentlemen, and prostrate themselves -before his studies of gutter-snipe. It must be understood that no one of -his artistic clique disapproved of his painting society portraits, for -they had all adopted some means of gaining a livelihood outside of the -special line of art which they, in their mistaken zeal, believed to be -the only true and worthy one. Most of his comrades taught in the art -schools of the city; some of the more fortunate ones conducted highly -profitable private classes, where, at an enormously extravagant price -per season, they actively stimulated and encouraged the artistic -illusions of wealthy young ladies, and helped them to acquire a -superficial and dangerous facility, which, for a future mistress of a -house, is the most useless accomplishment imaginable. - -Seymour was of an energetic and enterprising turn of mind, and if it had -not been for his unwavering devotion to his artistic creed, he would -have speedily made a wide reputation for himself as a painter with an -original and charming talent. But accident of situation had exposed him -to the contagion of realism, and the fever which seized him in Paris was -now kept alive, in a milder form to be sure, by association with the -young painters in New York, who had been abroad the same time as -himself. After two seasons at home he found his studio too small and -inconvenient, and he turned a stable in the spacious back yard of his -father’s house, on one of the cross streets near Fifth Avenue, into a -fine studio, with a side and top light, and transported thither his -easels, his bric-à-brac, and the lares and penates of his Bohemian -quarters. The new studio was entered by a _porte-cochère_ at one side of -the house, and was therefore as isolated and private as if it stood in -the centre of an acre of ground. - -Among the sitters who came to him in his new studio was Miss Margaret -Van Hoorn, the only daughter of a well-known wealthy man, who had a -stalwart pride in his Knickerbocker origin, and boasted generations of -opulent Van Hoorns before him. Miss Van Hoorn was not an ordinary -society belle, but an intelligent, capable, sensible girl, and a -favorite no less for the charm of her personal character than for a -distinguished type of face and figure, which would stimulate the -ambition of the most worn and weary portrait-painter. - -Here, then, was Seymour’s golden opportunity. He recognized it, and -began to make the most of it by starting to paint a portrait of the -young lady in a party dress. It had hitherto been his custom to deny to -his sitters the privilege of watching his work in its various stages, -but he was unable to refuse Miss Van Hoorn’s request that she might be -permitted to see the portrait in progress. Her desire to watch his work -was excusable, because she had already taken lessons in painting, and -had some little knowledge of technique. After the first sitting was over -she occupied the divan under the large window, and chatted cheerfully an -hour or more, thus initiating an intimacy which grew rapidly as the -sittings went on. The painter, as long as he had his palette on his -thumb, looked upon his sitter as a sort of automaton, watched the pure -lines of her neck and arms with no conscious feeling except that of keen -anxiety to reproduce their grace, and studied the mobile turn of the -lips and the varying curve of the eyelids with a single-minded desire to -catch something of their charm and fix it on the canvas. - -But soon another element crept insensibly into the relation between -sitter and painter, and long before it was recognized by either of them, -became a potent factor in the growing problem. Miss Van Hoorn first -began to question Seymour about his artistic creed, then showed an -interest in his early life, thus encouraging the artist to talk about -himself. She grew bold in criticising his work, and even modestly -declared her disapproval of the confusion of his studio, and -occasionally gave to the arrangement of the objects a few of those -skilful feminine touches which add an indefinable charm to any interior. -The artist, in his turn, suggested books for her to read, frequently -joined her in the box at the Metropolitan Opera-house, accompanied her -to picture exhibitions, and even advised her as to the color and style -of dress most suited to her complexion and figure. They were all the -while under the protection of that unwritten social law which grants a -certain brief license to sitter and painter, which, like the freedom of -a picnic or an excursion party, usually lasts no longer than the -conditions which make this freedom innocent and desirable. - -“Mr. Seymour,” said the sitter one day, “why don’t you paint an ideal -subject, something classical or poetical?” - -“I’m a realist, Miss Van Hoorn, and I have come to the conclusion, since -I began your portrait, that I had better stick to copper pots and -cabbages.” - -“But no one cares for copper pots and cabbages, even if the former do -have the sheen of burnished gold, and the latter sparkle with dew-drop -jewels. I think every painter ought to paint something more than the -surface of things.” - -“How about Vollon and--” - -“You know,” she interrupted, “I am not far enough along, as you call it, -to appreciate the wild combinations of color and the hodge-podge of -splashes and dashes affected by the modern school. I have tried to -acquire this taste under your tuition, but I cannot do it. I shall -always believe in the verdict of past centuries, that good art has its -reason in the immortalization of the beautiful.” - -“But there’s Terburg--” he began. - -“Raphael,” she interrupted. - -“Van der Meer de Delft,” he suggested. - -“Botticelli,” she argued, and so the conversation went on, and at last -ended, as discussions on religion, politics, and art always do, in each -declaring unwavering adherence to original views. - -Excursions to the art galleries and to the Metropolitan Museum were -often the result of these little flutters; but although neither the -artist nor the sitter would confess to the least disturbance of artistic -faith, Seymour actually began, before he knew why, to select an ideal -subject. Several motives from classical poetry, from mythology, and from -modern writers came to his mind, and he was unable to decide, nor did -he know that he really cared to fix on any one of them. Meanwhile the -sittings continued, and the portrait approached completion. Suddenly one -day a compromise suggested itself to the painter, how or why he never -knew, and he quietly remarked, “Miss Van Hoorn, I am going to paint a -Medusa’s head.” - -“Horrid,” she said, frankly. “I hate snakes.” - -Seymour was somewhat discouraged by her impulsive disapproval of his -subject, but, nevertheless, warmly defended his choice, and was all the -more eloquent, perhaps, because he felt that she had recognized his -ingenious compromise between idealism and realism. He insisted that the -proportions of her face had suggested the subject to him, and was so -serious in his assertion that she was in this degree responsible for his -choice of motive, that she finally yielded to his eager solicitation, -and consented to sit for the eyes and mouth of the Medusa’s head. - -The same afternoon he went down-town to a shop near the docks, where -all kinds of birds, animals, and reptiles were sold alive--a sort of -depot, in fact, for the dime museums and small menageries--and bought a -box of a dozen moccasin snakes recently arrived from the South. He -selected this variety on account of the venomous appearance of the small -heads, the repulsive thickness of the bodies, and the richness of color -of the mottled scales, intending to make a close study of all the -characteristics of this variety of the serpent. He could in this way -heighten the contrast which he proposed to make between the calm beauty -of the woman’s face and the repulsiveness of the serpent locks. He -ordered the box to be sent to his studio the same afternoon, and spent -that evening in blocking out on the canvas a charcoal sketch of the head -he had in his mind. - -The following day was Sunday, and during the night a severe cold wave, -accompanied by a blizzard of unusual severity, began to sweep over the -city. Early on Monday morning the artist went around into the studio, -and was surprised to find that the snow had blown in through the -ventilator, and that the temperature was very low, notwithstanding the -fact that a fire had been kept up all the time in the great magazine -stove. His first thought was for the snakes, and, by no means certain -that they were not already frozen, he moved the box near the fire, -closed the ventilators in the roof of the studio, opened the dampers in -the stove, and shook the grate, so as to start the fire more briskly. - -It was the last day Miss Van Hoorn could come, because she was about to -accompany her family to Florida for a few weeks, and in order to sit a -little for the picture she had promised to come earlier than usual. - -Seymour, like all who were not obliged to brave the blizzard on that now -memorable Monday, had no idea of the severity of the storm which was -raging, and was not surprised, therefore, at the appearance of his -sitter shortly after nine o’clock. She was accompanied, as usual, by her -maid and by her pug-dog. Miss Van Hoorn never looked more charming than -she did at that moment, for her cheeks were ruddy with the cold, and her -eyes sparkled with the excitement of the drive. - -“Do you know,” she said, “we came very near not getting here. The drifts -were so high that John was scarcely able to get the horses through the -street; and as for the cold, I never felt anything like it. There now, I -do believe I have left my opera cloak at home, and you must finish the -drapery to-day. You’ll have to run back and bring it,” she added, -turning to her maid. “I don’t think the storm is as bad as it was; the -wind does not sound so loud, at any rate.” - -The maid courageously set out on her walk, but before she crossed the -avenue was blown down, half smothered with the snow and half frozen, and -was finally rescued by a policeman, who carried her into the basement of -the nearest house, where she was obliged to remain the larger part of -the day. - -Meanwhile the artist and his sitter sat for a long time beside the fire, -expecting the return of the maid at every moment. Almost the first -thing Miss Van Hoorn noticed was the box of snakes, and, although she -was horrified and disgusted at the first sight of them, soon began to -look at them with interest, because the artist was so enthusiastic about -the use he proposed to make of them, and so full of the picture he had -begun. The glass in front of the box was slightly clouded by vapor -condensed by the change in temperature, and in order to examine more -closely the beautiful colors of the scales, Seymour took out the glass, -placed it on top of the box, and went to get a paint-rag to wipe off the -vapor. The moccasins made no sign of life. - -Miss Van Hoorn was very much interested in the charcoal sketch of the -head, criticised it frankly and freely, and they both grew quite -absorbed in the changes the artist rapidly made in the proportions of -the face. The loud striking of the antique clock soon reminded them, -however, that the hour for the sitting was long past, and that the -portrait was of more present importance than the embryonic picture. - -The artist was shortly busy with his painting, and the sitter, now well -accustomed to the pose, endeavored to facilitate the progress of the -work by remaining as quiet as possible. The silence of the studio was -broken only by the stertorous breathing of the pug, asleep on the -Turkish carpet in front of the stove, and by the rattle of the sleet -against the large window. - -Suddenly the shrill yelps of the dog startled them from their -preoccupation. On the carpet, near the stove, one of the moccasins was -coiled, ready to strike the pug, who, in an agony of terror, could not -move a foot, but only uttered wild and piercing shrieks. - -“Never mind; I’ll soon settle him,” said Seymour; and he rushed at the -snake with his maul-stick. But before he could cross the room, the -moccasin had struck his victim; and as the artist shattered his slender -stick at the first blow, he saw that the box was empty, and that the -other snakes were wriggling around the studio. - -Miss Van Hoorn was transfixed with horror, but she neither shrieked nor -fainted, although she looked as if she would swoon before Seymour could -reach her. The pair were fairly surrounded by the reptiles before the -artist had time to think of another weapon. - -The only thing to do in the emergency occurred to both of them at the -same instant, and in a much shorter time than it takes to tell it Miss -Van Hoorn was safely perched on the solid crossbar of the French easel, -four feet or more from the ground; and the painter, who had hastily -thrown the portrait on the floor, face upward, was standing on the -shelf. - -Knowing the venomous character of the moccasin, Seymour was not eager -for a fight with the snakes, particularly since he was without a weapon. -It was impossible to reach the trophy of Turkish yataghans on the -farther wall of the studio without encountering at least two of the -reptiles, and after a moment’s consideration he climbed up and sat down -beside Miss Van Hoorn, _tête-à-tête_ fashion, and, like herself, put -his arm around the upright piece between them. - -Neither one of them spoke for a moment; and then he, overcome with -remorse at his carelessness, and trembling at the possible result of the -adventure, exclaimed, in a tone of despair, “Here’s a situation!” - -This commonplace remark did not carry with it a hint of a satisfactory -solution of the difficulty, and he felt this the moment he had uttered -it. Miss Van Hoorn made no reply, but with pale cheeks and frightened -eyes sat silent, clinging almost convulsively to her support. - -“We can easily bring the people by shouting,” suggested her companion. - -“No, no!” she half gasped. “What a ridiculous position to be found in! -Indeed, I--I--Are you sure the neighbors cannot see through the window?” - -“Of course they can’t; it’s corrugated glass. But then, after all, if -any one should come, the moccasins might bite them, and we should be no -better off.” - -The snakes became more and more active. - -[Illustration: “MISS VAN HOORN WAS SAFELY PERCHED ON THE SOLID -CROSSBAR.”] - -The pug lay in his last death-agonies, and as he struggled on the -carpet, almost under their feet, the soft fingers of the young lady -instinctively found their way to the firm, muscular hand of the artist, -and closed around it with a confiding pressure, as if she recognized in -him her sole protector in this danger, and had great need of his -sympathy and support. - -If the truth must be told, her sweet unconsciousness was not shared by -her companion, for he felt a distinct sense of satisfaction at the touch -of her hand, and this sensation fully dominated for a moment the complex -feeling of relief at escape from recent imminent danger and of great -present perplexity, uncertainty, and fear. - -They were now fairly besieged; and although no harm could come to them -in their present position, it was by no means comfortable to sit perched -on a narrow oak bar, and it was impossible to tell how or when they -would be delivered from their enemy. - -A strange and oppressive silence seemed to have come over the whole -city; not so much a silence, perhaps, as an unusual muffling of all the -ordinary sounds of traffic and activity. The swish of the sleet against -the window was almost continuous, but when it ceased for a moment there -was heard no rattle of the streets, no rumble of the horse-cars, no -clatter of trains on the elevated railroad. Instead of these familiar -sounds, a wide, deep, and ominous murmur filled the air. This was not a -loud and heavy sound, like the roar of the ocean, nor yet shrill, like -the rush and whistling of a gale, but had a peculiar low and muffled -quality that made a weird accompaniment to the dramatic situation of the -artist and sitter in the storm-and-serpent-beleaguered studio. - -There was a horrible fascination in watching the movements of the snakes -as they restlessly glided from one part of the studio to another, the -scales on their thick repulsive bodies glistening in the strong light, -and flashing a variety of colors. The stove was now red-hot, and the -fire was roaring loudly. In spite of the intense cold outside, the heat -became oppressive at the height where they sat, and Miss Van Hoorn, -whose nerves were much shaken by her fright, and kept in a flutter by -the movements of the snakes below, began to feel faint. The -house-servants had standing orders never to interrupt the sittings on -any excuse until the artist rang for luncheon. It was now half-past -eleven, and Seymour, despairing of the return of the maid, at last -resolved to shout as loudly as possible, and to stop the servant from -opening the door by calling out to him as he came along the passageway. -He explained this plan to Miss Van Hoorn, and proceeded to shout and -halloo with the full strength of his lungs. He waited a few moments, but -no sound of footsteps was heard, and then he shouted again and again. -Still the roaring of the fire, the grumble of the storm, and the hideous -rustling of the snakes alone greeted their eager ears. At last he was -obliged to conclude that the noise of the storm prevented his cries from -reaching the house. - -What to do next he did not know, but as he was fanning Miss Van Hoorn -with a letter out of his pocket--indeed, with one of her own notes to -him--he struck upon a plan of letting in air, and at the same time -attracting the attention of some one. When the brief faint turn had -passed off, he climbed down to the shelf, gathered up his tubes of -color, and returned to his perch. After a few vigorous throws with the -heaviest tubes, he succeeded in breaking one of the panes of the large -window, and a fierce gust of wind blew upon them. To their great -disappointment the opening in the glass disclosed only the blank wall of -the opposite extension; and as he had wasted all his heavy ammunition, -he could not break another pane higher up in the window. He tried -shouting again, but with no result. - -The situation was now worse than before, for Miss Van Hoorn was in her -evening dress and exposed to the freezing draught of a blizzard. -Seymour persuaded her to put on his velveteen jacket, and, after a few -attempts, succeeded in tearing down a curtain that hung from the ceiling -alongside the opening in the roof in order to cast a shadow on the -background. This he wrapped around both of them, then sat and considered -what to do next. No new plan, however, suggested itself to either of -them. They did not talk much, for they were too seriously occupied with -the problem of escape to waste words. The single hand of the antique -clock moved with agonizing slowness, and the pair sat there a long time -in silence, shivering, despairing. Once or twice a sense of the -ludicrousness of their position came over them, and they laughed a -little; but their mirth was almost hysterical, and was succeeded by a -greater depression of spirits than before. Seymour had proposed several -times to make a dash for the door, but two or three of the reptiles were -always moving about between the easel and the entrance, and Miss Van -Hoorn entreated him tearfully not to attempt it. The cold seemed to -increase, and Seymour soon noticed that the fire was burning itself out. -This was a new source of anxiety, and neither of them cared to -anticipate their sufferings on the top of the easel with the temperature -below zero. - -“Just look at the snakes!” suddenly cried Seymour, in great excitement. - -Miss Van Hoorn was startled by the vehemence of his cry, and could only -gasp: “No, no! I can’t bear to look at them any more.” - -“The cold is making them torpid again,” he fairly shrieked, in the joy -of his discovery. “How stupid not to have thought of this before!” he -added, in a tone of disgust. - -He was right. One by one they ceased to crawl, and those nearest the -window soon lay motionless. Checking his impatience to descend on the -snakes until those by the stove ceased to show signs of active life, he -dropped from the perch, seized a yataghan from the wall, and speedily -despatched them all. - -Miss Van Hoorn anxiously watched the slaughter from the safe elevation -of the easel, and, when it was over, fainted into the artist’s arms. - - * * * * * - -The most unique and remarkable engagement ring ever marked with a date -at Tiffany’s was a beautiful antique intaglio of Medusa’s head set in -Etruscan gold. - - - - -THE FOURTH WAITS - - -I. - -The click of dominos is an accompaniment scarcely in harmony with a -discussion of psychology and religion. But no subject is too sacred, or -too profane, to be discussed in a café--that neutral ground where all -parties and all sects meet; and it was a serious debate during a game of -dominos that marked the beginning of a course of strange coincidences -and sad occurrences that crowd one chapter in an eventful Bohemian life. - -There were four of us art-students in the Academy of Antwerp assembled, -as was our custom after the evening life-class, at a café in a quiet -_faubourg_ of the city. It was a gloomy November evening, cold and raw -in the wind, but not too chill to sit in the open air under the lee of -the wooden shed which enclosed two sides of the café garden. The heavy -atmosphere had not crushed every spark of cheerfulness out of the -buoyant natures of the materialistic Flemings, and the tables were -filled with noisy _bourgeois_ and their families, drinking the mild beer -of Louvain or generous cups of coffee. Their gayety seemed sacrilegious -in the solemn presence of approaching winter--that long, depressing, -ghostly season which in the Low Countries gives warning of its coming -with prophetic sobs and continued tears, and trails the shroud of summer -before the eyes of shrinking mortals for weeks before it buries its -victim. In a climate like that of Flanders, the winter, rarely marked by -severe cold, really begins with the rainy season in early autumn, and it -continues in an interminable succession of dismal days with shrouded -skies. - -On the evening in question the clouds seemed lower than usual; the wind -was fitful and spasmodic, and came in long, mournful, insinuating sighs -that stole in mockingly between the peals of music and laughter, and -startled every one in his gayest mood. The gas-jets flickered and -wavered weirdly, and the dry leaves danced accompaniment to the -movements of the swift-footed waiters. The clatter of wooden shoes on -the pavement without, and the measureless but not unmusical songs of the -jolly workmen on their way home, filled the score of the medley of -sounds that broke the sepulchral quiet of the evening. - -There were four of us, as I have said: old Reiner, Tyck, Henley, and -myself. Each represented a different nationality. Reiner was a Norwegian -of German descent, tall and ungainly, with a large head, a shock of -light-colored, coarse hair, a virgin beard, and a good-humored face -focused in a pair of searching gray eyes that pried their way into -everything that came under their owner’s observation. He was by no means -a handsome man, neither was he unattractive; and his sober habits, cool -judgment, and great stock of general information gained for him the -familiar name of old Reiner among the more thoughtless and more -superficial students who were his friends. He was by nature of a more -scientific than artistic turn of mind. He was conversant with nine -languages, including Sanskrit, had received a thorough university -education in Norway and Germany, took delight in investigating every -subject that came in his way--from the habits of an ant to the movements -of the gold market in America--and could talk intelligently and -instructively on every topic proposed to him. Indeed, his scientific and -literary attainments were a wonder to the rest of us, who had lived -quite as long and had accomplished much less. As an artist he had great -talents as well; but here also his love of investigation constantly -directed his efforts. In his academic course he had less success than -might have been anticipated, except in the direction of positive -rendering of certain effects. He was not a colorist; such natures rarely -are; and it is probable that he would never have made a brilliant artist -in any branch of the profession, for he was too much of a positivist, -and even his historical pictures would have been little more than -marvels of correctness of costume and accessories. In his association -with us, the flow of his abundant good-humor, which sometimes seemed -unlimited, was interrupted by occasional spells of complete reaction, -when he neither spoke to nor even saw any one else, but made a hermit of -himself until the mood had passed. - -Tyck at first sight looked like a Spaniard. He was slight in stature, -one short leg causing a stoop which made him appear still smaller than -he was. His skin was of a clear brown, warmed by an abundance of rich -blood; a mass of strong, curling hair, and a black moustache and -imperial framed in a face of peculiar strong beauty. His eyes had -something in them too deep to be altogether pleasing, for they caused -one to look at him seriously, yet they were as full of laughter and -good-nature and cheerfulness as dark eyes can be. His face was one that, -notwithstanding its peculiarities, gave a good first impression; and a -long friendship had proved him to be chargeable with fewer blemishes of -character than are written down against the most of us. But his hands -were not in his favor. They were long, bony, and cold; the finger-joints -were large and lacked firmness, and the pressure of the hand was -listless or unsympathetic. The lines of life were faint and -discouraging, and there were few prominent marks in the palm. The secret -of his complexion lay in his parentage, for his mother was a native -woman of Java, and his father a Dutch merchant, who settled in that -far-off country, built up a fortune, and raised a small family of boys, -who deserted the paternal nest as soon as they were old enough to -flutter alone. Tyck was a colorist. He seemed to see the tones of nature -rich with the warm reflections of a tropical sun; and his studies from -life, while strong and luscious in tone, were full of fire and subtle -gradations--qualities combined rarely enough in the works of older -artists. He was to all appearance in the flush of health, and, -notwithstanding his deformity, was uncommonly active and fond of -exercise. We who knew him intimately, however, always looked upon him -as a marked man. With all his rugged, healthy look, his physique was not -vigorous enough to resist the attacks of the common foe, winter, and we -knew that he occasionally pined mentally and physically for the -luxurious warmth of his native land. He flourished in the raw climate of -Flanders only as a transplanted flower flourishes; still, he was not -declining in health or strength. - -It is a long and delicate process to build up an intimate friendship -between men of mercurial temperament and such an impersonation of -coolness and deliberation and studied manners as was Henley, the third -member of our group. From his type of face and his peculiar bearing he -was easily recognizable as an Englishman, and even as a member of the -Church of England. His manner was plainly the result of a severe and -formal training; his whole life, as he told us himself, had been passed -under the careful surveillance of a strict father, who was for a long -time the rector of one of the first churches of London. But Henley, -serious, formal, and cool, was not uncompanionable; and I am not quite -sure whether it was not the bony thinness of his face, his straggling -black beard and abundant dead-colored hair, that predisposed one at -first sight to judge him as a sort of melancholy black sheep among his -lighter-hearted companions. So we all placed him at our first meeting. -When once the ice was broken, and we felt the sympathetic presence that -surrounded him in his intercourse with friends, he became a necessity to -complete the current of our little circle, and his English steadiness -often served a good purpose in many wordy tempests. - -In religious opinions we four were as divided as we were distinct in -nationality. Henley, as I have said, was a member of the Church of -England. Tyck was a Jew and a Freemason. Reiner entirely disbelieved in -everything that was not plain to him intellectually. Our discussions on -religious subjects were long and warm, for the theories of the fourth -member of the circle piled new fuel upon the flames that sprang up under -the friction of the ideas of the other three, and on these topics alone -we were seriously at variance. Rarely were our disputes carried to that -point where either of us felt wounded after the discussion was ended, -but on more than one occasion they were violent enough to have ruptured -our little bond if it had not been strengthened by ties of more than -ordinary friendship. - -This friendship was of the unselfish order, too. We were in the habit of -living on the share-and-share-alike principle. Henley was the only one -who had any allowance, and he always felt that his regular remittance -was rather a bar to his complete and unqualified admission to our little -ring. The joint capital among us was always kept in circulation. When -one had money and the others had none, and it suited our inclinations or -the purposes of our study to visit the Dutch cities, or even to cross -the Channel, we travelled on the common purse. Share-and-share-alike in -cases less pressing than sickness or actual want may not be a sound -mercantile principle; but where the freemasonry of mutual tastes, united -purposes, and common hardships binds friend to friend, the spirit of -communism is half the charm of existence. Especially is this true of -Bohemian life. - -In introducing the characters a little time has been taken, partly in -order to give us a chance to move our table into a more sheltered -corner, and to allow us to get well started in another game of dominos. -As I remember that evening, Reiner, who had not entirely recovered from -an attack of one of his peculiar moods, had been discussing miracles and -mysteries with more than his accustomed warmth, and the rest of us had -been cornered and driven off the field in turn; even to Henley, who was -not, with all his study, quite as well up on the subject of the Jewish -priests and the Druids as old Reiner, whom no topic seemed to find -unprepared. When the discussion was at its height I observed in Reiner -certain uneasy movements, and I instinctively looked behind him to see -if any one was watching him, as his actions resembled those of a person -under the mesmerism of an unseen eye. I saw no one, and concluded that -my imagination had deceived me. But Reiner became suddenly grave and -even solemn, and the debate stopped entirely. At last, after a long -silence, Reiner proposed another game of dominos. When the pieces were -distributed he began the moves, saying at the same time, quite in -earnest and as if talking to himself, “This will decide it.” - -His voice was so strange and his look so determined that we felt that -something was at stake, and instinctively and in chorus declared that it -was useless to play the game out, and proposed an adjournment to the -sketching-club. Reiner did not object, and we rose to go. As we left the -table I saw behind Reiner’s chair two small, luminous, green balls, set -in a black mass, turned towards us--evidently the eyes of a dog, -glistening in the reflection of the gas like emerald fires. Possibly the -others did not notice the animal, and I was too much startled at the -discovery of the unseen eye to speak of it at that moment. Before I had -recovered myself completely we were out of the gate, followed by the -dog. Under the street-lamp, he leaped about and seemed quite at home. He -was seen to be a perfectly black Spitz poodle, with cropped ears and -tail, very lively in his movements, and with a remarkably intelligent -expression. He was a dog of a character not commonly met, and once -observed was not easily mistaken for others of the same breed. Our walk -to the club was dreary enough. The gloomy manner of old Reiner was -contagious, and no one spoke a word. I was too busy reflecting on the -strange manner in which our game had been interrupted to occupy myself -with my companion, remembering the now frequent recurrence of Reiner’s -blue days, and dreading his absence from the class and the club, which I -knew from experience was sure to follow such symptoms as I had observed -in the café. To the sketching-club we brought an atmosphere so -forbidding that it seemed as if we were the heralds of some misfortune. -Scarcely a cheerful word was said after our entrance, and frequent -glasses of Louvain or _d’orge_, drunk on the production of new -caricatures, failed to raise the barometer of our spirits. The meeting -broke up early, and we four separated. The dog, which had been lying -under a settee near the door, followed Reiner as he turned down the -boulevard. - -For a week we did not meet again. Reiner kept his room or was out of -town. He made no sign, and without him we frequented neither the café -nor the club. The weather grew cold and rainy; the last evening at the -café proved to have been the final gasp of dying autumn, and winter had -fairly begun. At last Reiner made his appearance at dinner one dark -afternoon, and took his accustomed seat at our table, near the window -which opened out upon the glass-covered court-yard of the small hotel -where we used to dine, a score of us, artists and students all. He -looked very weary and hollow-eyed; said he had been unwell, had taken an -overdose of laudanum for neuralgia, and had been confined to his room -for a few days. Expecting each day to be able to go out the next -morning, he had neglected to send us word, and so the week had passed. -As he was speaking I noticed a dog in the court-yard, the same black -poodle that attached himself to us in the café. Reiner, observing my -surprise, explained that the dog had been living with him at his room in -the Steenhouwersvest, and that they were inseparable companions now. We -could all see that old Reiner was not yet himself again. One of us -ventured to suggest that there might be something Mephistophelian about -the animal, and that Reiner was endeavoring, Faust-like, to get at the -kernel of the beast, so as to fathom whatever mystery of heaven or earth -was as yet to him inexplicable. No further remarks were made, as Reiner -arose to go away, leaving his dinner untouched. He shook hands with us -all almost solemnly, and with the poodle went out into the gloomy -street. - -Another week passed, and we saw neither Reiner nor the poodle. December -began, and the days were short and dark, the sun scarcely appearing -above the cathedral roof in his course from east to west. The absence of -old Reiner was a constant theme of conversation, and there were -multitudes of conjectures as to whether he were in love, in debt, or -really ill. We had no message from him, not a word, not a written line. - -One evening as we sat at dinner--it was Thursday, and a heavy rain was -falling--the black poodle dashed suddenly in, closely followed by -Reiner’s servant-girl, bonnetless and in slippers, and drenched to the -skin. Her message was guessed before she had time to gasp out, “Och, -Mynheeren, uwer vriend Reiner is dood!” Not waiting for explanations, we -followed her as she returned through the slippery streets, scarcely -walking or running. How I got there I never knew; it seemed at the time -as if I were carried along by some superior force. Filled with dread and -fear, mingled with hope that it was an awful mistake and that something -might yet be done, I reached the door of the house. Through the -grocery-shop, where was assembled a crowd of shivering, drenched people -who had gathered there on hearing of the event, conscious that all were -watching our entrance with solemn sympathy, not seeing distinctly any -one or anything, forgetting the narrow, dark, and winding wooden stair, -I was at the door of Reiner’s room in an instant. The tall figure of a -gendarme was silhouetted against the window; a few women stood by the -table whispering together, awe-stricken at the sight of something that -was before them, to the left, and still hidden from me as I took in the -scene on entering the door. - -Another step brought me to the bedside. There in the dim light lay old -Reiner, not as if asleep, for the awful pallor of death was on his face, -but with an expression as calm and peaceful as if he were soon to awake -from pleasant dreams, as if his soul were still dreaming on. He lay on -his right side, with his head resting on his doubled arm. The bedclothes -were scarcely disturbed, and his left arm lay naturally on the sheet -which was turned over the coverlid. Great, dark stains splashed the wall -behind the bed and the pillow; dark streaks ran along over the linen and -made little pools upon the floor. His shirt-bosom was one broad, -irregular blotch of blood, and in his left hand I could see the carved -ivory handle of the little Scandinavian sheath-knife that he always -carried in his belt. Before I had fully comprehended the awful reality -of poor Reiner’s death, the doctor arrived, lights were brought, and the -examination began. Our dead comrade’s head being raised and his -shirt-bosom opened, there were exposed two great gashes across the left -jugular vein and one across the right, and nine deep wounds in the -breast. Few of the cuts would not have proved mortal, and the ferocity -with which the fatal knife had been plunged again and again into his -breast testified to the madness of the determination to destroy his -life. On the dressing-table by the bed we found two small laudanum -vials, both empty, and one over-turned, as if placed hastily beside its -fellow. In all probability poor Reiner took this large dose of laudanum -early in the morning, as it was found that he had been in bed during the -entire day, and was seen by the servant to be sleeping at three o’clock -in the afternoon. His iron constitution and great physical strength -overcoming the effects of the narcotic, he probably awoke to -consciousness late in the afternoon. Finding himself still alive, in the -agonies of despair and disappointment at the unsuccessful attempt to -dream over the chasm into the next world, he seized his knife and madly -stabbed himself, doubtless feeling little pain, and only happily -conscious that his long-planned step was successfully taken at last. The -room was unchanged, nothing was disturbed, and there was no evidence of -the premeditation of the suicide, except an open letter on the table, -addressed to us, his friends. It contained a simple statement of his -reasons for leaving the world, saying that he was discouraged with his -progress in art, that he could not establish himself as an artist -without great expense to his family and friends, and that he believed by -committing suicide he simply annihilated himself--nothing more or -less--and so ceased to trouble himself or those interested in him. He -gave no directions as to the disposal of his effects, but enclosed a -written confession of faith, which read: - - “Frederik Reiner, athée, ne croyant à rien que ce que l’on peut - prouver par la raison et l’expérience. Croyant tout de même à - l’existence d’un esprit, mais d’un esprit qui dissoud et disparaît - avec le corps. - - “L'âme c’est la vie, c’est un complexité des forces qui sont - inséparables des atoms ou des molecules dont se compose le corps. - L’un comme l’autre a existé depuis l’éternité. Moi-même, mon âme - comme mon corps, un complexité accidentel, une réunion passagère. - - “J’insisterai toujours dans les éléments qui me composent mais - dissoudent en d’autres complexités. Ainsi, _moi, ma personnalité_, - n’existera plus après ma mort.” - -Beside this letter on the table lay Henri Murger’s “Scènes de la Vie de -Bohème,” open, face downward. The pages contained the description of the -death of one of the artists, and the following brief and touching -sentence was underlined: _“Il fut enterré quelquepart.”_ A litter was -brought from the hospital, and four men carried away the body; the dog, -which we had come to look upon almost with horror, closely following -the melancholy procession as it gradually disappeared in the drizzling -gloom of the narrow streets. We three went to our rooms in a strange -bewilderment, and huddled together in speechless grief and horror around -the little fireplace. When bedtime came we separated and tried to sleep, -but I doubt if an eye was closed or the awful vision of poor Reiner, as -we last saw him, left either of us for a moment. - -The days that followed were, to me at least, most agonizing. The -terrible death of old Reiner grew less and less repulsive and more -horribly absorbing. I had often read of the influence of such examples -on peculiarly constituted minds, but had never before felt the dread and -ghastly fascination which seemed to grow upon me as the days following -the tragedy drew no veil across the awful spectacle, ever present in my -mind’s eye, but rather added vividness and distinctness to the smallest -details of the scene. My bed, with its white curtains, the conventional -pattern of heavy Flemish furniture found in every room, came to be -almost a tomb, in the morbid state of my imagination. I could never look -at its long, spotless drapery without fancying my own head on the -pillow, my own blood on the wall and staining with splashes of deep red -the curtain and sheets. The number and shape of the spots on old -Reiner’s bed seemed photographed on the retina of my eye, and danced -upon the slender, graceful folds of the curtains as often as I dared -look at them. A little nickel-plated derringer, always lying on my table -as a paper-weight, often found its way into my hands, and I would -surprise myself wondering whether death by such a means were not, after -all, preferable to destruction by the knife. A few cartridges in the -corner of my closet, which I had hidden away to keep them from the -meddling hands of the servant, seemed to draw me towards them with a -constant magnetism. I could not forget that shelf and that particular -spot behind a bundle of paint-rags. If there was need of anything on -that particular shelf for months after Reiner’s death, I always took it -quickly and resolutely, shutting the closet door as if I were shutting -in all the evil spirits that could possess me. The tempter was -exorcised, but with difficulty, and to this day, for all I know, the -cartridges may still lie hidden there. Then, too, a quaint Normandy -hunting-knife was quite as fiendish in its influence as the derringer. -Its ugly, crooked blade, and strong, sharp point were very suggestive, -and for a time I was almost afraid to touch the handle, lest the demon -of suicide should overcome me. Still, in the climax of this fever, which -might well have resulted in the suicide of another of the four, for it -was evident that Henley and Tyck were also under the same influences -that surrounded me day and night, the thought of burdening our friends -with our dead bodies was the strongest inducement that stayed our hands. -It is certain that if we had been situated where the disposal of our -bodies would have been a matter of little or no difficulty--as, for -example, on board ship--one or perhaps all three of us would have -succumbed to the influence of the mania that possessed us. - -It was on the Sunday forenoon--a grim, gray morning threatening a -storm--following the fatal Thursday, that we met in the court-yard of -the city hospital to bury poor Reiner. - -The hideous barrenness of a Flemish burial-ground, even in bright, -cheerful weather, is enough to crush the most buoyant spirits; it is -indescribably oppressive and soul-sickening. The awful desolation of the -place in the dreariness of that day will ever remain a horrid souvenir -in my mind. Nature did not seem to weep, but to frown; and in the heavy -air one felt a deep and solemn reproach. The soaked and dull atmosphere -was stifling in its density, like the overloaded breath from some newly -opened tomb. There was an army of felt but unseen spirits lurking in the -ghostly quiet of the place, which the presence of a hundred mortals did -not disturb. There was no breath of wind, and the settling of the snow -and a faint, faint moan of the distant rushing tide made the silence -more oppressive. The drip of the water from the drenched mosses on the -brick walls; the faintest rustle of the wreaths of immortelles hung on -every hideous black cross; the fall of one withered flower from the -forgotten offerings of some friend of the buried dead--every sound at -other times and in other places quite inaudible, broke upon that -unearthly quiet with startling distinctness. The sound of our footsteps, -as we followed the winding path to the fresh heap of earth in a remote -corner, fell heavily on the thick air, and the high brick walls, mouldy -and rotting in the sunless angles, gave a deep and unwilling echo. It -was like treading the dark and skull-walled passages of the Catacombs -without the grateful veil of a partial darkness. All that was mortal and -subject to decay, all that was to our poor human understanding immortal -and indestructible, seemed buried alike in this rigid, barren enclosure. -Beyond? There was no beyond; the straight, barren walls on all sides, -and the impenetrable murkiness of the gray vault that covered us, barred -out the material and the spiritual world. Here was the end, here all was -certain and defined--a narrow ditch, a few shovelfuls of earth, and -nothing more that needed or invited explanation. There was no future, no -waking from that sleep: all exit from that narrow and pitiless graveyard -seemed forever closed. Such thoughts as these were, until then, -strangers to us. Could it be the unextinguishable influence of that -nerveless body that filled the place with the dread and uncongenial -presence that urged us to accept for the time, then and there, the -theories and convictions of the mind which once animated that cold and -motionless mass? - -The fresh, moist earth was piled on one side of the grave, and the -workmen with their shovels stood near the heap as we filed up, and at a -sign lowered the coffin into the grave. A Norwegian minister approached -to conduct the services. He took his place apart from all, at the head -of the grave, and began with the customary prayer in the Norwegian -language. He was dressed in harmony with the day and scene. A long, -black gown fell to the feet and was joined by a single row of thickly -sewn buttons; a white band hung from his neck low down in front, and -white wristbands half covered his gloved hands; a silk hat completed the -costume. His face was of the peculiar, emotionless Northern type, -perfectly regular in feature, with well-trimmed reddish-brown beard and -hair, and small, unsympathetic gray eyes, and it bore an expression of -congealed conviction in the severity of divine judgment. His prayer was -long and earnest, and the discourse which followed was full of honest -regret for the loss of our friend, but mainly charged with severe -reproach against the wickedness of the suicide, the burden of the sermon -being, “The wages of sin is death.” We stood there, shivering with the -penetrating chill of the damp atmosphere, filled with the horrors of -this acre of the dead, and listened patiently to the long discourse. In -the very middle of the argument there was a sudden rustle near the head -of the grave, a momentary confusion among those standing near the -minister, and, to the great amazement and horror of Tyck, Henley, and -myself, that black poodle, draggled but dignified, walked quietly to the -edge of the pit as if he had been bidden to the funeral, and sat down -there, midway between the minister and the little knot of mourners, -eying first the living and then the dead with calm and portentous -gravity. He seemed to pay the closest attention to the words of the -discourse, and with an expression of intelligent triumph, rather than -grief, cocked his wise little head to one side and eyed the minister as -he dilated on the sin of suicide, and then looked solemnly down into the -grave. His actions were so human and his expression so fiendishly -exultant that to the three of us, who had previously made his -acquaintance, his presence was an additional horror; among the rest it -merely excited comment on the sagacity of the beast. There he sat -through the whole of the services, and nothing could move him from his -post. - -At the close of the sermon, and after a short eulogy in Flemish -delivered by one of us, the minister gave out the Norwegian hymn with -this refrain: - - “Min Gud! gjör dog for Christi Blod - Min sidste Afskedstime god!” - -The first part of the air is weird and Northern, and the last strain is -familiar to us by the name of “Hebron.” The Norwegian words were -significant and well-chosen for this occasion, very like the simple -stanzas of our “Hebron.” The hymn is sad enough at all times; when tuned -to the mournful drag of our untrained voices it seemed like the sighing -of unshrived spirits. - -As the sad measures wailed forth, the day seemed to grow colder and -darker; a dreary wind rustled the dry branches of the stunted trees, and -rattled the yellow wreaths of immortelles and the dry garlands and -bouquets. The dog grew uneasy between the verses, and howled long and -piteously, startling us all in our grief, and causing a dismal echo from -the cold, bare walls that hemmed us in. At last the painfully long hymn -was ended, immortelles were placed upon the coffin-lid, each one threw -in a handful of earth, and we turned our faces towards the gate, away -from death and desolation to dismal and melancholy life and our now -distasteful occupation. With one last look into the enclosure, we passed -out of the gate, closing it behind us. The dog was still at his post. - -A rapid drive brought us in fifteen minutes to the Place de Meir, where -we alighted and found to welcome us the same black poodle that we left -at the grave. The cemetery of Kiel is at least two miles from the Place -de Meir; yet the dog left it after we did, and, panting and covered with -mud, was awaiting us at the latter place. He could have made his escape -from the cemetery only by the aid of some one to open the heavy gate for -him, and, considering this necessary delay, his appearance in the city -before us was, to say the least, startling. He welcomed us cheerfully, -but we gave him no encouragement. The inexplicable ubiquity of the beast -horrified us too much to allow any desire for such a companion. As we -separated and took three different roads, to my great relief he followed -neither of us, but stood undecided which way to turn. - -The circumstances attending the burial of poor Reiner and the events -which followed tended to increase our disposition to imitate the -questionable action of our friend; but the annual _concours_ of the -academy, which demanded the closest attention and the most severe work -for nearly three months, counteracted all such evil tendencies, and by -spring-time we laughed at the morbid fancies of the previous winter. - -The evening after the funeral, on my way to the life class, I met the -poodle again, and, in reply to his recognition, drove him away with my -cane. Both Tyck and Henley related at the class a similar experience -with the dog, which we had now come to look upon as a fiend in disguise. -After this the meetings with the poodle were daily and almost hourly. He -would quietly march into the hotel court-yard as we were at dinner; we -would stumble over him on the stairs; at a café the _garçon_ would hunt -him from the room; at the academy he would startle us, amuse the rest of -the students, and enrage the professor by breaking the guard of the old -surveillant, and rushing into the life class. He seemed to belong to no -one and to have no home, and yet he was an attractive animal with his -long, glossy coat, saucy ears and tail, and bright, intelligent eyes. We -often endeavored to rid ourselves of him. Many times I tried my best to -kill him, arming myself expressly with my heavy stick; but he avoided -all my attacks, and always met me cheerfully at our next interview. At -times he was morose and meditative. It used to be a theory of mine that -at these seasons he was making up his mind which one of us he had better -adopt as his master, declaring--only half in earnest, however--that the -one whom the animal especially favored would be sure to meet poor -Reiner’s fate. The months of January and February passed, and the poodle -still haunted us. In the course of these dark months we repeatedly -attempted to make friends with the dog, finding that we could not make -an enemy of him, and hoped thus to disprove the imagined fatality of the -beast or else to break the spell by our own wills. All efforts at -conciliation failed; he would never enter even to take food the room -where we three were alone, and would show signs of general recognition -only, and those but sparingly, when we were together. He seemed content -with simply watching us, and not desirous of further acquaintance. Yet, -in the face of this mysterious behavior, I doubt very much if any one of -us really believed that anything would come of our forebodings; for we -began to speak of the dog at first quite in jest, and grew more serious -only as we were impressed after the death of Reiner by the consistent -impartiality of his fondness for our society, and by the unequalled -persistency with which he haunted us wherever we went abroad. - -We made inquiries about the dog at the house where old Reiner used to -live, and diligently searched various localities, but we could not find -out where he passed his nights, and we discovered only that he was known -all about the town simply as Reiner’s dog, the story of his presence at -the funeral having been repeated by some of those who noticed his -actions at the grave. March came and went, and the dog had not yet taken -his choice of us, and we began to be confident that he never would. But -in one of the first warm days of spring we noticed his absence, and for -a day or two saw nothing of him. One Sunday, after a fête-day when we -three had not met as usual at the academy, a pure spring day, I received -a short note from Henley, asking me to come to his room on the Place -Verte, as he was unwell. I went immediately to his lodgings, and found -him sitting up, but quite pale and with a changed expression on his -face. I knew he had been suffering from a severe cold for some time, but -we all had colds in the damp, unhealthful old academy. His noticeably -increasing paleness was due, I had supposed, to the anxious labor and -prolonged strain of the _concours_. In one instance when we had been for -thirty-six hours shut up in a room with sealed doors and windows, -threescore of us, together with as many large kerosene lamps and nearly -the same number of foul pipes, with three large, red-hot cylinder -stoves, and no exit allowed on any excuse, we were all more or less -affected by the poisoned air and the long struggle with the required -production. The idea, then, that there was anything serious the matter -with Henley never entered my head as I saw him sitting there in his -room; but his first words brought me to a realization of the case, and -all the horror of that long winter and its one mournful event came back -to me in a flash. His remark was significant. He simply said, “That dog -is here.” - -To be sure, the poodle was quietly sleeping near Henley’s easel, in the -sun. After a few general remarks, my friend said to me, quite abruptly, -as if he had made up his mind to come to the point at once: - -“I thought I would send for you, old boy, to give you a souvenir or two. -I am more seriously ill than you imagine. My brother will be here -to-morrow; I shall return with him to England, and you and I shall -probably meet no more.” - -There was resignation in every word he uttered, and he was evidently -convinced of the hopelessness of attempting to struggle with the -disease, his languid efforts to throw it off not having in the least -retarded its advance. I tried to prove to him the folly of the -superstition about the dog, but it was useless. He quietly said that the -doctor had assured him of the necessity of an immediate return to a -warmer climate and to the care of his friends. Tyck, who had been sent -for at the same time, came in shortly after, and was completely shaken -by the strange fulfilment of our mysterious forebodings. We passed a sad -hour in that little room, and took our leave only when we saw that -Henley was fatigued with too much talking, for he began to cough -frightfully, and could hardly speak above a whisper. He gave to each of -us, with touching tenderness, a palette-knife--the best souvenirs we -could have, he said, because they would be in our hands constantly--and -we took our leave, promising to meet him on the boat the following day. -We learned from the servant that the poodle had inhabited the cellar for -several days, and that they had not been able to drive him away. - -Tyck seemed perfectly dazed by the severity of Henley’s malady and the -suddenness of his departure. Both of us avoided speaking of the dog, -each fearing that his own experience with the unlucky acquaintance might -follow that of our two companions. Tyck, I knew, was more subject to -colds than the rest of us, for he had never been completely acclimated -in Flanders, and he doubtless feared that one of the frequent slight -attacks that troubled him might prove at last as serious as the illness -that now threatened poor Henley. With Henley’s departure Antwerp would -lose half its attraction for us, for since the death of old Reiner we -three had been even more closely attached than before. Henley had lost -some of his insular coldness and formality of manner, was daily assuming -more and more the appearance and acquiring the free and easy habits of -an art-student, and his unchanging good-nature, his stability of -character, and his entertaining conversation made him the leader of our -trio. During the exhausting months of the _concours_, and in face of -the discouraging results of weeks of most energetic and nervous toil, he -never lost his patience, but encouraged us by his superior strength of -purpose and scorn of minor disappointments. - -The next day we three met on board the Baron Osy just before the cables -were cast off the quay. Henley was one of the last passengers to get -aboard, and fortunately our parting was by necessity short. He was very -weak, and evidently failed from hour to hour, for he could walk only -with the support of his brother’s arm. He said good-by hopelessly but -calmly, and we parted with scarcely another word. We felt that regrets -were useless and words of encouragement vain, and that the only thing -that remained to do was to accept his fate calmly, and as calmly await -our own. There was not a shadow of hope that we would ever meet again, -and I can never forget the far-off look in Henley’s face as he turned -his eyes for an instant towards the swift, yellow current of the -Scheldt, with the rich-hued sails, the fleecy spring clouds, and the -gorgeously colored roofs of Saint Anneke reflected in its eddying -surface. The cables were cast off and we hurried ashore. In the bustle -and confusion a black poodle was driven off the plank by one of the -stewards, but the crowd was so great and the noise and the tumult of the -wharf-men so distracting, that it was impossible to see whether the dog -remained on the boat or was put ashore. However, we saw him no more, and -did not doubt that he went with Henley to London. In less than two weeks -a letter from Henley’s brother announced the death of our friend from -quick consumption. Nothing was said of the dog. - -From that time Tyck was preoccupied; he was much alone, ceased to -frequent the academy, and neither worked nor diverted himself: it was -plain that he needed change. Antwerp, at the best a cheerless town, gay -on the surface, perhaps, because its people are as thoughtless and -improvident as children, but full of misery and well-concealed -wretchedness, grew hateful to us both. - -Suddenly Tyck announced his purpose of going to Italy, and I resolved to -break my camp as well, make an artistic tour of the East, and meet my -friend in Rome in the autumn. We divided our canvases and easels among -the rest of the fellows, rolled up our studies, and with the color-box, -knapsack, and travelling-rug were prepared in a day to leave the scene -of our sad experiences. It was with feelings of great relief and -satisfaction that we saw the red roofs of Antwerp disappear behind the -fortifications as the train carried us southward. - - -II. - -Eight months after Tyck and I parted at Brussels, I arrived in Rome. -Sharing, as I did, the general ignorance in regard to the severity of -the Italian winters, I was surprised to find the weather bitterly cold. -It was the day before Christmas, and a breeze that would chill the bones -swept the deserted streets. After three months’ idling in the East, -paddling in the Golden Horn, dreamily watching from the hills of Smyrna -the far-off islands of the Grecian Archipelago, and sleeping in the sun -on the rocks at Piræus, Italy seemed as cold and barren as the shores of -Scandinavia. It is a popular mistake to winter in Italy. The West of -England, the South of France, and many sections of our own country are -far preferable. It is not to be denied that Italy can be thoroughly -enjoyed only in the warm months. Even in the hottest season, Americans -find Naples, Rome, and Florence less uncomfortable than Boston, New -York, and Philadelphia. Immediately on my arrival Tyck came to meet me -at the hotel, and we spent a happy Christmas Eve, discussing the -thousand topics that arise when two intimate friends meet after a -separation like our own. Tyck was in better health and spirits than I -had ever known him to be in before, and to all appearances Italian air -agreed with him. In the course of the evening he gave me an invitation -to make one of a breakfast-party that was to celebrate Christmas in his -studio the next day, and the invitation was accompanied with the request -to bring eatables and liquids enough to satisfy my own appetite on that -occasion--a Bohemian fashion of giving dinner-parties to which we were -no strangers. Accordingly, the next morning at eleven o’clock we were to -meet again in Tyck’s quarters. - -The studio was in the fifth story of a large block not far from the -Porta del Popolo, and looked out upon a large portion of the city, the -view embracing the Pincio and St. Peter’s, Monte Mario, and the -Quirinal. The entrance on the street was dismal and prison-like. A long, -dark corridor led back to a small court at the bottom of a great pit -formed by the walls of the crowded houses, and the stones of the -pavement were flooded with the drippings from the buckets of all the -neighborhood, as they slid up and down the wire guys leading into the -antique well in one corner, and rattled and splashed until they were -drawn up by an unseen hand far above in the maze of windows and -balconies--an ingenious and simple way of drawing water, quite common in -Rome. From this sunless court-yard a broad, musty staircase twisted and -turned capriciously up past narrow, gloomy passages to the upper floors -of the house. At the fourth story began a narrow wooden staircase, -always perfumed with the odors of the adjacent kitchens; and it grew -narrower and steeper and more crooked until it met a little dark door at -the very top, bearing the name of Tyck. The suite of rooms which Tyck -occupied made up one of those mushroom-like wooden stories that are -lightly stuck on the top of substantial stone or brick buildings. They -add to the beauty of the silhouette, but detract from the dignity of the -architectural effect, and look like the cabin of a wrecked ship flung -upon the rocks. From the outside, quaint little windows, pretty hanging -gardens, or an airy _loggia_ make the place look cheerful and cosy. -Within, one feels quite away from the world; far up beyond neighbors and -enclosing walls, tossed on a sea of roofs, and with a broad sweep of the -horizon on every side. Such a perch is as attractive as it is difficult -to reach, and offers to the artist the advantages of light, quiet, and -perfect freedom. Tyck’s rooms were three in number. A narrow corridor -led past the door of the store-room to the studio--a large, square room -with a great window on the north side and smaller ones with shutters on -the east and west. From the studio a door opened into the chamber, in -turn connected with the store-room. Thus there was a public and a -private entrance to the studio. - -The Christmas breakfast had more than ordinary significance: it was to -be the occasion of the presentation of Tyck’s household to his artist -friends. This, perhaps, needs explanation. At the time of our departure -from Antwerp, Tyck was engaged to be married to a young lady, the -daughter of a Flemish merchant, and there was every prospect of a -wedding within a year. After he had been absent two or three months her -letters ceased to come, and Tyck learned from a friend that the thrifty -father of the girl had found a match more desirable from a mercenary -point of view, and had obliged his daughter to break engagement number -one in order to enter into a new relation. Tyck, after some months of -despondency, at last made an alliance with a Jewish girl of the working -class, and it was at the Christmas breakfast that Lisa was to be -presented for the first time to the rest of the circle. When I entered -the studio there were already a good many fellows present. The apartment -was a picture in itself; and a long dining-table placed diagonally -across the room, bearing piles of crockery and a great _pièce montée_ of -evergreen and oranges, and surrounded by a unique and motley assemblage -of chairs, did not detract from the picturesqueness of the interior. - -As studios go, this would not, perhaps, have been considered luxurious -or of extraordinary interest, but it had a character of its own. Two -sides of the room were hung with odd bits of old tapestry and stray -squares of stamped leather, matched together to make an irregular -patchwork harmonious in tone and beautifully rich in color. In the -corner were bows and arrows, spears, and other weapons, brought from -Java, a branch or two of palm, and great reeds from the Campagna with -twisted and shrivelled leaves, yellow and covered with dust. Studies of -heads and small sketches were tucked away between the bits of tapestry -and leather, and thus every inch of these walls was covered. On another -wall was a book-shelf with a confused pile of pamphlets and -paper-covered books, and under this hung a number of silk and satin -dresses, various bits of rich drapery, a coat or two, and a Turkish fez. -The remaining wall, and the two narrow panels on either side of the -great window, were completely covered with studies of torsos, drawings -from the nude, academy heads, sketches of animals and landscapes, -together with a shelf of trinkets, a skeleton, and a plaster death-mask -of a friend hung with a withered laurel-wreath. Quaint old chairs, bits -of gilded stage furniture, racks of portfolios, a small table or two -covered with the odds and ends of draperies, papers, sketches, the -accumulation of months, filled the corners and spread confusion into the -middle of the room. Three or four easels huddled together under the -light, holding stray panels and canvases and half-finished pictures, a -lay-figure--that stiff and angular caricature of the human form--and a -chair or two loaded with brushes, color-box, and palettes, witnessed -that tools were laid aside to give room for the table that filled every -inch of vacant space. In one corner was an air-tight stove, and this was -piled up with dishes and surrounded by great tin boxes, whence an -appetizing steam issued forth, giving a hint of the good things awaiting -us. The bottles were beginning to form a noble array on the table, and -as often as a new guest appeared, a servant with a _porte-manger_ and a -couple of bottles would contribute to the army of black necks and add to -the breastwork of loaded dishes that flanked the stove. Tyck was in his -element, welcoming heartily and with boyish enthusiasm every arrival, -and leading the shout of joy at the sight of a fat bundle or a heavy -weight of full bottles. By eleven o’clock every one was on hand, and -there was an embarrassment of riches in the eating and drinking line. -Before sitting down at the table--there were eighteen of us--we made a -rule that each one should in turn act as waiter and serve with his own -hand the dishes he had brought, the intention being to divide the -accumulated stock of dishes into a great many different courses. French -was chosen as the language of the day. - -While we were discussing the question of language, Lisa came in and was -presented to us all in turn, impressing us very favorably. She was -slight, but not thin, with dark hair, large brown eyes, and a -transparent pink-and-white complexion--a fine type of a Jewess. She took -the place of honor at Tyck’s right hand, and we sat down in a very jolly -mood. - -The _menu_ of that breakfast would craze a French cook, and the -arrangement of the courses was a work of great difficulty, involving -much general discussion. The _trattorie_ of Rome had been ransacked for -curious and characteristic national dishes; every combination of goodies -that ingenious minds could suggest was brought, and plain substantials -by no means failed. In the _hors d'œuvre_, we had excellent fresh -caviare, the contribution of a Russian; Bologna sausage and nibbles of -radish; and, to finish, _pâté de foie gras_. Soup _à la jardinière_ was -announced, and was almost a failure at the start-off, because one very -important aid to the enjoyment of soup, the spoons, had been forgotten -by the contributor. A long discussion as to the practicability of -leaving the soup to the end of the meal, meanwhile ordering spoons to be -brought, terminated in the employment of extra glasses in place of -spoons and soup-plates. Then all varieties of fish followed in a rapid -succession of small courses. Tiny minnows fried in delicious olive-oil; -crabs and crawfish cooked in various ways; Italian oysters, small, thin, -and coppery in flavor; canned salmon from the Columbia River; _baccalà_ -and herrings from the North Sea; broad, gristly flaps from the body of -the devil-fish, the warty feelers purple and suggestive of the stain of -sepia and of Victor Hugo--all these, and an abundance of each, were -passed around. An immense joint of roast beef, with potatoes, -contributed by an Englishman; a leg of mutton, by a Scotchman; a roast -pig, from a Hungarian; the potted meat of Australia, and the tasteless -_manzo_ of Italy, formed the solid course. Next we devoured a whole -flock of juicy larks with crisp skins, pigeons in pairs, ducks from the -delta of the Tiber, a turkey brought by an American, pheasants from a -Milanese, squash stuffed with meat and spices, and a globe of _polenta_ -from a Venetian. At this point in the feast there were cries of quarter, -but none was given. An English plum-pudding of the unhealthiest species, -with flaming sauce; a pie or two strangely warped and burned in places, -from the ignorance of the Italian cook or the bad oven; pots of jelly -and marmalade, fruit mustard, stewed pears, and roasted chestnuts, -_ekmekataïf_ and _havláh_ from a Greek, a profusion of fruits of all -kinds, were offered, and at last coffee was served to put in a -paragraph. The delicate wines of Frascati and Marino, the light and dark -Falernian, a bottle of Tokay, one of Vöslau, thick red wine of Corfu, -and flasks of the ordinary Roman mixture--a little more than water, a -little less than wine--Capri _rosso_ and _bianco_, Bordeaux and -Burgundy, good English ale and porter, Vienna beer, American whiskey, -and Dutch gin, Alkermes, Chartreuse, and Greek mastic, made, all told, a -wine-list for a king, and presented a rank of arguments to convert a -prohibitionist. This was no orgy that I am describing, simply a jolly -breakfast for eighteen Bohemians of all nationalities--a complex, -irregular affair, but for that reason all the more delightful. - -When we were well along in the bill of fare, a little incident occurred -which put me out of the mood for further enjoyment of the breakfast, and -for the rest of the day my position was that of silent spectator, -watching the amusements with an expression not calculated to encourage -sport. To begin with, I was unusually sensitive to nervous shocks, from -the fact that my first impression of Rome had been intensely -disagreeable. I found myself in a strangely exciting atmosphere, and -subject to unpleasant influences. The first night passed in Rome was -crowded with visions, and I cannot recall a period of twenty-four hours -during my residence in that city that has not its unpleasant souvenir -of strange hallucinations, wonderful dreams, or some shock to my nerves. -The meeting with Tyck was doubtless the occasion of my visions and -restlessness on the night before the Bohemian breakfast. The events of -the previous winter in Antwerp came freshly to my mind; I lived over -again that dark season of horrors, and the atmosphere of Rome nourished -the growth of similar strange fancies. There was, however, in my train -of thoughts on Christmas Eve no foreboding that I can recall, no -prophetic fear of a continuance of the strange relations with that black -poodle which had already taken away the best half of our circle. It -needed little, nevertheless, to put me in a state of mind very similar -to that which tortured me for months in Antwerp. - -But to return to the breakfast. While we were at the table a hired -singer and guitar-player, a young girl of sixteen or seventeen years, -sang Italian popular songs and performed instrumental pieces. She had -nearly exhausted her list when she began to sing the weird, mournful -song of Naples, “Palomella,” at that time quite the rage, but since worn -threadbare, and its naïve angles and depressions polished down to the -meaningless monotony of a popular ditty. We heard a dog howl in the -sleeping-room as the singer finished the ballad, and Lisa rose to open -the door. My seat on Tyck’s left brought me quite near the door, and I -turned on my chair to watch the entrance of the animal. A black poodle, -as near as I could judge the exact counterpart of the Flemish dog, -quietly walked into the room, evidently perfectly at home. My first calm -reflection was that it was an hallucination, a mental reproduction of -one of the grim pictures of the past winter; I could not believe my own -vision, and it was some time before I came to realize the fact that my -senses were not deceived. I was about to ask Tyck if he had noticed in -the dog any curious resemblance to our self-appointed companion in -Antwerp, when he turned, and, as I thought then, with a lingering touch -of the old superstitious fear in his voice, said: “You’ve noticed the -dog; he belongs to Lisa. When he first came here, a month ago, I was -horrified to find in him the image of our Flemish friend. Lisa laughed -me out of my fears, saying that the animal had been in the family for -six months or more, and at last I began to look upon him as a harmless -pup, and to wonder only at the strange coincidence.” But I could not -turn the affair into a joke or forget for a moment past events, now -recalled so vividly to my mind. This was the third time that a black -poodle had taken a liking to one of us, and two out of the three -attachments had already proved fatal to the human partner. It was not by -any means clear that the same dog played these different renderings of -one part, but to all appearance it was the identical poodle. If in two -cases this friendship of the dog for his self-chosen master had proved -fatal, it was but a natural inference that the third attachment would -terminate in a similar manner. But Tyck was in better health than ever -before, notwithstanding the companionship of the dog. Was not this a -proof of the folly of my superstition? I asked myself. Reasons were not -wanting to disprove the soundness of my logic. It was undoubtedly true -that stranger and more wonderful coincidences had happened, and nothing -had come of them, and it was undeniable that the imagination might -distort facts to such a degree that coincidences would be suspected -where none existed. If it were only a coincidence, fears were childish. -And the dog manifested no particular friendship for Tyck; he belonged to -Lisa, and seemed to take no special notice of any one else. - -The _déjeuner_ went on without further interruption, and the guitar girl -drummed away until the table was cleared. We were not at a loss for -entertainments after the feast was ended. Tyck’s costumes were drawn -upon, and a Flemish musician sang a costume duet with a Walloon -sculptor, one being laced up in a blue satin ball-dress, and the other -staggering under the weight of a janissary’s uniform. Later on there -was a dancing _concours_, in which the Indian war-dance, the English -jig, the negro walk-around, the tarantella, the Flemish _reuske_, and -the Hungarian _csárdás_ each had its nimble-footed performers. The scene -was worth putting upon canvas. The confusion of quaint and rare -trinkets, the abundance of color-bits, and the picturesque groups of -figures in all the costumes that could be improvised for the dance or -the song--a museum of _bric-à-brac_ and a carnival of characters--all -this made a _tableau vivant_ of great richness and interest. - -About the middle of the afternoon the entertainment began to flag a -little, and the moment there was a lull in the sport some one proposed a -trip to Ponte Molle. The vote was immediately taken and carried, and we -marched out to the Piazza del Popolo and engaged an omnibus for the rest -of the day. - -The straggling suburb outside the Porta del Popolo was lively with -pleasure-seeking Romans. The wine-shops were full of sad-eyed peasants -and weary, careworn laborers; all the mournful character of a Roman -merry-making was unusually prominent on this cheerless holiday, and the -cloaked natives chatted as solemnly as if they were mourners at a -funeral. Roman festivities are, in general, not calculated to divert the -participants to a dangerous extent. Wine-drinking is the chief -amusement; and even under the enlivening influences of his potations the -Roman rarely loses his habitual seriousness of manner, but bears himself -to the end of the orgy as if he expected every moment to be called upon -to answer for the sins of his ancestors. As we drove along the straight, -broad road that raw afternoon, we met numberless carts and omnibuses -filled with laborers returning from the wine-shops in the Campagna; the -sidewalks were crowded with people on their way to and from the -_trattorie_ near the Tiber; and scarcely a song was heard, rarely a -laugh sounded above the rattle of the wheels. The natives were making a -business of amusement, and formed a staid and sober procession, on an -occasion when in Germany or Belgium the frolics and noisy merriment of -the people would have known no bounds short of the limit of physical -endurance. We were probably regarded as escaped maniacs because we -persisted in breaking the voiceless confusion by our hearty Flemish -songs. We left the omnibus in the yard of a _trattoria_ at some distance -out in the Campagna, and strolled over the hills for an hour, watching -the dark, cold mountains and the broad, sad-tinted waste spread out -before us. The solemn beauty of the Campagna is always impressive; under -a gray sky it assumes a sombre and mournful aspect. To the north of the -city, the low, flat-topped hills combine in a peculiar way to form -silhouettes of great nobleness of character and simplicity of line. They -are the changeless forms that endure like the granite cliffs, monumental -in their grandeur. When moving shadows of the clouds form purple patches -across these hills, and the dull gray of the turf comes into occasional -relief in a spot of strong sunlight, the scene is one of unique and -matchless beauty--a heroic landscape, with wonderful vigor and dignity -of line and extraordinary delicacy of tone. That afternoon the dog, -which had accompanied Tyck on the excursion, furnished us our chief -amusement. We tossed sticks down the steep gravel banks, to watch his -lithe black form struggle through the brambles, seize the bit, and -return it to us. He, poor animal, had probably been shut up within the -walls of Rome longer than the rest of the party, and entered into the -outdoor frolics with even more zest than his human companions. Below the -_trattoria_ there was a narrow brook bridged by a rail, and we tried to -get the poodle to walk this narrow path, but with no success. Tyck at -last made the attempt, to encourage the dog, but on his way back he -slipped and wet his feet and ankles thoroughly. Most of us thought this -accident of not the least importance, but one or two of the old -residents advised a return to the wine-shop, hinting of a possible -serious illness in consequence of the wetting. At the _trattoria_ Tyck -dried himself at the large open fire in the kitchen, and we thought no -more of it. The old Porta del Popolo answered our chorus with a -welcoming echo as we drove in, shortly after dark, and mingled with the -shivering crowd hurrying to their homes. Our Christmas had at least been -a merry one to the most of us, but I could not forget the incident of -the dog; and as I walked through the streets to my cheerless room a -strange dread gradually took entire possession of me in spite of my -reason. - -For a day or two, that least amusing of all occupations, studio-hunting, -kept me busy from morning till night, and I saw none of the -breakfast-party. It was beginning to surprise me that Tyck did not make -his appearance, when I had a call from Lisa, bearing a message from him, -saying he was slightly unwell and wanted me to come and see him. I lost -no time in complying with his request. On my way to his room the same -old dread, stifled for a while in the busy search for rooms, came back -with all its force, and I already began to suffer the first agonies of -grief at the loss of my friend. For, although the message was hopeful -enough, it came at a time when it seemed the first sign of the -fulfilment of my forebodings, and from that moment I looked upon Tyck as -lost to us. Not pretending to myself that it was an excusable weakness -on my part to become the victim of what would generally be declared a -morbid state of the imagination; reasoning all the while that the -weather, the peculiar, tomb-like atmosphere of Rome, our previous -experience in Antwerp, and our long absence from the distractions and -worldliness of a civilized society would have caused this state of mind -in healthier organizations than my own; I still could not help thinking -of my friend as already in the clutch of death, and soon to be numbered -as the third lost from our little circle, while the fourth was still to -wait. - -Tyck was in bed when I entered his chamber. There was a fresh glow deep -in his brown cheek, and his eyes seemed to me brighter than usual; still -there was no visible sign of a dangerous illness, and my reason laughed -at my fears. He complained of dizziness, headache, pains in the back, -and coughed at intervals. His manner showed that his mind was troubled, -and from Lisa I learned that he had not yet received the expected -remittance for the sale of his last pictures sent to London. The winter -was severe and fuel expensive; models were awaiting payment, and the -rent-day was drawing near. I gave Lisa all the money I had with me, and -charged her to keep me posted as to the wants of the household, if by -any bad fortune Tyck should be obliged to keep his room for any length -of time. She afterwards told me that later in the day several friends -called, suspected the state of affairs, and each contributed according -to his purse--always without the knowledge of the sufferer. - -Every day after that, I passed a portion of the daylight in Tyck’s room. -His cough gradually grew more violent, and in a day or two he became -seriously ill with high fever. The doctor, a spare, wise-looking German, -of considerable reputation as a successful practitioner in fever cases, -was called that day and afterwards made more frequent visits than the -length of our purses would warrant. On the third or fourth day he -decided that the disease was typhoid fever, and commenced a severe and -to us inexperienced nurses a harsh treatment, dosing continually with -quinine and blistering the extremities. Before the end of a week Tyck -fell into long spells of delirium, and recognized his friends only at -intervals. His tongue was black, and protruded from his mouth, and -between his fits of coughing he could at last only whisper a few words -in Italian. We had been in the habit of conversing at discretion in -English, French, Flemish, or German; talking always on art questions in -French, telling stories in the picturesque Flemish patois, and reserving -the German and English languages for more solemn conversation. Tyck -would frequently attempt to use one of these languages when he wished to -speak with me during his illness, aware of my slight acquaintance with -Italian, and it was most painful to witness his struggles with an -English or French sentence. The words seemed too rasping for his tender -throat and blistered tongue; the easy enunciation of the Italian vowels -gave him no pain, and in a sigh he could whisper a whole sentence. - -When at last Lisa was quite worn out with nursing, and there was need of -more skilful and experienced hands to administer the medicines and -perform the thousand duties of a sick-room, the doctor advised us to -make application at a convent for a sister to come and watch at night. -We did so, and on the evening of the same day a cheerful, home-like -little body, in the stiffest of winged bonnets, climbed the long stairs -and took immediate possession of the sick-room, putting things into -faultless order in a very few moments. Her first step was to banish the -dog to a neighboring studio, and I awaited her entrance into the -painting-room with some anxiety. The long table had been removed, but -otherwise the studio remained just the same as it was on the day of the -feast. A regiment of bottles was drawn up near the window; various -tell-tale dishes, broken glasses, and other _débris_ cluttered the -corner near where the stove stood, and I was sure that a lecture on the -sin of the debauchery which had brought my friend to a sick-bed awaited -me the moment the sister saw these proofs of our worldliness. She -trotted out into the studio at last, in the course of her busy -preparation for the night; and then, instead of bursting forth with a -reproof, she covered her face with her hands, turned about, and walked -out of the house. I, of course, followed her and begged for an -explanation. She hesitated long, but finally with some difficulty said -she could not stay in a room where such pictures decorated the walls, -and before she would consent to return she must be assured of their -removal or concealment. I hastened up, covered all the academy studies -with bits of newspaper; and the sister returned and went on with her -duties as if nothing had happened. So the expected lecture was never -delivered. In the sight of the greater enormity of academy studies, she -clearly thought it useless to lecture on the appetite. - -Few days elapsed after the sister took charge of the sick-room before we -were all rejoiced at an improvement in Tyck. He grew better rapidly, and -in two weeks was able to sit up in bed and talk to us. Though we were -full of joy at his apparent speedy recovery, there was always a -bitterness in the thought that the fatal relapse might be expected at -every moment, and this shadow hung over us even in the most hopeful -hours. The sister gave up her charge, and as Tyck grew better day by -day, Lisa came to act as sole nurse and companion, although we made -daily visits to the sick-room. The month of January passed, and Carnival -approached. Tyck was able to have his clothes put on, and to move around -the room a little. The doctor made infrequent and irregular visits, and -but for the fear of a relapse would have ceased to come altogether. - -The morning of the first day of Carnival week, I was awakened while it -was still dark by the ringing of my door-bell, and lay in bed for a -while undecided whether it was not a dream that had roused me. My studio -and apartment were of a very bogyish character, located at the top of a -house on the Tiber, completely shut away from the world, and full of -dream-compelling influences that lurked in the dingy and long-disused -bedroom with its worn and faded furniture, and filled the spacious -studio and the musty little _salon_ with an oppressive presence, which -did not vanish in the brightest days nor in the midst of the liveliest -assembly that ever gathered there. So it never astonished me to be -awakened by some unaccountable noise, or by the mental conviction that -there was some disturbance in the crowded atmosphere. When I was aroused -that dark, drizzly morning, I awaited the second pull of the bell before -I summoned courage enough to pass through the shadowy _salon_ and the -lofty studio, with its ghostly lay-figure and plaster casts, like pale -phantoms in the dim light of a wax taper, and open the great door that -led into the narrow corridor. A slender form wrapped in a shawl entered -the studio, and Lisa stood there, pale with fright, her great brown eyes -drowned in tears, shrinking from the invisible terrors that seemed to -pursue her. She whispered that Tyck was worse, and asked me to go for -the doctor. I led her back to Tyck’s room, and in an hour the doctor was -there. - -The details of that last illness are painful in the extreme. The sister -was not in attendance, it having been decided by the superior that -artists’ studios were places whither the duties of the sisterhood did -not call its members, and so Lisa’s mother came and did her best to -fill, in a rough sort of way, the delicate office of nurse. On the last -day of Carnival, little suspecting that the end of my friend was near, I -was occupied in my own studio, until nearly dark, and just as the sport -was at its height I struggled through the crowd and reached Tyck’s -studio, white with _confetti_ and flour, and in a state of mind hardly -fitted for the sick-room. In the studio two doctors sat in consultation, -and their serious faces, with the frightened look in Lisa’s eyes, told -me the sad story at once. They had decided that Tyck must die, and made -a last examination just after I entered. They raised him in bed, thumped -his poor back, pulled out his swollen tongue, and felt of his tender -scalp, burned with fever and frozen with a sack of ice. The group at the -bedside, so picturesquely impressive, will always remain in my memory -like the souvenir of some gloomy old picture. Lisa’s mother was seated -on the back of the bed, raising Tyck like a sick child, his limp arms -dangling over her shoulders and his head drooping against her cheek. To -the right the slight and graceful form of Lisa, holding the earthen -lamp; one doctor bending over to listen at the bared back, the focus of -the dim light; the other doctor solemn and motionless, a dark silhouette -against the bed and the wall beyond. The examination only proved the -truth of the decision just reached, and it was then announced for the -first time that the real malady was lung-fever, with the not -infrequently accompanying first symptoms of typhoid. A few moments -later one or two young artists dropped in, learned the sad news, and -went away to warn the rest of the friends. At eight o’clock we were all -in the studio, and after a hushed and hasty discussion as to whether or -not a priest should be called in this last hour, the Catholic friends -were overruled, and it was decided to consult no spiritual adviser. -Tyck, meanwhile, was scarcely able to talk. One by one the fellows came -to his bedside, were recognized, and went away. I alone stayed in the -studio, waiting, waiting. The doctor was to come at half-past nine, and -the fellows had promised to return again at ten. - -For a long hour we sat in silence, Lisa and I, and watched the approach -of death. The mother, completely exhausted, lay on the bare floor near -the stove, as motionless as a corpse; the dim light reflected from the -sick-room transformed the draperies into mysterious shapes, and made the -lay-figure look vaporous and spectral. Frequent fits of violent, -suffocating cough would call us to the bedside, and after a severe -struggle Tyck would for a moment throw off the clutch of the malady and -breathe again. He was in agony to speak with me, but was unable to. I -guessed part of his wishes, repeated them in Flemish, and he made a -signal of assent when I was right. In this way he communicated certain -directions about his affairs, and I promised to see Lisa provided for -and all his business properly settled. But there was something more he -was anxious to tell, and he continued to the last his vain struggle to -express it. - -The stillness of the studio in the intervals between the spasms of -suffocation was painfully broken, as the long hour passed, by his heavy -breathing and by the stifled sobs of the poor girl, who, at last, cried -herself to sleep, exhausted by her watching. From outside, a dog’s -mournful howl, breaking into a short, spasmodic bark, came up at -intervals, and I could see that this sound disturbed the sufferer, -probably recalling to his waning faculties the history of the dog that -had so haunted us. From the street the chorus of the maskers came -floating to us, sounding hollow and far away, like the chant of a -distant choir in some great cathedral. Occasionally a carriage rumbled -over the rough pavement, the deep sound echoing through the deserted -court-yard and up the long, dreary stairways. It was within a few -moments of the doctor’s expected visit that a spasm more violent than -any previous one called me to the bedside. We had long since stopped the -medicine, and nothing remained to do but to ease the sufferer over the -chasm as gently as possible. He did not seem at all anxious to live, and -in the agonies of the suffocation there was no fear in those dark eyes -that rolled in their hollow sockets. I raised him in bed, and at last, -after the most prolonged fight, he caught his breath, opened his eyes, -turned towards me, and said plainly in English, “All right, old boy.” -Then he relapsed into a comatose state and never spoke again. The doctor -found him rapidly sinking, and another spasm came on while he was -feeling the pulse. The patient recovered from it only to pass into -another and more protracted one, at the end of which he sighed twice and -was dead. For a second or two after the last deep breath his face had -all the fever-flush and the look of life, but almost instantly he fell -over towards me, changed beyond recognition. The wave of death had -passed over us, carrying with it the last trace of life that lingered in -the face of my friend, and a ghastly pallor crept over his cheeks, -transforming him that I loved into an unrecognizable, inert thing. I -turned away and never saw that face again, although they told me it was -nobly beautiful in its Egyptian, changeless expression. That pause of an -instant, while death was asserting its power, impressed me -strangely--and this was no new experience for me. In that pause, when -time seemed to stand still, something urged me to raise my eyes in -confident expectation of seeing the spirit as it left the body. Even my -heated imagination, to which I was ready to charge much that was -inexplicable in my experience, did not produce an image, but instead, -where the wall should have been I seemed to look into space, into a -wide, wide distance. An awful vacancy, an infinity of emptiness, yawned -before me, and I looked down to meet the fixed expression of that -changed face. For that moment there was no lingering presence of my -friend that I could feel; in that short struggle he had separated -himself entirely from us and from the place he used to fill with his -charming presence. In the chamber of death there was no adumbration of -the life that once flourished there, of the soul that had just fled. And -so I thought only of burying the body and providing for poor Lisa. - -The rest of the fellow-painters came a few moments after it was all -over, and received the news with surprise. Lisa still slept, and we did -not wake her. I remained in the studio all night, and in the morning the -formalities of the police notification were gone through with, and the -preparations made for the funeral. In the studio, unchanged in every -respect from the day when Tyck put his brushes in his palette and laid -it upon a chair, we held a meeting to decide upon the funeral -ceremonies. Lisa was completely broken down by grief and exhaustion, -and, with her mother and the dog, who joyfully occupied his old place by -the stove and disputed the entrance of every one, lived in the studio -and the store-room. - -On Sunday morning we buried our friend in the Protestant cemetery. -Arriving at the little house in the enclosure, we found the coffin -there, with the undertaker, Lisa, her mother, and the dog. An hour later -an English minister came and conducted the ceremonies in a cold, hurried -manner; but perhaps the services were quite as satisfactory, after all, -because his language was unintelligible to the majority of those -present. We stood shivering in a circle around the coffin until the -services were over, and then bore the burden to the grave, dug deep near -the wall in a picturesque nook under a ruined tower--a fit monument to -our friend. Lisa and her mother stood a little apart, holding the dog, -while we put the body in the grave, and a cold sun shone down upon us, -quite as cheerless and as unsympathetic as the dull, lowering clouds of -that day in Flanders a year before. After the customary handful of earth -had been thrown, we turned away and separated, for the living had no -sympathy with each other after the cold formality of the funeral. As I -strolled across the field in the direction of Monte Testaccio, I looked -back once only. There, on the mound of fresh earth, stood the dog, and -Lisa was bending over to arrange a wreath of immortelles. - -After the sale of Tyck’s effects, which brought a comfortable little sum -to Lisa, I left Rome, now unbearable, and sought the distractions of -busy Naples. Later, with warm weather, I settled in a solitary nest in -Venice, where the waves of the lagoon lapped my door-step. The -distressed cries of a dog called me to the water door, one rainy -morning, while I was writing a part of this very narrative, and I pulled -out of the water a half-drowned, shaggy black dog. With some anxiety I -assisted the poor animal to dry his fur, and found, instead of my old -enemy, a harmless shaggy terrier, who rests his dainty nose on the paper -as I write. - -And so the fourth still waits. - - - - -THE BUSH - - -The six short stories in this volume have all been written at sea in -those brief intervals of enforced rest from an exacting profession which -a transatlantic voyage compels; and I have offered them to the public -with the full knowledge of the necessity of some explanation to palliate -my offence of meddling with literature, and in the belief that I must -hang out some sort of a bush to call attention to whatever merits they -may have. This bush will be a confession, made, like the confidential -communications in all prefaces, into the ear of the reader alone. The -reason why I have put my preface--if I may be permitted to misuse the -term--at the end of the book instead of at the beginning, is that the -confidences I impart may be, by reason of their position between the -covers, less likely to be read by the careless or mechanical reviewer or -by the superficial “skimmer” of fiction. I was afraid that if the reader -should by chance read the preface first, he would not care to peruse the -stories, because, having been admitted to the dark room, as it were, and -having had the formula of the developer told to him, he might, after he -had seen one set of images come up on the dull surface of the negative, -find his curiosity abated, his interest gone, and his desire satisfied. - -These stories have been published in various magazines, at different -times, since the centennial year. When the earliest one of the series -appeared, I was not a little flattered by being often asked how much of -it was true. When the second one came out, this question grew a little -stale, and I began to resent the curiosity as to my method of -story-telling. The climax was finally reached when I received a letter -from a writer of most excellent short stories, in which communication he -desired information about the characters in the tale, and led me to -understand that he believed the main part of the tale to be true. In my -answer to his letter I wrote him this old story of the Western bar-room: -A crowd of men were leaning over a bar drinking together and listening -to the yarns of a frontiersman who, stimulated by the laughter and -applause, was drawing a very long bow. His triumph was not quite -complete, however, for he noticed a thin, silent man at the farther end -of the bar, whose face did not change its habitual expression at any of -the mirth-or wonder-compelling incidents. At last, having directed the -fire of his dramatic expression for some time towards the silent man -with no result, the Western Munchausen turned to him with an oath and -said: “Why in ---- don’t you laugh or cry, or do something, when I tell a -story?” “The fact is, stranger,” the sad man replied, in a mournful tone -of voice--“the fact is, I’m a liar myself!” I never heard from my -correspondent again. - -We all think we have fertile imaginations, and no one can blame me for -not liking to be denied the credit of invention and imagination, even -if the stories be mostly true. It seemed to me quite as foolish to -expect a short story to be a simple chronicle of some experience with -changed names and localities as it would be to demand of an historical -artist that he paint only those events of history of which he has been -an actual spectator. However, while this suspicion of the existence of a -foundation of truth was not altogether flattering or encouraging, it did -set me to thinking what part of these stories was actually drawn from my -real experience, in what way the ideas arose, grew, and developed into -stories. The result of this examination--the confession of the -proportion of truth to fiction--is the bush, then, which I propose to -hang out. - -The plot of the “Capillary Crime” turns on the force of capillary -attraction in wood. The remote origin of the idea was reading about the -employment of wooden wedges in ancient quarries, which were first driven -in dry and then, on being wetted, swelled and burst off the blocks of -stone. While living in Paris, in the Rue de l’Orient, a small street on -Montmartre, which was lighted at that time by lanterns hung on ropes -across from house to house, I had occasion to take out the breech-pin of -an old Turkish flint-lock gun in order to draw the charge. It was -impossible to start the plug at first, but after it had been soaked for -a short time in petroleum it was easily unscrewed. Capillary attraction -had carried the oil into the rusted threads of the screw. The knowledge -of this action, together with the memory of the immense power of wooden -wedges, naturally brought to my mind a possible case where the wetting -of wood in a gun-stock might so affect the mechanism of the lock that -the hammer would fall without the agency of the trigger. I constructed a -model on the plan of the finger of a manikin, and it worked perfectly. -An artist in the neighborhood committed suicide just about this time. My -studio on Montmartre had once been the scene of a similar tragedy. There -was every reason, then, why I selected that studio as the scene; there -was a plausible excuse for connecting capillary force with the -discharge of a gun; there was my recent experience with suicide to -warrant a realistic description of such an event. My story was -ready-made. I had only to sew together the patchwork pieces. - -While I was engaged in revising “A Capillary Crime” for publication in -book form, a friend sent me a slip cut from a Western newspaper, which -testifies in such an unexpected manner to the possibility of the -combination of circumstances described in my story that I insert it -here: - - - “FACT AGAINST FICTION. - - “A STRIKING INSTANCE OF THE UNRELIABILITY OF - CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. - - “There is no figment of the imagination--if it is at all within the - limit of possibilities--more curious or strange than some things - that actually happen. The following is an instance in proof of - this: - - “A few years ago Frank Millet, the well-known artist, war - correspondent, and story-writer, published a short story in a - leading magazine which had as its principal features the mysterious - killing of a Parisian artist in his own studio. A web of - circumstantial evidence led to the arrest of a model who had been - in the habit of posing for him. But through some chain of - circumstances which the writer of this has now forgotten, the - murder--if murder it can be called--was found to have been caused - by the discharge of a firearm through the force of capillary - attraction. The firearm was used by the artist as a studio - accessory, and was hung in such a manner that he was directly in - line with it. Its discharge occurred when he was alone in his - studio. - - “The story was a vivid and ingenious flight of the imagination. Now - for its parallel in fact: - - “A recent number of the Albany _Law Journal_ tells of the arrest of - a man upon the charge of killing his cousin. The dead man was found - lying upon a lounge, about three o’clock in the afternoon, with a - 32-caliber ball in his brain. The cousin, who had an interest of - $100,000 in his death, was alone with him in the house at the time. - The discovery of the real cause of death was due to the lawyer of - the accused, who took the rifle from which the ball had been fired, - loaded and hung it upon the wall, and then marked the form of a man - upon a white sheet and placed it upon the lounge where the man had - been found. Then a heavy cut-glass pitcher of water was placed upon - a shelf above. The temperature was 90° in the shade. The pitcher of - water acted as a sun-glass, and the hot rays of the sun shining - through the water were refracted directly upon the cartridge - chamber of the rifle. Eight witnesses were in the room, and a few - minutes after three o’clock there was a puff and a report, and the - ball struck the outlined form back of the ear, and the theory of - circumstantial evidence was exploded. - - “This is interesting, not only because the real occurrence is quite - as strange as the imagined one, but because the fact came after the - fiction and paralleled it so closely.” - - -I have accurately reported the brief conversation I had with the friend -who occupied the Roman studio with me, and can give no further proof of -the peculiar character of the place nor add to the description of the -uncomfortable sensations we endured there. My friend’s remarks so far -confirmed my own impressions that I have always felt that he must have -had the same experience as myself--if I may call the incident of the -simulacrum an experience. He has never to my knowledge talked with any -one about this, but now that I have broken the ice in this public manner -he may feel called upon to tell his own story, if he has any to relate. - -There used to come and pose for me in my Paris studio a Hungarian model -who had been a circus athlete. The ranks of male models are largely -recruited from circus men, actors, lion-tamers--people of all trades and -professions, indeed--and it is not unusual to find among them -individuals of culture and ability whom some misfortune or bad habit has -reduced to poverty. This one was an unusually useful model. He had -tattooed on the broad surface of skin over his left biceps his name, -Nagy, not in ordinary letters, but in human figures in different -distorted positions, representing letters of the alphabet, evidently -copied from a child’s cheap picture-book. While I was painting from him, -the war between Russia and Turkey broke out, and the model came one day -and announced that he had joined the Hungarian Legion, and was off for -Turkey. As he left me I said: - -“If you’re killed, there’ll be no trouble in identifying you, for, -unless your left arm is shot off, you have your passport always with -you.” - -At that time I had no intention of going to Turkey myself, but in a few -days I found myself on the way there, and, while passing through -Hungary, Nagy naturally came to my mind, and it occurred to me that I -might possibly run across him. However, the fortunes of war did not -bring us together, and I never saw him or heard of him again. On my way -through London to America, after the war, I was witness to a slight -trapeze accident in a circus which, though by no means startling, -recalled to my mind Nagy and his tattooed name; and then, thinking over -the campaign and meditating on the possibilities of my having met him -there, the plan of the tale developed itself in a perfectly easy and -regular way. I had only to introduce a little incident of my Italian -travels, a bit of local coloring from Turkey, and the thing was done. - -The evolution of “Tedesco’s Rubina” was simpler than that of either of -the preceding stories. Any one familiar with Capri will remember a -grotto similar to the one described, and probably many visitors to that -little terrestrial paradise have been made acquainted with the secret of -the smugglers’ path down into the grotto. A dozen years or more ago, -there was a very old model in Capri who had a remarkable history, and -who was accustomed to drone on for hours at a stretch about her early -experiences and the artists of a generation or two ago. Sketches of her -at different periods of her life hung in most of the public resorts of -the island. I made a careful study of this old and wrinkled face, still -bearing traces of youthful beauty. The contrast between this painting -and the plaster cast of the head of a Roman nymph which occupied a -prominent place in my studio was the cause of many a jest, and called -forth many a tradition of model life from the garrulous members of that -profession. The visible proofs that the old woman had once been the -great beauty of the island; the incident of the bust in the museum at -Rome; the discovery of human bones in the grotto--all were interwoven -together in a web of romance before I even thought of putting it on -paper. When I came to write it out, it was very much like telling a -threadbare story. - -The Latin Quarter in Paris is the most fertile spot in the world for -the growth of romances, most of them of the mushroom species. If a -stenographer were to take down the stories he might hear any evening in -a _brasserie_ there, he would have a unique volume of strange -incidents--some of them incredible, perhaps, but all with much flavor of -realism about them to make them interesting from a human point of view. -Not a few strange suicides, incomprehensible alliances, marvellously -curious and pathetic bits of human history, have come under my own -notice there. Student life in the Latin Quarter is not all “beer and -skittles,” for its sordid side is horribly depressing and hopeless. Few -who have experienced it have ever entirely recovered from the taint of -this unnatural and degrading life. - -Away up in the top of one of the largest and most populous hotels of the -quarter, an American artist has kept “bachelor hall” for a score of -years or more. He is an animal-painter, and spends the winter in -elaborating his summer’s studies, and in preparing immense canvases for -sacrifice before that Juggernaut, the annual Salon. He received once a -commission to paint a portrait--a “post-mortem,” as such a commission is -usually called--of a deceased black-and-tan terrier. The only data he -had to work from were a small American tintype and the tanned skin of -the defunct pet. Having been inoculated with the spirit of modern French -realism, the artist could not be content with constructing a portrait of -the dog out of the materials provided, and went to a dog-fancier and -hired an animal as near as could be like the one in the tintype. At the -appointed hour the dog was brought to the studio in a covered basket. -When the canvas was ready and the palette set, the artist opened the lid -of the basket and the animal sprang out and began to run about the room. -The artist thought the dog would soon make himself at home, so at first -he did not attempt to secure him. But he shortly found that he grew -wilder and more excited every moment, and that catching him was no easy -matter. After knocking over all the furniture in the room except the -heavy easel, he succeeded in cornering him and seized him by the -collar. A savage bite through the thumb made him loose his hold, and the -rôles of pursuer and pursued immediately changed. The beast flew into a -terrible state of rage, snapping and snarling like a mad thing. As there -was no safer refuge than the large easel, the artist climbed upon that -to escape his infuriated enemy. By the aid of a long mahl-stock he -fished up the bell-cord which hung within reach, and pulled it until the -concierge came. The owner of the dog was speedily brought, and the siege -of the studio was raised. The same artist brought in from the country -one autumn a torpid snake, which he kept in a box all through the -winter. One morning in spring he was horrified to find the reptile -coiled up on the rug beside his bed. He killed it by dropping a heavy -color-box on it, without stopping to find out whether it was venomous or -not. It is easy to see how my story grew out of these two incidents. - -Now that the chief actors in the drama which I have sketched in “The -Fourth Waits” are long since dead, I may confess without fear of -hurting anybody’s feelings that all the incidents in this tale are -absolutely true. There are plenty of witnesses to the accuracy of this -statement, and I have no doubt they would, if called upon, gladly -testify to almost every detail of the descriptions. No one who was -present at the funeral ceremonies in Antwerp and Rome can ever forget -the impression made upon him at the time; neither is any member of the -little artistic circle likely to forget to the end of his days the -strange sensation of superstitious awe with which the incidents of the -story of the stray dog were listened to every time the subject was -broached among us. The memory of this experience weighed heavily upon my -mind for two or three years, and I only threw off the load after I had -written the story. - -It is only to complete this series of confessions that I explain how -this preface came to be written. I was riding home with a friend late -one raw afternoon at the close of a long day’s hunting in one of the -Midland counties of England, and we stopped to refresh ourselves and -horses at a wayside inn called The Holly Bush. When we mounted again at -the door, I reached up with my hunting crop and struck the holly bush -that hung over the door as a sign. It rattled like metal, and as we rode -away I said to my companion: - -“That wasn’t a real holly bush!” - -“That wasn’t real whiskey!” he replied. - -The memory of the mongoose story which these remarks called up cheered -us more than the pause at the inn. - -“The mongoose story is almost the only tale that need not be explained -even to a Scotchman,” my friend added. - -This is how I came to think of explaining the construction of my -stories, and how I came to call my confessions “The Bush.” - - -THE END. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Capillary Crime and other Stories, by -F. D. 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D. Millet. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.astc {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -letter-spacing:1em;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -margin-top:2em;} - -.letra {font-size:250%;float:left;margin-top:-1%;} - @media print, handheld - { .letra - {font-size:250%;padding:0%;} - } - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} - - h3 {margin:4% auto 2% auto;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} - -.caption {font-weight:normal;font-size:75%;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.figcenter {margin-top:3%;margin-bottom:3%;clear:both; -margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - @media handheld, print - {.figcenter - {page-break-before: avoid;} - } - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;font-family: "Old English Text MT",fantasy,sans-serif;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's A Capillary Crime and other Stories, by F. D. Millet - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Capillary Crime and other Stories - -Author: F. D. Millet - -Release Date: May 5, 2020 [EBook #62030] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CAPILLARY CRIME AND OTHER *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="324" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/frontispiece_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/frontispiece_sml.jpg" width="301" height="500" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">APPEARANCE OF MANDEL’S STUDIO THE MORNING AFTER HIS DEATH.</span> -</div> - -<h1> -A CAPILLARY CRIME -<br /><small> -AND OTHER STORIES</small></h1> - -<p class="c"><small>BY</small><br /> - -F. D. M I L L E T<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -ILLUSTRATED<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<img src="images/colophon.jpg" -width="75" -alt="" -/><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS<br /> -1892<br /> -<br /><br /><br /><small> -Copyright, 1892, by <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>.<br /> -——<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i></small></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#A_CAPILLARY_CRIME">A CAPILLARY CRIME</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#YATIL">YATIL</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_87">87</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TEDESCOS_RUBINA">TEDESCO’S RUBINA</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_129">129</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#MEDUSAS_HEAD">MEDUSA’S HEAD</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_FOURTH_WAITS">THE FOURTH WAITS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_191">191</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_BUSH">THE BUSH</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_269">269</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="A_CAPILLARY_CRIME" id="A_CAPILLARY_CRIME"></a>A CAPILLARY CRIME</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">N</span>EAR the summit of the hill in the Quartier Montmartre, Paris, is a -little street in which the grass grows between the paving-stones, as in -the avenues of some dead old Italian city. Tall buildings border it for -about one third its length, and the walls of tiny gardens, belonging to -houses on adjacent streets, occupy the rest of its extent. It is a -populous thoroughfare, but no wheels pass through it, for the very good -reason that near the upper end it suddenly takes a short turn, and -shoots up the hill at an incline too steep for a horse to climb. The -regular morning refuse cart, and on rare occasions a public carriage, -venture a short distance into the lower part of the street, and even -these, on wet, slippery days, do not pass the door of the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> house. -Scarcely two minutes’ walk from the busy exterior boulevards, this -little corner of the great city is as quiet as a village nearly all day -long. Early in the morning the sidewalks clatter with the shoes of -workmen hurrying down to their work, children scamper along playing -hide-and-seek in the doorways on their way to school, and then follows a -long silence, broken only by the glazier with his shrill cry, -“Vi-i-i-tri-er!” or the farmer with his “À la crème, fromage à la -crème!” In the late summer afternoons the women bring their babies out -and sit on the doorsteps, as the Italians do, gossiping across the -street, and watching the urchins pitch sous against the curb-stone, or -draw schoolboy hieroglyphics on the garden walls. There is a musical -quiet in this little street. Birds sing merrily in the stunted trees of -the shady gardens, the familiar calls of hens and chickens and the -shrill crows of the cock come from every enclosure, and all the while is -heard the deep and continuous note of the rumble of the city down below. -At night the street is lighted by two lanterns swung<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> on ropes between -opposite houses; and the flickering, dim light, sending uncertain -shadows upon the blank walls and the towering façades, gives the place a -weird and fantastic aspect.</p> - -<p>Montmartre is full of these curious highways. Quite distinct from the -rest of the city by reason of its elevated position, few or no modern -improvements have changed its character, and a large extent of it -remains to-day much the same as it was fifty years ago.</p> - -<p>It is perhaps the cheapest quarter of the city. Rents are low, and the -necessities and commodities of life are proportionately cheaper than in -other parts of the town. This fact, and the situation the quarter -affords for unobstructed view of the sky, have always attracted artists, -and many cosy studios are hidden away in the maze of housetops there. On -the little street I have just described are several large windows -indicating unmistakably the profession of those occupying the -apartments.</p> - -<p>Late one dark and stormy evening a gate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> creaked and an automatic bell -sounded at the entrance to one of the little gardens halfway up the -street. A young woman came out into the light of the swinging lantern, -and hurried down the sidewalk. Her unnaturally quick and spasmodic -movements showed she was anxious to get away from the neighborhood as -quickly as possible. Her instinctive avoidance of the bad places in the -sidewalk gave evidence of her familiarity with the locality. In a few -moments she had left the tortuous narrow side street that led down the -hill, and stood upon the brilliantly lighted boulevard. Pausing for an -instant only, she rapidly crossed the street, and soon stood beside the -fountain in the Place Pigalle. Here she watched for a moment the surface -of the water, ruffled by the gusts of wind and beaten by the fierce -rain-drops. Suddenly she turned and hurried away down the Rue Pigalle, -across to the Rue Blanche, and was shortly lost in the crowd that was -pouring out of the doorway of the skating-rink.</p> - -<p>The little street on the hill remained de<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span>serted and desolate. The -lights in the windows went out one by one. The wind gusts swayed the -lanterns to and fro, creaking the rusty pulleys and rattling the glass -in the iron frames. Now and then a gate was blown backward and forward -with a dull sound, a shutter slammed, and between the surges of the wind -could be heard the spirting of the stream from the spouts and the rush -of the water in the gutters. Towards midnight a single workman staggered -up the street from the cheap cabaret kept in the wood-and-charcoal shop -on the corner. A little later a <i>sergent de ville</i>, wrapped in a cloak, -passed slowly up the sidewalk, until he came to a spot where the asphalt -was worn away, and there was a great pool of muddy water. There he -stopped, turned around, and strode down the street again. The melancholy -music of the storm went on.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, towards morning, there was a dull, prolonged report like the -sound of a distant blast of rocks. The great studio window over the -little garden flashed red<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> for an instant, then grew black again, and -all was still. Away up on the opposite side of the street a window was -opened, a head thrust out, and, meeting the drenching rain, was quickly -withdrawn. A hand and bare arm were pushed through the half-open window, -feeling for the fastening of the shutter. In an adjoining house a light -was seen in the window, and it continued to burn. Then the mournful -music of the tempest went on as before.</p> - -<p>Shortly after daybreak the same young woman who had fled so hastily the -evening before, slowly and with difficulty mounted the hill. Her clothes -were saturated with the rain, and clung to her form as the violent wind -caught her and sent her staggering along. Her bonnet was out of shape -and beaten down around her ears, and her dark hair was matted on her -forehead. Her face was haggard, and her eyes were large and full of a -strange gleam. She was evidently of Southern birth, for her features had -the sculpturesque regularity of the Italian, and her skin, though pallid -and bloodless, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> still deep in tone. She hesitated at the garden gate -for a while, then opened it, entered, and shut it behind her, the -automatic bell tinkling loudly. No one appearing at the door, she opened -and shut the gate again to ring the bell. A second and third time she -rang in the same way, and without any response from the house. At last, -hearing no sound, she crossed the garden, tried the house door, and, -finding it unlocked, opened it and went in. Shortly afterwards a -frightened cry was heard in the studio, and a moment later the girl came -out of the house, her haggard face white with fear. Clutching her hands -together with a nervous motion, she hastened down the street. A -half-hour later a <i>femme de ménage</i> opened the gate, passed through the -garden, and tried her key in the door. Finding it unlocked, she simply -said, “Perhaps he’s gone out,” and went into the kitchen and began to -prepare breakfast. Before the water boiled the gate opened sharply, and -three persons entered; first, the martial figure of a <i>sergent de -ville</i>; second, a tall, blond young man in a brown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> velveteen coat and -waistcoat and light trousers; and, lastly, the girl, still trembling and -panting. The <i>sergent</i> carefully locked the gate on the inside, taking -the key with him, and, followed by the young man, entered the house, -paused in the kitchen for a few rapid words with the <i>femme de ménage</i>, -and then went up into the studio. The girl crouched down upon the stone -step by the gate and hid her face.</p> - -<p>The studio was of irregular shape, having curious projections and -corners, and one third of the ceiling lower than the rest. The alcove -formed by this drop in the ceiling was about the size of an ordinary -bedchamber. The drawn curtain of the large side window shut out so much -of the dim daylight that the whole studio was in twilight. In the -farther corner of the deep alcove was a low divan, filling the recess -between a quaint staircase which led into the attic and the wall -opposite the window. This divan served as a bed, and on it, half covered -with the bedclothes, lay a man, stretched on his back, with his face -turned towards the window. The left<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> arm hung over the edge of the -divan, and the hand, turned inertly under the wrist, rested on the -floor. There was the unmistakable pallor of death on the face, visible -even in the uncertain gloom. The <i>sergent</i> quickly lowered the curtain, -letting in a flood of cold, gray light. Then great blood-stains were -seen on the pillow, and on the neck and shoulders of the shirt. Beside -the bed stood, like a grim guard of the dead body, the rigid and angular -figure of a manikin dressed in Turkish costume. Between the manikin and -the window lay on the floor a large flint-lock pistol. Near the window -stood an easel, with a large canvas turned away from the light.</p> - -<p>The two men paused in the middle of the studio, and looked at the -spectacle without speaking. Then the young man rushed to the divan, and -caught the arm that hung over the side, but dropped it instantly again.</p> - -<p>“Touch nothing. Do not touch a single object,” commanded the <i>sergent</i>, -sternly. Then he approached the body himself, put his hand on the face, -and said, “He is dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span>” Taking the young man by the arm, he led him out -of the room, carefully locking the door behind him. In the kitchen he -wrote a few words on a leaf torn from his note-book, gave it to the -<i>femme de ménage</i> with a hasty direction, checked her avalanche of -questions with a single, significant gesture, led the way into the -garden, unlocked the gate, and half pushed her into the street.</p> - -<p>He stood quietly watching the crouching figure of the young girl for -some time, then stooping over her, raised her, half forcibly, half -gently, to her feet, and pointed out that the place where she sat was -wet and muddy. Then he made a few commonplace remarks about the weather. -In a short time the <i>femme de ménage</i> returned, breathless, accompanied -by two more officers, one of them a lieutenant.</p> - -<p>It was curious to see the instantaneous transformation of the little -street when the <i>femme de ménage</i> and the two policemen entered the -gate. Windows were opened and heads thrust out on all sides. It was -impossible to say where the people came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> from, but in a very short time -the street was blocked with a crowd that gathered around the gate. Those -on the sidewalk struggled to get a peep through the gate, while those in -the street stared fixedly at the studio window. One or two tried to -force the gate open, but a <i>sergent de ville</i>, posted inside, pushed the -bolts in place. The <i>femme de ménage</i>, who had managed to get a glimpse -of the scene in the studio, sat weeping dramatically at the kitchen -window.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant and the <i>sergent</i> who first came went from one room to -another, examining everything with care, to see if there had been a -robbery. In the studio they scrutinized every inch of the room, even to -the dust-covered stairway that led to the little attic over the alcove. -Then, after a hasty examination of the corpse, they mounted the stairway -that led from the entry to the roof, and searched for fresh scratches on -the lead-covered promenade there. Apparently satisfied with the -completeness of their search, they remained awhile there, looking at the -slated roof, and at the hawthorn-tree which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> stretched two or three -strong branches almost up to the iron railing of the balcony.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant then, with great deliberation, took down in his note-book -the exact situation in the studio, measuring carefully the distance of -the pistol from the body, noting the angle of the wound (for the ball -had gone through the head just over the ear), taking account of many -things that would have escaped the attention of the ordinary observer. -When this was finished, he sent away one of the <i>sergents</i>, who shortly -returned with two men bearing a stretcher, or rather a rusty black bier. -The men were conducted to the studio, and there, with business-like -haste, they placed the body on the bier, strapped it firmly there, -covered it with a soiled and much-worn black cloth, and with the aid of -the officers carried it down the stairs and out of the house into the -garden. The girl, who had remained standing where the <i>sergent</i> had -placed her, sank down again on the stone steps at the sight of the black -bier and its burden, and hid her face in her hands. There was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> -momentary gleam of something like satisfaction in the eye of the -<i>sergent</i> who stood beside her.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant, who had remained to put seals on the door of the studio, -on the door which led out upon the promenade, and upon all the windows -of the upper stories, came out of the house, followed by the young man -in the velveteen coat, and the weeping <i>femme de ménage</i>. The lieutenant -had a bundle in his arms a foot and a half long, done up in a newspaper. -He gave the <i>sergent</i> at the gate a brief order, then went out into the -street, clearing the sidewalk of the crowd. The body was next borne out, -and the young man and the two women, followed by one of the <i>sergents</i>, -presented themselves to the eyes of the curious multitude. Without delay -the two bearers marched off down the street at a rapid pace, the heavy -burden shaking with the rhythm of their step. The little procession of -officers and prisoners, accompanied by the whole of the great crowd, -followed the bier to the prefecture. There a preliminary ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span>amination of -the two women and the young man was held, and they were all detained as -witnesses. The body was carried to the morgue.</p> - -<p>It would be tedious to describe in detail the different processes of law -which to our Anglo-Saxon eyes appear but empty and useless indignities -heaped upon the defenceless dead. Neither would it be an attractive task -to give a minute account of the meagre funeral ceremonies which the -friends of the dead artist conducted, after they had succeeded in -getting possession of the body for burial. The grave was dug in the -cemetery of Montmartre, and the few simple tributes of friendship placed -on the mound were lost among the flashing filigree emblems and gaudy -wreaths which adorned the surrounding tombstones.</p> - -<p>The theories which were advanced by the three officers who had examined -the premises were distinguished by some invention and ingenuity. From -carefully collected information concerning the intimate life and whole -history of the three persons kept as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> witnesses, the officers -constructed each his separate romance about the motives for the crime -and the manner in which it was committed. The lieutenant had quite a -voluminous biography of each character.</p> - -<p>Concerning Charles Mandel, the dead artist, it was found that he was a -native of Styria, in Austria; that his parents and all his relatives -were exceedingly poor; that he had worked his way up from a place as a -farmer’s boy to a position as attendant in the baths at Gastein, and -thence he had found his way to Munich, and to the School of Fine Arts -there. He had taken a good rank in the Academy, and after several years’ -study, supporting himself meanwhile on a small government subsidy and by -the sale of pen-and-ink sketches, he began to paint pictures. When he -had saved money enough he came to Paris, where he had lived about -eighteen months. His character was unimpeachable. He lived quietly, and -rarely went out of the quarter; was never seen at the balls in the old -windmill on the summit of Montmartre, nor did he frequent the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> Élisée -Montmartre, the skating rink, the Cirque Fernando, nor any other place -of amusement in the neighborhood. The little Café du Rat Mort, in the -Place Pigalle, was the only café he visited, and in this he was -accustomed to pass an hour or two every evening in company with his -friend, the sculptor Paul Benner. He was not known to have any enemies, -there was no suspicion that he was connected with the Internationalists, -and the only reason he had been remarked at all as an individual was -because he spoke French badly, and always conversed in German with his -friend Benner.</p> - -<p>The information concerning the latter was a great deal more accurate and -precise. A great deal of it, however, was irrelevant. He was born in -Strasburg, in 1849, and began the study of his profession there. He came -to Paris when he was twenty years old, and entered the Académie des -Beaux Arts. After he had finished the course he set up his studio in -Montmartre, and had already exhibited successful works in three -<i>salons</i>. He had a great many friends in the city, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> was well spoken -of by all who knew him. The only thing that could possibly be urged -against him was the fact that he seemed very little disturbed at the -idea of being a Prussian subject. But he was consistently cosmopolitan, -as his intimate friendship with the Austrian and his equally close -relations with fellow-students in the Beaux Arts abundantly proved.</p> - -<p>The inquiries about the girl were, judging from the frequent gaps in the -history as written in the lieutenant’s note-book, conducted with -difficulty, and with only partial success. She was a Corsican, and was -generally called Rose Blanche, the translation of her Corsican name, -Rosina Bianchi. By the artists she was facetiously called La Rose -Blanche, partly because of her hair and complexion, which were of the -darkest Southern hue, and partly for the sake of the grammatical harmony -of the name thus altered. Nothing in particular was found out about her -early life. She herself declared she was born in a small village in the -mountains of Corsica, and that her father, mother, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> several brothers -and sisters were still living there. She had come to Paris as a model -just before the siege, having first begun to pose in Marseilles, whither -she had gone from Corsica to live with an aunt. This aunt had married a -crockery merchant, and was a respectable member of the community. From -her was gleaned some notion of the family. It was of genuine Corsican -stock, and they all had the violent passions which are the common -characteristic of that people. Rosina, while in Marseilles, had been -quiet and proper enough except when she had been, as her aunt described, -<i>un peu toquee</i>. At long intervals it seems that she became highly -sensitive and excitable. She would on these occasions fly into a mad -rage at a trifle, and when she grew calmer would sob and weep for a -while, and end by remaining sullen and morose for hours, sometimes for -days. Her aunt had opposed her going to Paris, prophesying all sorts of -evil. She had never seen her since her departure, and had only heard -from her twice or three times since she had left Marseilles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> - -<p>There was scarcely a better-known model in Paris than La Rose Blanche. -She was not one of those choice favorites who are engaged for months and -sometimes for a year in advance at double prices, but she was in great -demand, especially among sculptors. Her head was Italian enough to serve -as a model for the costume pictures of the Campagna peasants, but she -was much more picturesque as a Spanish girl, and her employment among -the painters was chiefly with those who painted Spanish or Eastern -subjects. The sculptors found in her form a certain girlishness which -had not disappeared with age, and although she was twenty-five years -old, she had the lithe, slender figure of a girl of seventeen. There was -something of the faun in the accents of her limbs, and she was active, -wiry, and muscular. The artists connected the peculiarities of her -figure with the characteristics of her disposition, and often said to -her, “What a hand and arm for a stiletto!” “Yes,” she would answer, with -a glittering eye; “and it isn’t afraid to hold one either!” Every one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> -had noticed her violent temper, and some of those who were best -acquainted with her confessed to the feeling that it was like playing -with gunpowder to have much to do with her. When she was in good -spirits, she was soft-mannered and amiable; but when roused in the -least, she became like a fury. She had frequently posed in the -<i>ateliers</i>, and then she had been treated with great respect by the -students. For the past year she had served often as a model for Benner -in the execution of his statue “Diana surprised at her Bath,” and when -she was not at work with him was generally in Mandel’s studio, where she -posed for a figure in a picture from the history of Hungary, an event in -one of the Turkish invasions. With the exception of the report of her -eccentricities of temper, nothing had counted against her. Even this was -partly counterbalanced by the testimony of many to whom she had been -both kind and useful. As far as her moral character went, some had said, -with an expressive shrug of the shoulders, “She’s a model, and like all -the rest of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> them.” Others had declared that she was undoubtedly honest -and virtuous. No one knew anything—at least no one confessed to any -positive knowledge—of her suspected transgressions.</p> - -<p>The poor <i>femme de ménage</i>, whose life had been hitherto without an -event worth the attention of the police, did not escape the most rigid -scrutiny. Her history was sifted out as carefully as that of the other -three. She was married to a second husband, and the mother of a boy of -eighteen, who was salesman in one of the large dry-goods shops. Her -husband, besides the duties of concierge in the house where they -lived—an occupation which paid for the rent of the rooms they -occupied—managed to make a trifle at his trade of tailor, repairing and -turning old garments, and on rare occasions making a new coat or a pair -of trousers for an old customer. He was also employed as a supernumerary -in the Grand Opera, a duty which obliged him to attend the theatre -often, to the serious interruption of his home occupations. He could not -well give up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> place in the theatre, for his salary was just enough, -with the rest he earned, to make both ends meet. The wife was obliged to -be at home so much, to fill her husband’s place in the care of the great -house, that she could only manage to do very little outside work. The -families in the house were all working people, and consequently could -not afford the luxury of assistance in the kitchen. She therefore found -a place as <i>femme de ménage</i> with some family in the vicinity. For some -time she had been in the employ of the dead artist, and was particularly -satisfied with the place, first because she could choose her own hours, -and then because she had very little to do, and was paid as much as if -she took care of a family—twenty francs a month. One circumstance -excited the suspicion of the police. She had been gone nearly the whole -afternoon of the day before the murder. When she returned at dark her -husband noticed that she was heated and confused, and asked her where -she had been. She refused to tell him, painfully trying to make the -refusal palatable by jokes. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> the police with little difficulty found -out exactly what she had been doing for the three or four hours in -question. She had been to the Cemetery of Montmartre. She had been seen -by the keepers there busy near a grave on the third side avenue to the -left, about a quarter way up the slope. They had observed her digging up -the two small flowering shrubs she had planted there years before, and -had constantly tended. These shrubs she had wrapped up in an old colored -shirt, and had carried them away. Further, a neighbor of the dead artist -in the little street on Montmartre deposed that late in the afternoon of -the day before the tragedy she had seen the <i>femme de ménage</i> enter the -gate of the studio garden, bearing an irregular-shaped bundle of -considerable size. The police, on visiting the garden, found the two -shrubs described by the keepers of the cemetery freshly planted in the -little central plot.</p> - -<p>Then for the first time they questioned the <i>femme de ménage</i> herself, -and she confessed, with an abundance of tears, that her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> only daughter -had died five years previous, and that she had been buried in the -Cimetière Montmartre, and the grave had been purchased for the period of -five years. The term was to expire within a few days, and the poor -woman, unable to pay for a further lease of ground, was obliged to give -up her claim to the grave. She could not bear to lose the shrubs, for -they were souvenirs of her dead child, who cultivated them when very -small plants in flower-pots on the balcony. The mother had dug them up -in the cemetery, and transplanted them in the garden of the house where -she worked, having no garden-plot of her own. She intended the next day -to tell the artist what she had done, and to get his permission to let -the shrubs flourish there. She had refused to explain her absence to her -husband because the girl had been dead a year when she married him, and -he had sometimes reproached her for spending her time in the cemetery. -As it was not his child, he could not be expected to care for it; and -the poor mother, not having the courage to ask for money to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> renew the -lease of the grave, kept her own counsel about the matter.</p> - -<p>The examination of the witnesses, and the investigation of their -personal history, threw but little light upon the exact state of the -relations which existed between the painter and La Rose Blanche. The -neighbors had overheard at various times loud talking in the studio, and -occasionally some violent language that sounded very much like a -quarrel. One or two of the shrewd ones, especially an old woman who sold -vegetables from a little hand-cart on the corner, volunteered their -opinion that the model was in love with the artist. The withered and -blear-eyed old huckster gave as reason for her opinion that the model -had generally stayed long after painting hours, and was unusually prompt -in the morning. But there was quite as much proof that Mandel did not -care for the model as that she was enamoured of him. He never watched -for her in the morning, never came to the door with her; treated her -always, as far as was noticed by any one who had seen them together, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> -if on the most formal terms with her. In the Café du Rat Mort it was -found that La Rose Blanche had often come in during the evening, -sometimes in fine costume and elaborate toilet, and had placed herself -at the table where Mandel and Benner sat. The latter always appeared -glad to see her, and joked and chatted with her, while Mandel was -evidently annoyed by her presence, and did not try very hard to conceal -his feelings.</p> - -<p>An almost inquisitorial examination of Benner elicited the fact that his -friend had confided to him that the model tormented him with her -attentions, and so thrust herself upon him that he was at a loss what to -do about it. He had thought seriously of giving up the picture he was at -work on, so that she might have no excuse for coming to his studio. The -same examination drew out the confession that he was in love with La -Rose Blanche himself, and had been for some time.</p> - -<p>Now the most plausible theory of the three officers was apparently well -enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> supported by the fact to warrant a most careful investigation. -This theory was based chiefly on the common French axiom that a woman is -at the bottom of every piece of mischief. The strongest suspicion -pointed towards La Rose Blanche, and no motive but that of jealousy -could be assigned for the deed. It was necessary, then, to find some -cause for jealousy before this theory could be accepted. Mandel was, as -the study of his character had proved to the officers, of a quiet and -peaceable disposition, and not in the habit of frequenting society. -Although, like most young men, he spent part of his time in the café, he -was more disposed to stay at home than to join in any time-killing -amusement. After the most diligent search, the officers only succeeded -in finding one girl besides La Rose Blanche who had been at all on -friendly terms with the artist. She was a model who had posed for a -picture he painted while he occupied a studio in Rue Monsieur le Prince, -in the Latin Quarter. But it was also found out that La Rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> Blanche -had never seen Mandel until long after the picture was finished and the -model dismissed. In this way the investigation went on with all possible -ingenuity and most wearisome deliberation. No effort was more fruitful -than the one just described. Every clue which promised to lead to the -slightest knowledge of the life of the artist or the character of the -model was followed out persistently, doggedly, and often even cruelly. -Thus months passed.</p> - -<p>Benner had been discharged from custody after his first long and trying -examination. Unable to work, he wandered around the city in an aimless -way. He could not help having a faint yet agonizing glimmer of hope that -he might meet with a solution of the mystery of his friend’s death. This -solution would, he was sure, prove La Rose Blanche innocent. His -unfinished statue in the clay, moistened only at irregular intervals, -cracked and shrunk, and gradually fell to pieces. Dust settled in his -studio, and his modelling tools rusted where they lay. At first he had -tried to work, and, summon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span>ing another model, he had uncovered the clay. -But he only spoiled what he touched, and after a short time he threw -down his tools and walked away.</p> - -<p>La Rose Blanche languished in the house of detention. Benner gradually -began to lose courage, and perhaps even his faith wavered a little. When -he learned that in the course of the examination the sleepy concierge of -the house where the model lived had testified that she was absent all -night at the time of the tragedy, Benner felt convinced that -circumstances had combined to convict the girl. Her explanation had been -most unsatisfactory. She had quarrelled with the artist because he told -her he was annoyed by her. She did not remember what she said or did; -she only knew that she left the house in a great passion, and walked the -streets all night in the rain. Her passion gave way to her affection for -the artist, and as soon as it was light she went to the studio to ask -him to forgive her. She found him dead.</p> - -<p>It was the apathy of La Rose Blanche<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> quite as much as her inability to -prove herself innocent that caused the increasing uneasiness in Benner’s -mind. Not that he believed her for a moment guilty, but he knew that she -was convicting herself with fatal rapidity. He, knowing her character, -could understand how she could walk the streets all night in the storm. -He, in the warmth of his passion for her, had often fought with the -weather for the relief the struggle afforded him. Love-madness is -nothing new, and the model’s actions were only one phase of it. At the -little Café du Rat Mort, Benner now spent all his evenings, and on some -days part of the afternoon. He grew to be one of the fixtures of the -establishment. The habitués of the place had ceased to talk about him, -and no longer pointed him out to the new-comers as the friend of the -dead artist. The self-consciousness, which in the beginning was painful -to him, gradually wore away, and he almost forgot himself at times in -connection with the tragedy, and only kept constantly a dull sense of -waiting—waiting for he knew not what. Evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> after evening he sat at -the little corner table of the front room of the café, smoking -cigarettes, playing with the curious long-handled spoons, and -occasionally sipping coffee or a glass of beer. The two tables between -his seat and the window on the street changed occupants many times -during the evening, and the newspapers grew sticky, fumbled, and worn at -the hands of the frequent readers. The opposite side of this room of the -café was filled by a long counter, covered on top with shining zinc, and -divided into several compartments, on the highest of which stood the -water carafes and a filter. Behind this counter sat Madame Lépic, the -wife of the proprietor, placidly knitting from morning until midnight. -When the street door opened she raised her eyes and greeted the comer -with a hospitable smile; then her face resumed its normal expression of -contentment. By carefully watching her it could be discovered that she -had a habit of quickly glancing out from under her eyebrows and taking -in the whole interior of the café in a flash of her dark little eye. -Just beyond the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> end of the counter a partition, wainscoted as high as a -man’s shoulder and with glass above, divided the café into two rooms. -From where she sat Madame Lépic could overlook the four tables in the -inner room as well as the three in the front. Her habit of constant -watchfulness was cultivated, of course, by the necessity of keeping run -of the two tired-looking waiters, who, like the rest of their class, had -the weakness of being tempted by the abundance of money which passed -through their hands. The police had already approached Madame Lépic, and -she had given her testimony in regard to the actions of the model with -the two young men. The police would not have been Parisian if they had -not engaged madame to keep an eye on Benner. If he had not been too much -occupied with his own thoughts, he might have detected her watching him -constantly and persistently, even after he had ceased to be interesting -in the eyes of the old habitués of the café.</p> - -<p>It was a long four months after that terrible morning when Benner sat, -late one after<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span>noon, in the café brooding as usual. Before him on the -stained marble slab stood a glass of water, a tall goblet and long spoon -with twisted handle, and a porcelain match-holder half full of matches. -Bent over the table, Benner was absent-mindedly arranging bits of -matches on the slab, something in the shape of a guillotine. There were -few people in the café. The click of the dominoes in the back room, an -occasional word from one of the players, and the snap, snap, of Madame -Lépic’s needles alone broke the quiet of the interior. As Benner sat -watching the outline of the guillotine he had formed of broken matches, -he saw one of the corner pieces straighten out, and thus destroy the -symmetry of the arrangement. This was a piece which had been bent at -right angles and only half broken off. Without paying particular -attention to the occurrence, he took up the bit, threw it on the floor, -and put another one, similarly broken, in its place. In a few moments -this straightened out also, and this time the movement attracted -Benner’s curiosity. Throwing it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> aside, he replaced it by a fresh piece, -and this repeated the movement of the first two. Now his curiosity was -excited in earnest, and his face and figure expressed such unusual -interest that the sharp glitter was visible under Madame Lépic’s -eyebrows, and her knitting went on only spasmodically. A fourth, fifth, -and sixth piece was put in place on the corner of the little guillotine, -and as the last one was moving in the same way as the first one did, -Benner perceived that the water spilled on the table trickled down to -where the broken match was placed. He took another match, as if to break -it, but before the brittle wood snapped, his face lit up with a sudden -expression of surprise and joy, and he started to his feet so violently -as to nearly throw the marble slab from the iron legs. The click of the -dominoes ceased, faces were seen at the glass of the partition, and -Madame Lépic fairly stared, forgetting for once her rôle of -disinterested knitter.</p> - -<p>Without stopping to pay, without seeming to see anybody or anything, -Benner strode nervously and quickly out of the café. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> he was gone, -Madame Lépic touched her bell, one of the drowsy waiters came, received -a whispered order, and went out of the front door hatless. A few moments -later, even before Benner had disappeared along the boulevard in the -direction of his studio, a neatly dressed man came out of the police -station near the café and walked in the same direction, the sculptor had -taken. After Benner had entered the <i>porte-cochère</i> of the great -building where his studio was, the police agent went into the -concierge’s little office near the door, and sat there as if he were at -home. In a few moments a nervous step was heard on the asphalt of the -court-yard, and the agent had only time to withdraw into the gloom of -the corner behind the stove when Benner passed out again, looking -neither to the right nor the left. He was evidently much excited, and -clutched rather than held a small parcel in his hand. The agent followed -him a short distance behind, and, meeting a <i>sergent de ville</i>, paused -to say a word to him. As Benner climbed on the top of an Odéon omnibus, -the agent took a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> seat inside. Benner had not reached the interior -boulevard before his studio was searched.</p> - -<p>It was now nearly six o’clock, and the omnibus was crowded all the way -across the city. As soon as the foot of the Rue des Beaux Arts was -reached, Benner hurriedly descended, without waiting to stop the -omnibus, and ran to the Academy. Here he sought the concierge, asked him -a few questions, and then walked quickly away to the east side of the -Luxembourg Gardens, where he rang the bell at the door of a house. He -asked the servant who answered the bell if Professor Brunin was at home, -and was evidently chagrined at being told he was absent and would not -return for an hour or two. Entering the nearest café, he called for pen -and paper, and wrote three pages rapidly, but legibly. By this time he -had grown calmer in mind, not losing, however, the physical spring which -his first excitement had induced. When his letter was finished he put it -in an envelope, addressed it, and left it at the professor’s house. This -done, he walked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> rapidly across the Luxembourg Gardens to the Odéon, -took an omnibus, accompanied as before by the agent, and at the end of -the route, in the Place Pigalle, he descended, hastened to his studio, -and did not come out again that evening. The great window was lighted -all night long, and the agent in the entry could hear sawing, hammering, -and filing at intervals, as he listened at the door every hour or two.</p> - -<p>The gray morning broke, and Benner was still at his work. As the -daylight dimmed the light of the lamp, he seemed not to notice it, but -continued bent over his table, where various blocks, pieces of sheet -brass, and a few tools were scattered promiscuously about. A piece of -brown paper lay on the floor with what appeared to be a glove. On the -corner of the table was a rude imitation of a human hand made of wood, -hinged so that the fingers would move. This was not of recent -construction; but on a small drawing-board, over which Benner was -leaning, was fixed a curious piece of mechanism which he was adjusting, -having apparently just put it in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> working order. He had joined together -five pieces of oak-wood, about three quarters of an inch wide and half -an inch thick, arranged according to their length. The joints had been -cut in the shape of quarter-circles, like the middle hinge of a -carpenter’s rule. After these were fitted to each other, a sawcut was -made in each one, and a piece of sheet brass inserted which joined the -concave to the convex end. Two rivets on one end and one on the other, -serving as a pivot, completed the hinge. The joints were so arranged -that, when opened to the greatest extent, the five pieces composing the -whole made a straight line. The longest piece of wood was fastened at -the middle and outer end by screws, which held it firmly to the -drawing-board. The shortest piece, on the opposite end of the line, had -attached to it on the under side a pointed bit of brass like an index. -As morning broke, Benner was engaged in fixing a bit of an ivory metre -measure, which is marked to millimetres, underneath this index point. -After this scale was securely fastened in its place the mechanism<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> was -evidently completed, for he straightened up, looked at his work from a -distance, then bent over it again, and gently tried the joints, watching -with some satisfaction the index as it moved along the scale. While -preoccupied with this study, a sudden knock at the door caused him to -start like a guilty man. He threw open the door almost tragically. It -was only the concierge, who brought him a letter. He tore it open, and -read it and re-read it with eagerness; then went to the table and -carefully measured several times the whole length of the mechanism, from -the inner screw of the longest piece to the end of the shortest. He then -began to calculate and to cipher on the edge of the drawing-board. The -letter read as follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Monsieur</span>,—En fait de renseignements sur la dilatation du bois je -ne connais que ceux donnés par M. Reynaud dans son traité -d’architecture, vol. i., pages 84 à 87 de la 2ᵉ êdition.</p> - -<p>“Il en résulte que:</p> - -<p>“1. Les bois verts se dilatent beaucoup plus que ceux purgés de -sève.</p> - -<p>“2. Que le chêne se dilate tantôt plus tantôt moins que le sapin, -mais plus que le noyer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></p> - -<p>“3. Que dans les conditions ordinaires, c’est à dire, avec les -variations hygrométriques de l’air seulement, le coefficient de -dilatation atteint au plus 0.018, d’où résulte qu’une planche de -0.20 deviendrait 0.2036.</p> - -<p>“4. Qu’en plongeant dans l’eau pendant longtemps une planche -primitivement très sèche, le coefficient de dilatation peut -atteindre 0.0375, ce que donnerait pour la planche de 0.20, 0.2075.</p> - -<p>“Peut-être vous trouverez d’autres renseignements dans le traité de -charpente du Colonel Emy, ou dans celui de menuiserie de Roubo.</p> - -<p>“Recevez, Monsieur, l’assurance de mes sentiments distingués.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">P. Brunin.</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<p>A few days later there was gathered in a small room in the prefecture -quite a knot of advocates and police officers. They were soon joined by -Benner himself, accompanied by a short, stout gentleman with -eye-glasses. Besides the ordinary furniture of the room, there was a -wash-tub, a pail of water, a manikin, and the drawing-board with the -mechanism on it. The entrance of the judge put a stop to the buzz of -conversation, and when he took a seat on the low platform the rest of -the company placed themselves on the benches in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> front. The judge, after -a few preliminary remarks on the subject of the mystery of Montmartre, -said that there had lately been developed such a new and surprising -theory to account for the death of the artist that he had consented to -give a hearing to the explanation of the theory. Benner then arose and -made the following statement: “In the Café du Rat Mort, a few days ago, -I noticed a peculiar movement in a broken match as it lay on the table -before me. At first my curiosity was excited only to a moderate degree, -but shortly this inexplicable motion interested me so that I -experimented until I found the cause of it. At the same moment there -flashed into my mind what I had learned long ago at school about -capillary force, and the solution of the mystery of my friend’s death -was at once plain to me. Hurrying to my studio, I cut off the hand of my -manikin, and carried it to the Academy of Fine Arts to show it to -Professor Brunin, of the Architectural Department, and ask his -assistance. Finding him neither there nor at his house, I wrote him a -note and left it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> for him. All that night I worked constructing a -working model of a manikin’s finger, and the next morning I received a -letter from Professor Brunin which gave me the data I was in search -of—the facts in regard to the expansion of wood when moistened. I -should read that letter here, but Professor Brunin is present, and will -explain the phenomenon. My theory is very simple. My friend Charles -Mandel was shot by his own manikin. There are witnesses enough to prove -that the pistol had been loaded for a long time, and that Mandel had -often tried in vain to draw the charge. It is also well known that the -pistol was cocked when it was in the manikin’s belt, for on the -half-completed picture it was so painted by Mandel on the last day of -his life. Furthermore, the position of the right index finger of the -manikin can also be plainly seen in the picture; for the artist, not -having a model to hold the weapon, had roughly rubbed in the angular -fingers of the lay figure, preparatory to finishing the hand from life. -The pistol then, being loaded and cocked, needed but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> the pressure of -the finger to discharge it. That pressure was given by the rain on the -night of the death of my friend. The lieutenant will find, on reference -to his note-book, that on the morning when he examined the studio there -had been quite a serious leak in the ceiling, and that the water had -fallen directly on the manikin. He will find also in his notes the exact -position of the manikin in reference to the divan on which the corpse -lay. Now, it is clear that when the wrist of the manikin was bent, and -the index finger was placed on the trigger of the pistol, only a very -slight motion of the whole was necessary to give the pressure required -to fire a pistol. The weapon was braced against the inside of the thumb -of the hand, and thus held firmly there as it stuck in the belt ready to -be drawn and fired. When the water first fell from the ceiling, it -soaked the covering of the wrist and hand, and swelled the wrist joint -so that it became absolutely immovable. Next the moisture extended to -the tip of the fingers, the hand being held somewhat downward. In the -manikin we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> have here, the exact construction of the fingers and the -movement of the joints of the hand and wrist can be plainly seen. In my -working model I have imitated the mechanism of one finger, so arranging -it that the least deflection of the finger from the straight line will -be measured on a scale of millimetres. The joints are so constructed -that any elongation of the pieces of wood will curve the line of joints -away from the straight line which I have drawn on the board. I propose -to experiment with this model so as to make it perfectly plain that my -friend’s death was accidental. If the experiment were tried on the -manikin, and with a flint-lock pistol, it would doubtless fail -ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. In the accident which caused my -friend’s death everything happened to be perfectly adjusted. If my model -works, of course the manikin might have worked in exactly the same way.”</p> - -<p>The lieutenant gave his explanation of the position in which the body -was found, and added that he had calculated at the time that the shot -must have been fired from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> direction of the manikin, and from about -the height of its waist. He found in his notes the statement that the -roof had leaked, and the manikin was wet. Furthermore, the pistol was -found just where the recoil would have thrown it backward out of the -manikin’s hand. He ended by declaring that the theory just advanced was -new to him then, and that he was convinced of its probability by the -manner in which it harmonized with the conditions of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>The professor proceeded next to give a full account of the expansion of -wood by moisture, and went into the study of the whole phenomenon of -capillary force. He was somewhat verbose in his statement, probably -because he, like other regular lecturers, had been accustomed to spread -a very little fact over a great deal of time. His closing argument in -favor of the theory set forth by Benner was this: “In the ancient -quarries wedges of wood were driven into holes in the rock, water was -poured on the wedges, and the wood, expanding, split the solid mass. -Capillary force is irresistible. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> this force which caused the -deplorable accident which Mr. Benner has so ingeniously and logically -explained.”</p> - -<p>At the command of the judge the sculptor proceeded with his experiment. -He simply fastened the drawing-board with the mechanism to the bottom of -the inside of the tub by means of screws. When it was in place it was -covered by about an inch of water. The lieutenant then recorded on his -note-book the time of day and the position of the index, and every one -present made mental note of it. It was necessary, in order to give the -wood sufficient time to swell, to leave it in the water for four or five -hours. Consequently the judge adjourned the sitting until the afternoon -at four o’clock. The room was locked and put in charge of the lieutenant -and two men.</p> - -<p>When the same company assembled at the appointed hour the door was -opened by the lieutenant, and the judge, with genuine human curiosity, -stepped up to the tub, looked into it, and gave an exclamation of -surprise. The others approached and looked in. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span> lieutenant -announced, almost triumphantly, that the index had moved seven -millimetres—enough to have fired a cannon. The judge turned to the -excited company and said, simply, “Messieurs, it was a capillary -crime.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="A_FADED_SCAPULAR" id="A_FADED_SCAPULAR"></a>A FADED SCAPULAR</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E are seldom able to trace our individual superstitions to any definite -cause, nor can we often account for the peculiar sensations developed in -us by the inexplicable and mysterious incidents in our experience. Much -of the timidity of childhood may be traced to early training in the -nursery, and sometimes the moral effects of this weakness cannot be -eradicated through a lifetime of severe self-control and mental -suffering. The complicated disorders of the imagination which arise from -superstitious fears can frequently be accounted for only by inherited -characteristics, by peculiar sensitiveness to impressions, and by an -overpowering and perhaps abnormally active imagination. I am sure I am -confessing to no unusual characteristic when I say that I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> felt -from childhood a certain sentiment or sensation in regard to material -things which I can trace to no early experience, to the influence of no -literature, and to no possible source, in fact, but that of inherited -disposition.</p> - -<p>The sentiment I refer to is this: whatever has belonged to or has been -used by any person seems to me to have received some special quality, -which, though often invisible and still oftener indefinable, still -exists in a more or less strong degree, according to the amount of the -impressionable power, if I may call it so, which distinguished the -possessor. I am aware that this sentiment may be stigmatized as of the -school-girl order; that it is, indeed, of the same kind and class with -that which leads an otherwise honest person to steal a rag from a famous -battle flag, a leaf from an historical laurel wreath, or even to cut a -signature or a title-page from a precious volume; but with me the -feeling has never taken this turn, else I should not have confessed to -the possession of it. Whatever may be said or believed, however, I must -refer to it in more or less comprehensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> terms, because it may -explain the conditions, although it will not unveil the causes, of the -incidents I am about to describe with all honesty and frankness.</p> - -<p>Nearly twenty years ago I made my first visit to Rome, long before it -became the centre of the commercial and political activity of Italy, and -while it was yet unspoiled for the antiquarian, the student, the artist, -and the traveller. Never shall I forget the first few hours I spent -wandering aimlessly through the streets—so far as I then knew, a total -stranger in the city, with no distinct plan of remaining there, and with -only the slight and imperfect knowledge of the place that one gains from -the ordinary travellers’ descriptions. The streets, the houses, the -people, the strange sounds and stranger sights, the life so entirely -different from what I had hitherto seen—all this interested me greatly. -Far more powerful and far more vivid and lasting, however, was the -impression of an inconceivable number of presences—I hesitate to call -them spirits—not visible, of course, nor tangible, but still -oppressing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> me mentally and morally, exactly the same as my physical -self is often crushed and overpowered in a great assembly of people. I -walked about, visited the cafés and concert-halls, and tried in various -ways to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of ghostly company, but was -unsuccessful, and went to my lodgings much depressed and nervous. I took -my note-book, and wrote in it: “Rome has been too much lived in. Among -the multitude of the dead there is no room for the living.” It seemed -then a foolish memorandum to write, and now, as I look at the -half-effaced pencil lines, I wonder why I was not ashamed to write it. -Yet there it is before me, a witness to my sensations at the time, and -the scrawl has even now the power to bring up to me an unpleasantly -vivid memory of that first evening in Rome.</p> - -<p>After a few days passed in visiting the galleries and the regular sights -of the town, I began to look for a studio and an apartment, and finally -found one in the upper story of a house on the Via di Ripetta. Before -moving into the studio, I met an old friend and fel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span>low-artist, and, as -there was room enough for two, gladly took him in with me.</p> - -<p>The studio, with apartment, in the Via di Ripetta was by no means -unattractive. It was large, well lighted, comfortably and abundantly -furnished. It was, as I have said, at the top of the house; the studio -overlooked the Tiber, and the sitting-room and double-bedded -sleeping-room fronted the street. The large studio window was placed -rather high up, so that the entrance door—a wide, heavy affair, with -large hinges and immense complicated lock and a “judas”—opened from the -obscurity of the hall directly under the large window into the full -light of the studio. The roof of the house slanted from back to front, -so that the two rooms were lower studded than the studio, and an empty -space or low attic opening into the studio above them was partly -concealed by an ample and ragged curtain. The fireplace was in the -middle of the left wall as you entered the studio; the door into the -sitting-room was in the farther right-hand corner, and the bedroom was -entered by a door on the right-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span>hand wall of the sitting-room, so that -the bedroom formed a wing of the studio and sitting-room, and from the -former, looking through two doors, the bedroom window and part of the -street wall could be seen. Both the beds were hidden from sight of any -one in the studio, even when the doors were open.</p> - -<p>The apartment was furnished in a way which denoted a certain amount of -liberality, but everything was faded and worn, though not actually -shabby or dirty. The carpets were threadbare, the damask-covered sofa -and chairs showed marks of the springs, and the gimp was fringed and -torn off in places. The beds were not mates; the basin and ewer were of -different patterns; the few pictures on the wall were, like everything -else in the place, curiously gray and dusty-looking, as if they had been -shut up in the darkened rooms for a generation. Beyond the fireplace in -the studio, the corner of the room was partitioned off by a dingy -screen, six feet high or more, fixed to the floor for the space of two -yards,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> with one wing which shut like a door, enclosing a small space -fitted up like a miniature scullery, with a curious and elaborate -collection of pots and pans and kitchen utensils, all hung in orderly -rows, but every article with marks of service on it, and more recent and -obtrusive traces of long disuse.</p> - -<p>In one of the first days of my search for a studio I had found and -inspected this very place, but it had given me such a disagreeable -feeling—it had seemed so worn out, so full of relics of other -people—that I could not make up my mind to take it. After a thorough -search and diligent inquiry, however, I came to the conclusion that -there was absolutely no other place in Rome at that busy season where I -could set up my easel, and, after having the place recommended to me by -all the artists I called upon as a well-known and useful studio, and a -great find at the busy season of the year, I took a lease of the place -for four months.</p> - -<p>My friend and I moved in at the same time, and I will not deny that I -planned to be supported by his presence at the mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span>ment of taking -possession. When we arrived and had our traps all deposited in the -middle of the studio, there came over the spirits of us both a strange -gloom, which the bustle and confusion of settling did not in the least -dispel. It was nearly dark that winter afternoon before we had finished -unpacking, and the street lights were burning before we reached the -little restaurant in the Via Quattro Fontane, where we proposed to take -our meals. There was a cheerful company of artists and architects -assembled there that evening, and we sat over our wine long after -dinner. When the jolly party at last dispersed, it was well past -midnight.</p> - -<p>How gloomy the outer portal of the high building looked as we crossed -the dimly lighted street and pushed open the back door! A musty, damp -smell, like the atmosphere of the catacombs, met us as we entered. Our -footsteps echoed loud and hollow in the empty corridor, and the large -wax match I struck as we came in gave but a flickering light, which -dimly shadowed the outline of the stone stairway, and threw the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> rest of -the corridor into a deep and mysterious gloom. We tramped up the five -long flights of stone stairs without a word, the echo of our footsteps -sounding louder and louder, and the murky space behind us deepening into -the damp darkness of a cavern. At last, after what seemed an -interminable climb, we came to the studio entrance. I put the large key -in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door. A strong draught, like -the lifeless breath from the mouth of a tunnel, extinguished the match -and left us in darkness. I hesitated an instant, instinctively dreading -to enter, and then went in, followed by my friend, who closed the door -behind us. The heavy hinges creaked, the door shut into the jambs with a -solid thud, the lock sprang into place with a sharp click, and a noise -like the clanging of a prison gate resounded and re-echoed through the -corridor and through the spacious studio. I felt as if we were shut in -from the whole world.</p> - -<p>Lighting all the candles at hand and stirring up the fire, we endeavored -to make the studio look cheerful, and, neither of us being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> inclined to -go to bed, we sat for a long time talking and smoking. But even the -bright fire and the soothing tobacco smoke did not wholly dispel the -gloom of the place, and when we finally carried the candles into the -bedroom, I felt a vague sense of dismal anticipation and apprehension. -We left both doors open, so that the light from our room streamed across -the corner of the sitting-room, and threw a great square of strong -reflection on the studio carpet. While undressing, I found that I had -left my matchbox on the studio table, and thought I would return for it. -I remember now what a mental struggle I went through before I made up my -mind to go without a candle. I glanced at my friend’s face, partly to -see if he noticed any indication of nervousness in my expression, and -partly because I was conscious of a kind of psychological sympathy -between us. But fear of his ridicule made me effectually conceal my -feelings, and I went out of the room without speaking. As I walked -across the non-resonant, carpeted stone floor I had the most curious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> -set of sensations I have ever experienced. At nearly every step I took I -came into a different stratum or perpendicular layer of air. First it -was cool to my face, then warm, then chill again, and again warm. -Thinking to calm my nervous excitement, I stood still and looked around -me. The great window above my head dimly transmitted the sky reflection, -but threw little light into the studio. The folds of the curtain over -the open space above the sitting-room appeared to wave slightly in the -uncertain light, and the easels and lay figure stood gaunt and ghostly -along the further wall. I waited there and reasoned with myself, arguing -that there was no possible cause for fear, that a strong man ought to -control his nerves, that it was silly at my time of life to begin to be -afraid of the dark; but I could not get rid of the sensation. As I went -back to the bedroom I experienced the same succession of physical -shocks; but whether they followed each other in the same order or not I -was unable to determine.</p> - -<p>It was some time before I could get to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> sleep, and I opened my eyes once -or twice before I lost consciousness. From the bedroom window there was -a dim, very dim, light on the lace curtains, but the window itself was -visible as a square mass, and did not appear to illuminate the room in -the least. Suddenly, after a dreamless sleep of some duration, I awoke -as completely as if I had been startled by a loud noise. The lace -curtains were now quite brilliantly lighted from somewhere, I could not -tell where, but the window itself seemed to be as little luminous as -when I went to sleep. Without moving my head, I turned my eyes in the -direction of the studio, and could see the open door as a dark patch in -the gray wall, but nothing more. Then, as I was looking again at the -curious illumination of the curtains, a moving mass came into the angle -of my vision out of the corner of the room near the head of the bed, and -passed slowly into full view between me and the curtain. It was -unmistakably the figure of a man, not unlike that of the better type of -Italian, and was dressed in the commonly worn soft hat and ample<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> cloak. -His profile came out clearly against the light background of the lace -curtain, and showed him to be a man of considerable refinement of -feature. He did not make an actually solid black silhouette against the -light, neither was the figure translucent, but was rather like an object -seen through a vapor or through a sheet of thin ground glass.</p> - -<p>I tried to raise my head, but my nerve force seemed suddenly to fail me, -and while I was wondering at my powerlessness, and reasoning at the same -time that it must be a nightmare, the figure had moved slowly across in -front of the window, and out through the open door into the studio.</p> - -<p>I listened breathlessly, but not a sound did I hear from the next room. -I pinched myself, opened and shut my eyes, and noticed that the -breathing of my room-mate was irregular, and unlike that of a sleeping -man. I am unable to understand why I did not sit up or turn over or -speak to my friend to find out if he were awake. I was fully conscious -that I ought to do this, but something, I know not what, forced me to -lie perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> motionless watching the window. I heard my room-mate -breathing, opened and shut my eyes, and was certain, indeed, that I was -really awake. As I reasoned on the phenomenon, and came naturally to the -unwilling conclusion that my hallucination was probably premonitory of -malaria, my nerves grew quiet, I began to think less intensely, and then -I fell asleep.</p> - -<p>The next morning I awoke with a feeling of disagreeable anticipation. I -was loath to rise, even though the warm Italian sunlight was pouring -into the room and gilding the dingy interior with brilliant reflections. -In spite of this cheering glow of sunshine, the rooms still had the same -dead and uninhabited appearance, and the presence of my friend, a -vigorous and practical man, seemed to bring no recognizable vitality or -human element to counteract the oppressiveness of the place. Every -detail of my waking dream or hallucination of the night before was -perfectly fresh in my mind, and the sense of apprehension was still -strong upon me.</p> - -<p>The distracting operations of settling the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> studio, and the frequent -excursions to neighboring shops to buy articles necessary to our meagre -housekeeping, did much towards taking my mind off the incident of the -night; but every time I entered the sitting-room or the bedroom it all -came up to me with a vividness that made my nerves quiver. We explored -all the corners and cupboards of the place. We even crawled up over the -sitting-room behind the dingy curtain, where a large quantity of disused -frames and old stretchers were packed away. We familiarized ourselves, -in fact, with every nook and cranny of each room; moved the furniture -about in a different order; hung up draperies and sketches; and in many -ways changed the character of the interior. The faded, weary-looking -widow from whom I had hired the place, and who took care of the rooms, -carried away to her own apartment many of the most obnoxious trifles -which encumbered the small tables, the étagère, and the wall spaces. She -sighed a great deal as we were making the rapid changes to suit our own -taste, but made no objection, and we naturally thought it was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> -regular custom of every new occupant to turn the place upside down.</p> - -<p>Late in the afternoon I was alone in the studio for an hour or more, and -sat by the fire trying to read. The daylight was not gone, and the -rumble of the busy street came plainly to my ears. I say “trying to -read,” for I found reading quite impossible. The moment I began to fix -my attention on the page, I had a very powerful feeling that some one -was looking over my shoulder. Do what I would, I could not conquer the -unreasonable sensation. Finally, after starting up and looking about me -a dozen times, I threw down the book and went out. When I returned, -after an hour in the open air, I found my friend walking up and down in -the studio with open doors, and two guttering candles alight.</p> - -<p>“It’s a curious thing,” he said, “I can’t read this book. I have been -trying to put my mind on it a whole half-hour, and I can’t do it. I -always thought I could get interested in ‘Gaboriau’ in a moment under -any circumstances.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I went out to walk because I couldn’t manage to read,” I replied, and -the conversation ended.</p> - -<p>We went to the theatre that evening, and afterwards to the Café Greco, -where we talked art in half a dozen languages until midnight, and then -came home. Our entrance to the house and the studio was much the same as -on the previous night, and we went to bed without a word. My mind -naturally reverted to the experience of the night before, and I lay -there for a long time with my eyes open, making a strong effort of the -imagination to account for the vision by the dim shapes of the -furniture, the lace curtains, and the suggestive and shadowy -perspective. But, although the interior was weird enough, by reason of -the dingy hangings and the diffused light, I was unable to trace the -origin of the illusion to any object within the range of my vision, or -to account for the strange illumination which had startled me. I went to -sleep thinking of other things, and with my nerves comparatively quiet.</p> - -<p>Sometime in the early morning, about three<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> o’clock, as near as I could -judge, I slowly awoke, and saw the lace curtains illuminated as before. -I found myself in an expectant frame of mind, neither calm nor excited, -but rather in that condition of philosophical quiet which best prepared -me for an investigation of the phenomenon which I confidently expected -to witness. Perhaps this is assuming too eagerly the position of a -philosopher, but I am certain no element of fear disturbed my reason, -that I was neither startled nor surprised at awakening as I did, and -that my mind was active and undoubtedly prepared for the investigation -of the mystery.</p> - -<p>I was therefore not at all shocked to observe the same shape come first -into the angle of my eye, and then into the full range of my vision, -next appear as a silhouette against the curtains, and finally lose -itself in the darkness of the doorway. During the progress of the shape -across the room I noticed the size and general aspect of it with keen -attention to detail, and with satisfactory calmness of observation. It -was only after the figure had passed out of sight, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> the light on the -window curtains grew dim again, much as an electric light loses its -brilliancy with the diminution of the strength of the current, that it -occurred to me to consider the fact that during the period of the -hallucination I had been utterly motionless. There was not the slightest -doubt of my being awake. My friend in the adjoining bed was breathing -regularly, the ticking of my watch was plainly audible, and I could feel -my heart beating with unusual rapidity and vigor.</p> - -<p>The strange part of the whole incident was this incapacity of action; -and the more I reasoned about it the more I was mystified by the utter -failure of nerve force. Indeed, while the mind was actively at work on -this problem, the physical torpor continued, a languor not unlike the -incipient drowsiness of anæsthesia came gradually over me, and, though -mentally protesting against the helpless condition of the body, and -struggling to keep awake, I fell asleep, and did not stir till morning.</p> - -<p>With the bright, clear winter’s day re<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span>turned the doubts and -disappointments of the day before—doubts of the existence of the -phenomenon, disappointment at the failure of any solution of the -hallucination. A second day in the studio did little towards dispelling -the mental gloom which possessed us both, and at night my friend -confessed that he thought we must have stumbled into a malarial quarter.</p> - -<p>At this distance of time it is absolutely incomprehensible to me how I -could have gone on as I did from day to day, or rather from night to -night—for the same hallucination was repeated nightly—without speaking -to my friend, or at least taking some energetic steps towards an -investigation of the mystery. But I had the same experience every night -for fully a week before I really began to plan serious means of -discovering whether it was an hallucination, a nightmare, or a -flesh-and-blood intruder. First, I had some curiosity each night to see -whether there would be a repetition of the incident. Second, I was eager -to note any physical or mental symptom which would serve as a clue<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> to -the mystery. Pride, or some other equally authoritative sentiment, -continued to keep me from disclosing my secret to my friend, although I -was on the point of doing so on several occasions. My first plan was to -keep a candle burning all night, but I could invent no plausible excuse -to my comrade for this action. Next I proposed to shut the bedroom door, -and on speaking of it to my friend, he strongly objected on the ground -of the lack of ventilation, and was not willing to risk having the -window open on account of the malaria. After all, since this was an -entirely personal matter, it seemed to me the only thing to do was to -depend on my own strength of mind and moral courage to solve this -mystery unaided. I put my loaded revolver on the table by the bedside, -drew back the lace curtain before going to bed, and left the door only -half open, so I could not see into the studio. The night I made these -preparations I awoke as usual, saw the same figure, but, as before, -could not move a hand. After it had passed the window, I tried hard to -bring myself to take my revolver, and find<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> out whether I had to deal -with a man or a simulacrum. But even while I was arguing with myself, -and trying to find out why I could not move, sleep came upon me before I -had carried out my purposed action.</p> - -<p>The shock of the first appearance of the vision had been nearly -overbalanced by my eagerness to investigate, and my intense interest in -the novel condition of mind or body which made such an experience -possible. But after the utter failure of all my schemes and the collapse -of my theories as to evident causes of the phenomenon, I began to be -harassed and worried, almost unconsciously at first, by the ever-present -thought, the daily anticipation, and the increasing dread of the -hallucination. The self-confidence that first supported me in my nightly -encounter diminished on each occasion, and the curiosity which -stimulated me to the study of the phenomenon rapidly gave way to the -sentiment akin to terror, when I proved myself incapable of grappling -with the mystery.</p> - -<p>The natural result of this preoccupation was inability to work and -little interest in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> recreation, and as the long weeks wore away I grew -morose, morbid, and hypochondriacal. The pride which kept me from -sharing my secret with my friend also held me at my post, and nerved me -to endure the torment in the rapidly diminishing hope of finally -exorcising the spectre or recovering my usual healthy tone of mind. The -difficulty of my position was increased by the fact that the apparition -failed to appear occasionally; and while I welcomed each failure as a -sign that the visits were to cease, they continued spasmodically for -weeks, and I was still as far away from the interpretation of the -problem as ever. Once I sought medical advice, but the doctor could -discover nothing wrong with me except what might be caused by tobacco, -and, following his advice, I left off smoking. He said I had no malaria; -that I needed more exercise, perhaps; but he could not account for my -insomnia, for I, like most patients, had concealed the vital facts in my -case, and had complained of insomnia as the cause of my anxiety about my -health.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span></p> - -<p>The approach of spring tempted me out of doors, and in the warm villa -gardens and the sun-bathed Campagna I could sometimes forget the -nightmare that haunted me. This was not often possible, unless I was in -the company of cheerful companions, and I grew to dread the hour when I -was to return to the studio after an excursion into the country among -the soothing signs of returning summer. To shut the clanging door of the -studio was to place an impenetrable barrier between me and the outside -world; and the loneliness of that interior seemed to be only intensified -by the presence of my companion, who was apparently as much depressed in -spirits as myself.</p> - -<p>We made various attempts at the entertainment of friends, but they all -lacked that element of spontaneous fun which makes such occasions -successful, and we soon gave it up. On pleasant days we threw open the -windows on the street to let in the warm air and sunshine, but this did -not seem to drive away the musty odors of the interior. We were much too -high up to feel any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span> neighborly proximity to the people on the other -side of the street. The chimney-pots and irregular roofs below and -beyond were not very cheerful objects in the view; and the landlady, -who, as far as we knew, was the only other occupant of the upper story, -did not give us a great sense of companionship. Never once did I enter -the studio without feeling the same curious sensation of alternate warm -and cool strata of air. Never for a quarter of an hour did I succeed in -reading a book or a newspaper, however interesting it might be. We -frequently had two models at a time, and both my friend and myself made -several beginnings of pictures, but neither of us carried the work very -far.</p> - -<p>On one occasion a significant remark was made by a lady friend who came -to call. She will undoubtedly remember now when she reads these lines -that she said, on leaving the studio: “This is a curiously draughty -place. I feel as if it had been blowing hot and cold on me all the time -I have been here, and yet you have no windows open.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>At another time my comrade burst out as I was going away one evening -about eleven o’clock to a reception at one of the palaces: “I wish you -wouldn’t go in for society so much. I can’t go to the café; all the -fellows go home about this time of the evening. I don’t like to stay -here in this dismal hole, all cooped up by myself. I can’t read, I can’t -sleep, and I can’t think.”</p> - -<p>It occurred to me that it was a little queer for him to object to being -left alone, unless he, like myself, had some disagreeable experiences -there, and I remembered that he had usually gone out when I had, and was -seldom, if ever, alone in the studio when I returned. His tone was so -peevish and impatient that I thought discussion was injudicious, and -simply replied, “Oh, you’re bilious; I’ll be home early,” and went away. -I have often thought since that it was the one occasion when I could -have easily broached the subject of my mental trouble, and I have always -regretted I did not do so.</p> - -<p>Matters were brought to a climax in this way: My friend was summoned to -America<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> by telegraph a little more than two months after we took the -studio, and left me at a day’s notice. The amount and kind of moral -courage I had to summon up before I could go home alone the first -evening after my comrade left me can only be appreciated by those who -have undergone some similar torture. It was not like the bracing up a -man goes through when he has to face some imminent known danger, but was -of a more subtle and complex kind. “There is nothing to fear,” I kept -saying to myself, and yet I could not shake off a nameless dread. “You -are in your right mind and have all your senses,” I continually argued, -“for you see and hear and reason clearly enough. It is a brief -hallucination, and you can conquer the mental weakness which causes it -by persistent strength of will. If it be a simulacrum, you, as a -practical man, with good physical health and sound enough reasoning -powers, ought to investigate it to the best of your ability.” In this -way I endeavored to nerve myself up, and went home late, as usual. The -regular incident of the night<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> occurred. I felt keenly the loss of my -friend’s companionship, and suffered accordingly, but in the morning I -was no nearer to the solution of the mystery than I was before.</p> - -<p>For five weary, torturing nights did I go up to that room alone, and, -with no sound of human proximity to cheer me or to break the wretched -feeling of utter solitude, I endured the same experience. At last I -could bear it no longer, and determined to have a change of air and -surroundings. I hastily packed a travelling-bag and my color-box, -leaving all my extra clothes in the wardrobes and the bureau drawers, -told the landlady I should return in a week or two, and paid her for the -remainder of the time in advance. The last thing I did was to take my -travelling-cap, which hung near the head of my bed. A break in the -wall-paper showed that there was a small door here. Pulling the knob -which had held my cap, the door was readily opened, and disclosed a -small niche in the wall. Leaning against the back of the niche was a -small crucifix with a rude<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> figure of Christ, and suspended from the -neck of the image by a small cord was a triangular object covered with -faded cloth. While I was examining with some interest the hiding-place -of these relics, the landlady entered.</p> - -<p>“What are these?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, signore!” she said, half sobbing as she spoke. “These are relics of -my poor husband. He was an artist like yourself, signore. He was—he -was—ill, very ill—and in mind as well as body, signore. May the -Blessed Virgin rest his soul! He hated the crucifix, he hated the -scapular, he hated the priests. Signore, he—he died without the -sacrament, and cursed the holy water. I have never dared to touch those -relics, signore. But he was a good man, and the best of husbands;” and -she buried her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>I took the first train for Naples, and have never been in Rome since.</p> - -<p class="astc">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Three years later I was making an afternoon call in Boston, and met for -the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> time since we parted in Rome the friend who had occupied the -studio with me there.</p> - -<p>When our greetings were over I asked, without any preliminary remark or -explanation:</p> - -<p>“Did you ever notice anything peculiar about that studio in Rome?”</p> - -<p>“If you hadn’t asked me that question,” he replied, “I should have put a -similar one to you. I remember it as the most dismal and oppressive -place I ever was in. I had a constant presentiment that something -terrible was going to happen there. The air in the studio was often cold -and warm in streaks. I couldn’t read, write, or paint without feeling -that some one was looking over my shoulder. Every night I waked up -towards morning and lay awake for some time, and often thought of -speaking to find out whether you were awake too; for it seemed as if you -must be, from your breathing. I couldn’t bear to stay alone there either -in the daytime or at night, and even now I would rather live in the -catacombs than set<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> my easel up in that studio again. Now, what made you -ask me about it?”</p> - -<p>“Because I have never felt quite certain that I was in my right mind -during the season we spent in Rome, and the memory of that studio has -always haunted me like a horrid dream,” I replied. “Did you never have -any hallucinations or nightmares there?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, “unless you call the whole thing a nightmare.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you say something to me about it at the time?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you say something, if you felt as you say you did?” was his -reply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="YATIL" id="YATIL"></a>YATIL</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HILE in Paris, in the spring of 1878, I witnessed an accident in a -circus, which for a time made me renounce all athletic exhibitions. Six -horses were stationed side by side in the ring before a springboard, and -the whole company of gymnasts ran and turned somersaults over the -horses, alighting on a mattress spread on the ground. The agility of one -finely developed young fellow excited great applause every time he made -the leap. He would shoot forward in the air like a javelin, and in his -flight curl up and turn over directly above the mattress, dropping on -his feet as lightly as a bird. This play went on for some minutes, and -at each round of applause the favorite seemed to execute his leap with -increased skill and grace. Finally,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> he was seen to gather himself a -little farther in the background than usual, evidently to prepare for a -better start. The instant his turn came, he shot out of the crowd of -attendants and launched himself into the air with tremendous momentum. -Almost quicker than the eye could follow him, he had turned and was -dropping to the ground, his arms held above his head, which hung -slightly forward, and his legs stretched to meet the shock of the -elastic mattress.</p> - -<p>But this time he had jumped an inch too far. His feet struck just on the -edge of the mattress, and he was thrown violently forward, doubling up -on the ground with a dull thump, which was heard all over the immense -auditorium. He remained a second or two motionless, then sprang to his -feet, and as quickly sank to the ground again. The ring attendants and -two or three gymnasts rushed to him and took him up. The clown, in -evening dress, personating the mock ring-master, the conventional -spotted merryman, and a stalwart gymnast in buff fleshings, bore the -drooping<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> form of the favorite in their arms, and, followed by the -by-standers, who offered ineffectual assistance, carried the wounded man -across the ring and through the draped arch under the music gallery. -Under any other circumstances the group would have excited a laugh, for -the audience was in that condition of almost hysterical excitement when -only the least effort of a clown is necessary to cause a wave of -laughter. But the moment the wounded man was lifted from the ground, the -whole strong light from the brilliant chandelier struck full on his -right leg dangling from the knee, with the foot hanging limp and turned -inward. A deep murmur of sympathy swelled and rolled around the crowded -amphitheatre.</p> - -<p>I left the circus, and hundreds of others did the same. A dozen of us -called at the box-office to ask about the victim of the accident. He was -advertised as “The Great Polish Champion Bare-back Rider and Aerial -Gymnast.” We found that he was really a native of the East, whether Pole -or Russian the ticket-seller did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> know. His real name was Nagy, and -he had been engaged only recently, having returned a few months before -from a professional tour in North America. He was supposed to have -money, for he commanded a good salary, and was sober and faithful. The -accident, it was said, would probably disable him for a few weeks only, -and then he would resume his engagement.</p> - -<p>The next day an account of the accident was in the newspapers, and -twenty-four hours later all Paris had forgotten about it. For some -reason or other I frequently thought of the injured man, and had an -occasional impulse to go and inquire after him; but I never went. It -seemed to me that I had seen his face before, when or where I tried in -vain to recall. It was not an impressive face, but I could call it up at -any moment as distinct to my mind’s eye as a photograph to my physical -vision. Whenever I thought of him, a dim, very dim memory would flit -through my mind, which I could never seize and fix.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span></p> - -<p>Two months later, I was walking up the Rue Richelieu, when some one, -close beside me and a little behind, asked me in Hungarian if I was a -Magyar. I turned quickly to answer no, surprised at being thus -addressed, and beheld the disabled circus-rider. The feeling that I had -met him before came upon me even stronger than at the time of the -accident, and my puzzled expression was evidently construed by him into -vexation at being spoken to by a stranger. He began to apologize for -stopping me, and was moving away, when I asked him about the accident, -remarking that I was present on the evening of his misfortune. My next -question, put in order to detain him, was:</p> - -<p>“Why did you ask if I was a Hungarian?”</p> - -<p>“Because you wear a Hungarian hat,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>This was true. I happened to have on a little, round, soft felt hat, -which I had purchased in Buda-Pesth.</p> - -<p>“Well, but what if I were Hungarian?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Nothing; only I was lonely and wanted company, and you looked as if I -had seen you somewhere before. You are an artist, are you not?”</p> - -<p>I said I was, and asked him how he guessed it.</p> - -<p>“I can’t explain how it is,” he said, “but I always knew them. Are you -doing anything?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I may get you something to do,” he suggested. “What is your -line?”</p> - -<p>“Figures,” I answered, unable to divine how he thought he could assist -me.</p> - -<p>This reply seemed to puzzle him a little, and he continued:</p> - -<p>“Do you ride or do the trapeze?”</p> - -<p>It was my turn now to look dazed, and it might easily have been -gathered, from my expression, that I was not flattered at being taken -for a sawdust artist. However, as he apparently did not notice any -change in my face, I explained without further remark that I was a -painter. The explanation did not seem to disturb him any: he was -evi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span>dently acquainted with the profession, and looked upon it as kindred -to his own.</p> - -<p>As we walked along through the great open quadrangle of the Tuileries, I -had an opportunity of studying his general appearance. He was neatly -dressed, and, though pale, was apparently in good health. -Notwithstanding a painful limp, his carriage was erect and his movements -denoted great physical strength. On the bridge over the Seine we paused -for a moment and leaned on the parapet, and thus, for the first time, -stood nearly face to face. He looked earnestly at me a moment without -speaking, and then, shouting “<i>Torino</i>” so loudly and earnestly as to -attract the gaze of all the passers, he seized me by the hand, and -continued to shake it and repeat “<i>Torino</i>” over and over again.</p> - -<p>This word cleared up my befogged memory like magic. There was no longer -any mystery about the man before me. The impulse which now drew us -together was only the unconscious souvenir of an early acquaintance, for -we had met before. With<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> the vision of the Italian city, which came -distinctly to my eyes at that moment, came also to my mind every detail -of an incident which had long since passed entirely from my thoughts.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>It was during the Turin carnival in 1875 that I happened to stop over -for a day and a night, on my way down from Paris to Venice. The festival -was uncommonly dreary, for the air was chilly, the sky gray and gloomy, -and there was a total lack of spontaneity in the popular spirit. The -gaudy decorations of the Piazza, and the Corso, the numberless shows and -booths, and the brilliant costumes, could not make it appear a season of -jollity and mirth, for the note of discord in the hearts of the people -was much too strong. King Carnival’s might was on the wane, and neither -the influence of the Church nor the encouragement of the State was able -to bolster up the superannuated monarch. There was no communicativeness -in even what little fun there was going, and the day was a long and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span> a -tedious one. As I was strolling around in rather a melancholy mood, just -at the close of the cavalcade, I saw the flaming posters of a circus, -and knew my day was saved, for I had a great fondness for the ring. An -hour later I was seated in the cheerfully lighted amphitheatre, and the -old performance of the trained stallions was going on as I had seen it a -hundred times before. At last, the “Celebrated Cypriot Brothers, the -Universal Bare-back Riders,” came tripping gracefully into the ring, -sprang lightly upon two black horses, and were off around the narrow -circle like the wind, now together, now apart, performing all the while -marvellous feats of strength and skill. It required no study to discover -that there was no relationship between the two performers. One of them -was a heavy, gross, dark-skinned man, with the careless bearing of one -who had been nursed in a circus. The other was a small, fair-haired -youth of nineteen or twenty years, with limbs as straight and as shapely -as the Narcissus, and with joints like the wiry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span>-limbed fauns. His head -was round, and his face of a type which would never be called beautiful, -although it was strong in feature and attractive in expression. His eyes -were small and twinkling, his eyebrows heavy, and his mouth had a -peculiar proud curl in it which was never disturbed by the tame smile of -the practised performer. He was evidently a foreigner. He went through -his acts with wonderful readiness and with slight effort, and, while -apparently enjoying keenly the exhilaration of applause, he showed no -trace of the <i>blasé</i> bearing of the old stager. In nearly every act that -followed he took a prominent part. On the trapeze, somersaulting over -horses placed side by side, grouping with his so-called brother and a -small lad, he did his full share of the work, and, when the programme -was ended, he came among the audience to sell photographs while the -lottery was being drawn.</p> - -<p>As usual during the carnival, there was a lottery arranged by the -manager of the circus, and every ticket had a number which entitled the -holder to a chance in the prizes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> When the young gymnast came in turn -to me, radiant in his salmon fleshings and blue trunks, with slippers -and bows to match, I could not help asking him if he was an Italian.</p> - -<p>“No, signore, Magyar!” he replied, and I shortly found that his -knowledge of Italian was limited to a dozen words. I occupied him by -selecting some photographs, and, much to his surprise, spoke to him in -his native tongue. When he learned I had been in Hungary, he was greatly -pleased, and the impatience of other customers for the photographs was -the only thing that prevented him from becoming communicative -immediately. As he left me I slipped into his hand my lottery-ticket, -with the remark that I never had any luck, and hoped he would.</p> - -<p>The numbers were, meanwhile, rapidly drawn, the prizes being arranged in -the order of their value, each ticket taken from the hat denoting a -prize, until all were distributed. “Number twenty-eight—a pair of -elegant vases!” “Number sixteen—three bottles of vermouth!” “Number one -hun<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span>dred and eighty-four—candlesticks and two bottles of vermouth!” -“Number four hundred and ten—three bottles of vermouth and a set of -jewelry!” “Number three hundred and nineteen—five bottles of vermouth!” -and so on, with more bottles of vermouth than anything else. Indeed, -each prize had to be floated on a few litres of the Turin specialty, and -I began to think that perhaps it would have been better, after all, not -to have given my circus friend the ticket if he were to draw drink with -it.</p> - -<p>Many prizes were called out, and at last only two numbers remained. The -excitement was now intense, and it did not diminish when the conductor -of the lottery announced that the last two numbers would draw the two -great prizes of the evening, namely: An order on a Turin tailor for a -suit of clothes, and an order on a jeweller for a gold watch and chain. -The first of these two final numbers was taken out of the hat.</p> - -<p>“Number twenty-five—order for a suit of clothes!” was the announcement.</p> - -<p>Twenty-five had been the number of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> ticket. I did not hear the last -number drawn, for the Hungarian was in front of my seat trying to press -the order on me, and protesting against appropriating my good-luck. I -wrote my name on the programme for him, with the simple address, U. S. -A., persuaded him to accept the windfall, and went home. The next -morning I left town.</p> - -<p>On the occasion of our mutual recognition in Paris, the circus-rider -began to relate, as soon as the first flush of his surprise was over, -the story of his life since the incident in Turin. He had been to New -York and Boston, and all the large sea-coast towns; to Chicago, St. -Louis, and even to San Francisco; always with a circus company. Whenever -he had had an opportunity in the United States, he had asked for news of -me.</p> - -<p>“The United States is so large!” he said, with a sigh. “Every one told -me that, when I showed the Turin programme with your name on it.”</p> - -<p>The reason why he had kept the pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span>gramme and tried to find me in -America was because the lottery-ticket had been the direct means of his -emigration, and, in fact, the first piece of good-fortune that had -befallen him since he left his native town. When he joined the circus he -was an apprentice, and, besides a certain number of hours of gymnastic -practice daily and service in the ring both afternoon and evening, he -had half a dozen horses to care for, his part of the tent to pack up and -load, and the team to drive to the next stopping-place. For sixteen, and -often eighteen hours of hard work, he received only his food and his -performing clothes. When he was counted as one of the troupe his duties -were lightened, but he got only enough money to pay his way with -difficulty. Without a <i>lira</i> ahead, and, with no clothes but his rough -working suit and his performing costume, he could not hope to escape -from this sort of bondage. The luck of number twenty-five had put him on -his feet.</p> - -<p>“All Hungarians worship America,” he said, “and when I saw that you were -an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> American, I knew that my good-fortune had begun in earnest. Of -course, I believed America to be the land of plenty, and there could -have been no stronger proof of this than the generosity with which you, -the first American I had ever seen, gave me, a perfect stranger, such a -valuable prize. When I remembered the number of the ticket and the -letter in the alphabet, Y, to which this number corresponds, I was dazed -at the significance of the omen, and resolved at once to seek my fortune -in the United States. I sold the order on the tailor for money enough to -buy a suit of ready-made clothes and pay my fare to Genoa. From this -port I worked my passage to Gibraltar, and thence, after performing a -few weeks in a small English circus, I went to New York in a -fruit-vessel. As long as I was in America everything prospered with me. -I made a great deal of money, and spent a great deal. After a couple of -years I went to London with a company, and there lost my pay and my -position by the failure of the manager. In England my good-luck all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> -left me. Circus people are too plenty there; everybody is an artist. I -could scarcely get anything to do in my line, so I drifted over to -Paris.”</p> - -<p>We prolonged our stroll for an hour, for, although I did not anticipate -any pleasure or profit from continuing the acquaintance, there was yet a -certain attraction in his simplicity of manner and in his naïve faith in -the value of my influence on his fortunes. Before we parted he expressed -again his ability to get me something to do, but I did not credit his -statement enough to correct the impression that I was in need of -employment. At his earnest solicitation I gave him my address, -concealing, as well as I could, my reluctance to encourage an -acquaintance which would doubtless prove a burden to me.</p> - -<p>One day passed, and two, and, on the third morning, the porter showed -him to my room.</p> - -<p>“I have found you work!” he cried, in the first breath.</p> - -<p>Sure enough, he had been to a Polish<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> acquaintance who knew a -countryman, a copyist in the Louvre. This copyist had a superabundance -of orders, and was glad to get some one to help him finish them in -haste. My gymnast was so much elated over his success at finding -occupation for me that I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I was at -leisure only while hunting a studio. I therefore promised to go with him -to the Louvre some day, but I always found an excuse for not going.</p> - -<p>For two or three weeks we met at intervals. At various times, thinking -he was in want, I pressed him to accept the loan of a few francs; but he -always stoutly refused. We went together to his lodging-house, where the -landlady, an Englishwoman, who boarded most of the circus people, spoke -of her “poor, dear Mr. Nodge,” as she called him, in quite a maternal -way, and assured me that he had wanted for nothing, and should not as -long as his wound disabled him. In the course of a few days I had -gathered from him a complete history of his circus-life, which was full -of adventure and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> hardship. When we met in Turin, he was, as I thought -at the time, somewhat of a novice in the circus business, having left -his home less than two years before. He had, indeed, been associated as -a regular member of the company only a few months, after having served a -difficult and wearing apprenticeship. He was born in Koloszvar, where -his father was a professor in the university, and there he grew up with -three brothers and a sister, in a comfortable home. He always had had a -great desire to travel, and, from early childhood, developed a special -fondness for gymnastic feats. The thought of a circus made him fairly -wild. On rare occasions a travelling show visited this Transylvanian -town, and his parents with difficulty restrained him from following the -circus away. At last, in 1873, one show, more complete and more -brilliant than any one before seen there, came on the newly opened -railway, and he, now a man grown, went away with it, unable longer to -restrain his passion for the profession. Always accustomed to horses, -and already<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> a skilful acrobat, he was immediately accepted by the -manager as an apprentice, and, after a season in Roumania and a -disastrous trip through Southern Austria, they came into Northern Italy, -where I met him.</p> - -<p>Whenever he spoke of his early life he always became quiet and -depressed, and, for a long time, I believed that he brooded over his -mistake in exchanging a happy home for the vicissitudes of Bohemia. It -came out slowly, however, that he was haunted by a superstition, a -strange and ingenious one, which was yet not without a certain show of -reason for its existence. Little by little I learned the following facts -about it: His father was of pure Szeklar, or original Hungarian, stock, -as dark-skinned as a Hindoo, and his mother was from one of the families -of Western Hungary, with probably some Saxon blood in her veins. His -three brothers were dark like his father, but he and his sister were -blondes. He was born with a peculiar red mark on his right shoulder, -directly over the scapula. This mark was shaped like a forked stick. His -father had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> received a wound in the insurrection of ’48, a few months -before the birth of him, the youngest son, and this birth-mark -reproduced the shape of the father’s scar. Among Hungarians his father -passed for a very learned man. He spoke fluently German, French, and -Latin (the language used by Hungarians in common communication with -other nationalities), and took great pains to give his children an -acquaintance with each of these tongues. Their earliest playthings were -French alphabet-blocks, and the set which served as toys and tasks for -each of the elder brothers came at last to him as his legacy. The -letters were formed by the human figure in different attitudes, and each -block had a little couplet below the picture, beginning with the letter -on the block. The Y represented a gymnast hanging by his hands to a -trapeze, and, being a letter which does not occur in the Hungarian -language except in combinations, excited most the interest and -imagination of the youngsters. Thousands of times did they practise the -grouping of the figures on the blocks, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> the Y always served as a -model for trapeze exercises. My friend, on account of his birth-mark, -which resembled a rude Y, was early dubbed by his brothers with the -nickname Yatil, this being the first words of the French couplet printed -below the picture. Learning the French by heart, they believed the <i>Y -a-t-il</i> to be one word, and, with boyish fondness for nicknames, saddled -the youngest with this. It is easy to understand how the shape of this -letter, borne on his body in an indelible mark, and brought to his mind -every moment of the day, came to seem in some way connected with his -life. As he grew up in this belief he became more and more superstitious -about the letter and about everything in the remotest way connected with -it.</p> - -<p>The first great event of his life was joining the circus, and to this -the letter Y more or less directly led him. He left home on his -twenty-fifth birthday, and twenty-five was the number of the letter Y in -the block-alphabet.</p> - -<p>The second great event of his life was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> Turin lottery, and the -number of the lucky ticket was twenty-five. “The last sign given me,” he -said, “was the accident in the circus here.” As he spoke, he rolled up -the right leg of his trousers, and there, on the outside of the calf, -about midway between the knee and ankle, was a red scar forked like the -letter Y.</p> - -<p>From the time he confided his superstition to me he sought me more than -ever. I must confess to feeling, at each visit of his, a little -constrained and unnatural. He seemed to lean on me as a protector, and -to be hungry all the time for an intimate sympathy I could never give -him. Although I shared his secret, I could not lighten the burden of his -superstition. His wound had entirely healed, but, as his leg was still -weak and he still continued to limp a little, he could not resume his -place in the circus. Between brooding over his superstition and worrying -about his accident, he grew very despondent. The climax of his -hopelessness was reached when the doctor told him at last that he would -never be able to vault<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> again. The fracture had been a severe one, the -bone having protruded through the skin. The broken parts had knitted -with great difficulty, and the leg would never be as firm and as elastic -as before. Besides, the fracture had slightly shortened the lower leg. -His circus career was therefore ended, and he attributed his misfortune -to the ill-omened letter Y.</p> - -<p>Just about the time of his greatest despondency, war was declared -between Russia and Turkey. The Turkish embassadors were drumming up -recruits all over Western Europe. News came to the circus boarding-house -that good riders were wanted for the Turkish mounted gendarmes. Nagy -resolved to enlist, and we went together to the Turkish embassy. He was -enrolled after only a superficial examination, and was directed to -present himself on the following day to embark for Constantinople. He -begged me to go with him to the rendez-vous, and there I bade him adieu. -As I was shaking his hand he showed me the certificate given him by the -Turkish embas<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span>sador. It bore the date of May 25, and at the bottom was a -signature in Turkish characters which could be readily distorted by the -imagination into a rude and scrawling Y.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>A series of events occurring immediately after Nagy left for -Constantinople resulted in my own unexpected departure for the seat of -war in a civil capacity in the Russian army. The series of curious -coincidences in the experience of the circus-rider had impressed me very -much when he related them, but in the excitement of the Turkish campaign -I entirely forgot him and his story. I do not, indeed, recall any -thought of Nagy during the first five months in the field. The day after -the fall of Plevna I rode towards the town through the line of deserted -earthworks. The dead were lying where they had fallen in the dramatic -and useless sortie of the day before. The corpses on a battle-field -always excite fresh interest, no matter if the spectacle be an every-day -one; and as I rode slowly along I studied the attitudes of the dead -soldiers, speculating on the relation be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span>tween the death-poses and the -last impulse that had animated the living frame. Behind a rude barricade -of wagons and household goods, part of the train of non-combatants which -Osman Pasha had ordered to accompany the army in the sortie, a great -number of dead lay in confusion. The peculiar position of one of these -instantly attracted my eye. He had fallen on his face against the -barricade, with both arms stretched above his head, evidently killed -instantly. The figure on the alphabet-block, described by the -circus-rider, came immediately to my mind. My heart beat as I dismounted -and looked at the dead man’s face. It was unmistakably Turkish.</p> - -<p>This incident revived my interest in the life of the circus-rider, and -gave me an impulse to look among the prisoners to see if by chance he -might be with them. I spent a couple of days in distributing tobacco and -bread in the hospitals and among the thirty thousand wretches herded -shelterless in the snow. There were some of the mounted gendarmes among -them, and I even found<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> several Hungarians; but none of them had ever -heard of the circus-rider.</p> - -<p>The passage of the Balkans was a campaign full of excitement, and was -accompanied by so much hardship that selfishness entirely got the -upperhand of me, and life became a battle for physical comfort. After -the passage of the mountain range, we went ahead so fast that I had -little opportunity, even if I had the enterprise, to look among the few -prisoners for the circus-rider.</p> - -<p>Time passed, and we were at the end of a three days’ fight near -Philippopolis, in the middle of January. Suleiman Pasha’s army, -defeated, disorganized, and at last disbanded, though to that day still -unconquered, had finished the tragic act of its last campaign with the -heroic stand made in the foot-hills of the Rhodope Mountains, near -Stanimaka, south of Philippopolis. A long month in the terrible cold, on -the summits of the Balkan range; the forced retreat through the snow -after the battle of Taskosen; the neck-and-neck race with the Russians -down the valley of the Maritza; finally,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> the hot little battle on the -river-bank, and the two days of hand-to-hand struggle in the vineyards -of Stanimaka—this was a campaign to break the constitution of any -soldier. Days without food, nights without shelter from the mountain -blasts, always marching and always fighting, supplies and baggage lost, -ammunition and artillery gone—human nature could hold out no longer, -and the Turkish army dissolved away into the defiles of the Rhodopes. -Unfortunately for her, Turkey has no literature to chronicle, no art to -perpetuate, the heroism of her defenders.</p> - -<p>The incidents of that short campaign are too full of horror to be -related. Not only did the demon of war devour strong men, but found -dainty morsels for its bloody maw in innocent women and children. Whole -families, crazed by the belief that capture was worse than death, fought -in the ranks with the soldiers. Women, ambushed in coverts, shot the -Russians as they rummaged the captured trains for much-needed food. -Little children, thrown into the snow by the flying parents, died of -cold and starvation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> or were trampled to death by passing cavalry. Such -a useless waste of human life has not been recorded since the -indiscriminate massacres of the Middle Ages.</p> - -<p>The sight of human suffering soon blunts the sensibilities of any one -who lives with it, so that he is at last able to look upon it with no -stronger feeling than that of helplessness. Resigned to the inevitable, -he is no longer impressed by the woes of the individual. He looks upon -the illness, wounds, and death of the soldier as a part of the lot of -all combatants, and comes to consider him an insignificant unit of the -great mass of men. At last, only novelties in horrors will excite his -feelings.</p> - -<p>I was riding back from the Stanimaka battle-field, sufficiently elated -at the prospect of a speedy termination of the war—now made certain by -the breaking-up of Suleiman’s army—to forget where I was, and to -imagine myself back in my comfortable apartments in Paris. I only awoke -from my dream at the station where the highway from Stanimaka crosses -the railway line about a mile south<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> of Philippopolis. The great wooden -barracks had been used as a hospital for wounded Turks, and, as I drew -up my horse at the door, the last of the lot of four hundred, who had -been starving there nearly a week, were being placed upon carts to be -transported to the town. The road to Philippopolis was crowded with -wounded and refugees. Peasant families struggled along with all their -household goods piled upon a single cart. Ammunition wagons and droves -of cattle, rushing along against the tide of human beings towards the -distant bivouacs, made the confusion hopeless. Night was fast coming on, -and, in company with a Cossack, who was, like myself, seeking the -headquarters of General Gourko, I made my way through the tangle of men, -beasts, and wagons in the direction of the town. It was one of those -chill, wet days of winter when there is little comfort away from a -blazing fire, and when good shelter for the night is an absolute -necessity. The drizzle had saturated my garments, and the snow-mud had -soaked my boots. Sharp gusts of piercing wind drove the cold mist<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> -along, and as the temperature fell in the late afternoon, the slush of -the roads began to stiffen and the fog froze where it gathered. Every -motion of the limbs seemed to expose some unprotected part of the body -to the cold and wet. No amount of exercise that was possible with -stiffened limbs and in wet garments would warm the blood. Leading my -horse, I splashed along, holding my arms away from my body, and only -moving my benumbed fingers to wipe the chill drip from my face. It was -weather to take the courage out of the strongest man, and the sight of -the soaked and shivering wounded, packed in the jolting carts or limping -through the mud, gave me, hardened as I was, a painful contraction of -the heart. The best I could do was to lift upon my worn-out horse one -brave young fellow who was hobbling along with a bandaged leg. Followed -by the Cossack, whose horse bore a similar burden, I hurried along, -hoping to get under cover before dark. At the entrance to the town -numerous camp-fires burned in the bivouacs of the refugees, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> were -huddled together in the shelter of their wagons, trying to warm -themselves in the smoke of the wet fuel. I could see the wounded, as -they were jolted past in the heavy carts, look longingly at the kettles -of boiling maize which made the evening meal of the houseless natives.</p> - -<p>Inside the town, the wounded and the refugees were still more miserable -than those we had passed on the way. Loaded carts blocked the streets. -Every house was occupied, and the narrow sidewalks were crowded with -Russian soldiers, who looked wretched enough in their dripping -overcoats, as they stamped their rag-swathed feet. At the corner, in -front of the great Khan, motley groups of Greeks, Bulgarians, and -Russians were gathered, listlessly watching the line of hobbling wounded -as they turned the corner to find their way among the carts, up the hill -to the hospital, near the Konak. By the time I reached the Khan the -Cossack who accompanied me had fallen behind in the confusion, and, -without waiting for him, I pushed along, wading in the gutter, dragging<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> -my horse by the bridle. Half-way up the hill I saw a crowd of natives -watching with curiosity two Russian guardsmen and a Turkish prisoner. -The latter was evidently exhausted, for he was crouching in the freezing -mud of the street. Presently the soldiers shook him roughly, and raised -him forcibly to his feet, and, half supporting him between them, they -moved slowly along, the Turk balancing on his stiffened legs, and -swinging from side to side.</p> - -<p>He was a most wretched object to look at. He had neither boots nor fez; -his feet were bare, and his trousers were torn off near the knee, and -hung in tatters around his mud-splashed legs. An end of the red sash -fastened to his waist trailed far behind in the mud. A blue-cloth jacket -hung loosely from his shoulders, and his hands and wrists dangled from -the ragged sleeves. His head rolled around at each movement of the body, -and at short intervals the muscles of the neck would rigidly contract. -All at once he drew himself up with a shudder and sank down in the mud -again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></p> - -<p>The guardsmen were themselves near the end of their strength, and their -patience was well-nigh finished as well. Rough mountain marching had -torn the soles from their boots, and great, unsightly wraps of raw-hide -and rags were bound on their feet. The thin, worn overcoats, burned in -many places, flapped dismally against their ankles; and their caps, -beaten out of shape by many storms, clung drenched to their heads. They -were in no condition to help any one to walk, for they could scarcely -get on alone. They stood a moment shivering, looked at each other, shook -their heads as if discouraged, and proceeded to rouse the Turk by -hauling him upon his feet again. The three moved on a few yards, and the -prisoner fell again, and the same operation was repeated. All this time -I was crowding nearer and nearer, and as I got within a half-dozen -paces, the Turk fell once more, and this time lay at full length in the -mud. The guardsmen tried to rouse him by shaking, but in vain. Finally, -one of them, losing all patience, pricked him with his bayonet on the -lower part of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> ribs exposed by the raising of the jacket as he fell. -I was now near enough to act, and with a sudden clutch I pulled the -guardsman away, whirled him around, and stood in his place. As I was -stooping over the Turk he raised himself slowly, doubtless aroused by -the pain of the puncture, and turned on me a most beseeching look, which -changed at once into something like joy and surprise. Immediately a -death-like pallor spread over his face, and he sank back again with a -groan.</p> - -<p>By this time quite a crowd of Bulgarians had gathered around us, and -seemed to enjoy the sight of a suffering enemy. It was evident that they -did not intend to volunteer any assistance, so I helped the wounded -Russian down from my saddle, and invited the natives rather sternly to -put the Turk in his place. With true Bulgarian spirit they refused to -assist a Turk, and it required the argument of the raw-hide (<i>nagajka</i>) -to bring them to their senses. Three of them, cornered and flogged, -lifted the unconscious man and carried him towards the horse; the -soldiers meanwhile, believing me to be an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> officer, standing in the -attitude of attention. As the Bulgarians bore the Turk to the horse, a -few drops of blood fell to the ground. I noticed then that he had his -shirt tied around his left shoulder, under his jacket. Supported in the -saddle by two natives on each side, his head falling forward on his -breast, the wounded prisoner was carried with all possible tenderness to -the Stafford House Hospital, near the Konak. As we moved slowly up the -hill, I looked back, and saw the two guardsmen sitting on the muddy -sidewalk, with their guns leaning against their shoulders—too much -exhausted to go either way.</p> - -<p>I found room for my charge in one of the upper rooms of the hospital, -where he was washed and put into a warm bed. His wound proved to be a -severe one. A Berdan bullet had passed through the thick part of the -left pectoral, out again, and into the head of the humerus. The surgeon -said that the arm would have to be operated on, to remove the upper -quarter of the bone.</p> - -<p>The next morning I went to the hospital<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> to see what had become of the -wounded man, for the incident of the previous evening had made a deep -impression on my mind. As I walked through the corridor I saw a group -around a temporary bed in the corner. Some one was evidently about to -undergo an operation, for an assistant held at intervals a great cone of -linen over a haggard face on the pillow, and a strong smell of -chloroform filled the air. As I approached, the surgeon turned around, -and, recognizing me, said with a nod and a smile, “We are at work on -your friend.” While he was speaking, he bared the left shoulder of the -wounded man, and I saw the holes made by the bullet as it passed from -the pectoral into the upper part of the deltoid. Without waiting longer, -the surgeon made a straight cut downward from near the acromion through -the thick fibre of the deltoid to the bone. He attempted to sever the -tendons so as to slip the head of the humerus from the socket, but -failed. He wasted no time in further trial, but made a second incision -from the bullet-hole diagonally to the middle of the first cut,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> and -turned the pointed flap up over the shoulder. It was now easy to unjoint -the bones, and but a moment’s work to saw off the shattered piece of the -humerus, tie the severed arteries, and bring the flap again into its -place.</p> - -<p>There was no time to pause, for the surgeon began to fear the effects of -the chloroform on the patient. We hastened to revive him by every -possible means at hand, throwing cold water on him and warming his hands -and feet. Although under the influence of chloroform to the degree that -he was insensible to pain, he had not been permitted to lose his entire -consciousness, and he appeared to be sensible of what we were doing. -Nevertheless, he awoke slowly, very slowly, the surgeon meanwhile -putting the stitches in the incision. At last he raised his eyelids, -made a slight movement with his lips, and then deliberately surveyed the -circle of faces gathered closely around the bed. There was something in -his eyes which had an irresistible attraction for me, and I bent forward -to intercept his gaze.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> As his eyes met mine they changed as if a sudden -light had struck them, and the stony stare gave way to a look of -intelligence and recognition. Then, through the beard of a season’s -growth, and behind the haggard mask before me, I saw at once the -circus-rider of Turin and Paris. I remember being scarcely excited or -surprised at the meeting, for a great sense of irresponsibility came -over me, and I involuntarily accepted the coincidence as a matter of -course. He tried in vain to speak, but held up his right hand and feebly -made with his fingers the sign of the letter which had played such an -important part in the story of his life. Even at that instant the light -left his eyes, and something like a veil seemed drawn over them. With -the instinctive energy which possesses every one when there is a chance -of saving human life, we redoubled our efforts to restore the patient to -consciousness. But while we strove to feed the flame with some of our -own vitality, it flickered and went out, leaving the hue of ashes where -the rosy tinge of life had been. His heart was paralyzed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span></p> - -<p>As I turned away, my eye caught the surgeon’s incision, which was now -plainly visible on the left shoulder. The cut was in the form of the -letter Y.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="TEDESCOS_RUBINA" id="TEDESCOS_RUBINA"></a>TEDESCO’S RUBINA</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>NY one may see among the fragments of antique sculpture in one of the -museums of Rome a marble head of a young maiden which has been rudely -broken off at the neck. It bears no marks of restoration, and is mounted -on the conventional pedestal or support. There is a half-coquettish -twinkle in the lines of the mouth and eyes, and a most bewitching -expression of innocent youthful happiness about the face, which at once -attract and fascinate the eye of even the most careless observer of -these relics of ancient art. The head is gracefully poised and -exquisitely proportioned, but is not conventionalized to the degree -usual in busts of a similar character. Indeed, notwithstanding its -classical aspect, there is a marked individuality of treatment -noticeable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> in its composition, if I may so call the arrangement of the -hair and the pose of the head. The features are small and regular; the -chin a trifle too delicate, if possible, to complete the full oval -suggested by the upper part of the face; and the hair, in which a wreath -of ivy is twined, clusters in slender, irregular curls around a low -forehead, and is gathered behind in a loose knot. One tress of hair, -escaping from the embrace of the ivy-branch, caressingly clings to the -neck. On the pedestal is the label:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“A Roman Nymph—Fragment.”</p></div> - -<p>Visiting the museum one day in company with two artist friends, I -pointed this head out to them as we were hastily passing through the -room. Like myself, they were enchanted with the fragment, and lingered -to sketch it. They were very long in making their sketches; and after -they declared them finished, shut their books with a resolute air, -walked briskly off, but returned again, one after the other, to take -another look. At last I succeeded in dragging them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> away; but while we -were examining another part of the collection, in an adjoining room, -each disappeared in turn, and came back, after a few minutes’ absence, -with the volunteered excuse that he had found it necessary to put a last -touch on his drawing of the attractive fragment. When we left the museum -both of my infatuated friends had made arrangements with the custodian -to permit a moulder to come and take a cast of the head.</p> - -<p>The island of Capri is the most delightful spot in the Mediterranean. -Blessed with a fine climate, a comparatively fertile soil, and a -contented population, it is one of the best places accessible to the -ordinary traveller in which to spend a quiet season. In this refuge life -does not sparkle, but stagnates. Tired nerves recover their tone in the -eventless succession of lazy days. Overtaxed digestion regains its -normal strength through the simple diet, the pure air, and the repose of -mind and body which are found in this paradise. Of late years the island -has become a great resort for artists of all nationali<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span>ties. Many good -studios are to be had there; plenty of trained models of both sexes and -all ages are eager to work for trifling wages; living is cheap, rents -are by no means exorbitant, and subjects for pictures abound at every -step.</p> - -<p>A few modern buildings of some pretensions to size and architectural -style have been erected within the last twenty or thirty years, but the -greater part of the houses on the island, both in the town of Capri and -in the village of Anacapri, are very old and exceedingly simple in -construction. The streets of the town are narrow and crooked, and twist -about in a perfect maze of tufa walls and whitewashed façades, -straggling away in all directions from the piazza. The dwellings of the -poorer classes are jumbled together along these narrow streets as if -space were very valuable. They overhang and even span the roadway at -intervals, and frequently the flat roof of one house serves as a -<i>loggia</i>, or broad balcony, for the one above it. Small gardens are -sometimes cultivated on these housetops, and the bleat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span>ing of goats and -cackling of hens are often heard in the shrubbery there. Not the least -among the many attractions of Capri are its historical relics. Ruined -Roman villas and palaces abound all over the hills; traces of ancient -baths and grottos of the nymphs may be seen along the water’s edge; and -fragments of Roman architecture are built into every wall, and into -almost every house. The peculiar geological formation of the island -furnishes the excuse for a variety of short and pleasant excursions; for -there are numbers of interesting caves, strange rock forms, and grandly -picturesque cliffs and cañons within easy reach by sea or by land.</p> - -<p>When I was in Capri, there was one remarkably pretty girl among the -models, called Lisa. She was only fifteen years old, but, like the usual -type of Southern maiden, was as fully developed as if she were three or -four years older. Her father and mother were dead, and she lived with -her great-grandmother in a small house of a single room in a narrow -street which ran directly under my bedroom. None of the houses of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> the -quarter where my studio and apartment were situated had glass in the -windows, but the interiors were lighted, like those of the ancient -Romans, by square holes provided with wooden shutters. From the rude -window in my bedroom, and also from the <i>loggia</i> in front of the studio, -I could look directly down into the small dwelling below, and at all -times of the day could see the old woman knitting in the shadow just -inside the open door, and Lisa flitting about, busy with the primitive -housekeeping. Whenever I wanted the girl to sit for me, I had only to -call down and she would come up to the studio. It takes but a few days -to become intimately acquainted with the simple-hearted islanders, and -in a short time the old woman grew very friendly and communicative. At -my invitation she frequently came to sit on the <i>loggia</i>, whence she -could look over the sea, towards the south, to watch for returning coral -fishermen, or on the other side, to the north and east, where Naples -shimmered in the sun, and Vesuvius reared its sombre cone. She was not -comely to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> look upon, for she was wrinkled beyond belief, and her -parchment skin was the color of oak-tanned leather. She often said that -Lisa was the image of her own family, but I could trace no resemblance -between the blooming maid and the withered dame. The chief beauty of the -young girl’s face, or at least the most remarkable feature of it, was -the eyes, which were of a deep-blue gray, almost as brilliant as the -rich, dark ones common to the Italian type, but more unique and more -charming in contrast with the olive-tinted skin and black hair. The old -woman’s eyes were as dark as those of the generality of her race, and -apparently but little dimmed by her great age. All over the island she -had the reputation of being the oldest inhabitant; but as she could not -remember the date of her birth—if, indeed, she ever knew it—and as -there had been no records kept at the time she was born, there was no -means of proving the truth or the falsity of the tales about her -wonderful age. She bore everywhere the peculiar name of La Rubina di -Tedesco<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span>—Tedesco’s Rubina—the significance of which, although it was -variously explained by common tradition, had really been forgotten more -than a generation before, and was now known only to herself. The -islanders are fond of giving nicknames, and I should not have remarked -this one among so many others if it had not been for the word Tedesco, -which in Italian means German. My curiosity was excited on this account, -to discover what the name really meant and why it had been given to her.</p> - -<p>In the long summer twilights I used to talk with the old woman by the -hour, or rather I used to listen to her by the hour, for without a word -of encouragement from me she would drone on in her queer patois in the -garrulous way very old people have, elaborating the details of the most -trivial incidents, and rehearsing the intimate family history of all her -numerous acquaintances. She looked upon me with the more favor because -it happened that I was the only artist who employed Lisa, and -consequently furnished all the money for the support of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> the small -household. Relying on the position I held in her esteem as patron, and -cannily increasing her obligation to me by various small presents, I -schemed for a long time to make her tell the history of her own life. -She had an aggravating way of either utterly ignoring all questions on -this subject, or else of taking refuge in a series of wails on the -change in the times and on the degeneracy of the islanders. By degrees -and at long intervals I did, however, succeed in getting a full account -of her early life and of the origin of her popular name.</p> - -<p>Long ago, even long before any steamers were seen on the Bay of Naples, -two young Germans—a sculptor and an architect—wandered down to Capri, -to study the antiquities of the island. They were both captivated by the -beauties of the spot, by the delights of the pastoral life they led -there, and possibly also by the charms of the island maidens, who even -then had a wide reputation for beauty, and they consequently stayed on -indefinitely. Rubina was then a girl of fourteen, and held the enviable -position of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> belle of Anacapri. The sculptor, whose name was Carl -Deutsch, somehow made the acquaintance of the beauty, and after a time -persuaded her to sit to him. He first made a bust in wax, and then began -to work it out in marble, using for his material an antique block found -in one of the ruined palaces of Tiberius. Days and weeks he toiled over -this bust, and as he worked he grew hopelessly in love with his model. -As time passed, the islanders, with their usual freedom with foreigners’ -names, translated Carl Deutsch into its Italian equivalent, Carlo -Tedesco, and Rubina, who was constantly employed by the sculptor as a -model, was naturally called Tedesco’s Rubina.</p> - -<p>Then on the peaceful island was enacted the same old tragedy that has -been played all over the world myriads of times before and since. -Tedesco’s friend, the architect, also fell in love with the model, and -took advantage of the sculptor’s preoccupation with his work to gain the -girl’s affection. Early in the morning, while his friend was engaged in -preparing his clay and arranging his stu<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span>dio for the day, he would toil -up the six hundred stone steps which led to the village of Anacapri, on -the plateau above, meet Rubina, and accompany her down as far as the -outskirts of the town. Then often, at the close of the day, when the -sculptor, oppressed with the hopeless feeling of discouragement and -despair which at times comes over every true artist, would give up his -favorite stroll with Rubina and remain to gaze at his work and ponder -over it, the architect would be sure to take his place. So it went on to -the usual climax. Rubina, flattered by the assiduous attentions of the -one, and somewhat piqued by the frequent fits of absent-mindedness and -preoccupation of the other, at last reluctantly gave her consent to -marry the architect, who planned an elopement without exciting a -suspicion on the part of the sculptor that his idol was stolen from him. -The faithless friend, pretending to the innocent girl that, being of -different religions, it was necessary for them to go to the mainland to -be married, sailed away with her one morning at daybreak without the -knowl<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span>edge of any one save the two men who were hired to row them to -Naples. Where they went, and how long they lived together, I could not -find out, for she would not open her lips about that portion of her -history. Only after a great deal of persuasive interrogation did I learn -that when she came back she brought with her a girl baby a few months -old. It was always believed in the village that her husband had died. I -drew my own inference about the circumstances of her return.</p> - -<p>When she reached the island, Tedesco had long since disappeared, and, -although there were no absolute proofs, he was thought to be dead. For -months after he had learned of the faithlessness of both sweetheart and -friend he had been seen very little outside his studio. What he did -there was not known, for he invited nobody to enter. Even the neighbor’s -wife who had done the housekeeping for the two young men did not see the -interior of the studio after Rubina ran away. She gossiped of the -sculptor to the women down the street, and they all shook<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span> their heads, -touched their foreheads significantly with index-fingers, and sadly -repeated, “<i>Un po’ matto, un po’ matto</i>”—“A little mad.” Several weeks -passed after the flight of the young couple, and then the sculptor was -observed nearly every morning to walk over one of the hills in the -direction of a high cliff. Sometimes he was absent but a few hours, but -on other days he did not return until night. At length, towards the end -of winter, he gave up his studio and apartment without a word of his -plans to any one. When he had departed, carrying the few articles of -clothing which were kept in the outer room, the housekeeper entered the -studio and found, to her astonishment, that, with the sculptor, all -traces of his work had disappeared.</p> - -<p>After a while it was discovered that he had taken up his abode in a -certain cave near the water’s edge, at the foot of the cliff, along the -top of which he had been frequently seen walking. This cave had always -been considered approachable only from the water side; but some men who -were fishing for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> cuttlefish near the shore had seen the mad sculptor -clamber down the precipice and enter the mouth of the cave, which was -half closed by accumulated rubble and sand. The fishermen, of course, -exaggerated their story, and the simple islanders, who always regard a -demented person with awe, came to believe that the sculptor possessed -superhuman strength and agility; and, although their curiosity -concerning his mode of life and occupation was much excited, their -superstitious fears prevented them from interfering with him or -attempting to investigate his actions. At long intervals the hermit -would appear in the piazza, receive his letters, buy a few articles of -food, and disappear again, not to be seen for weeks.</p> - -<p>Summer passed and a second winter came on, and with it a succession of -unusually severe storms. During one of these long gales the sea rose -several feet, and the breakers beat against the rocks with terrific -force. On the weather side of the island all the boats which had not -been hauled up much higher than usual were dashed to pieces. No one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> -dared to leave the island, and there was no communication with the -mainland for nearly two weeks. After that storm the sculptor was never -seen again. Some fishermen ventured into the mouth of the cave, now -washed clear of rubbish, but discovered nothing. It was therefore -believed that the hermit, with all his belongings, was swept out to sea -by the waves. Of late years no one had visited the cave, because the -military guard stationed near by to prevent the people from gathering -salt on the rocks, and thus evading the payment of the national tax on -this article, had prohibited boats from landing there. This prohibition -was strengthened by the orders which forbade the exploration of any of -the Roman ruins or grottos on the island by persons not employed for -that purpose by the government. Several years before, the authorities -had examined all the ruins. They had carried to Naples all the -antiquities they could find, and then had put a penalty on the -explorations of the islanders, to whom the antiquities are popularly -supposed to belong by right of inheritance. This regulation had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> created -a great deal of bad feeling, particularly since several peasants had -been fined and imprisoned for simply digging up a few relics to sell to -travellers.</p> - -<p>I asked the old woman what became of her child, for she did not readily -volunteer any information concerning her.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ah, signor padrone</i>,” she said, “she was a perfect little German, with -hair as blond as the fleece of the yellow goats. She was a good child, -but was never very strong. She married a coral fisherman when she was -seventeen, and died giving birth to Lisa’s mother. Poor thing! May the -blessed Maria, mother of God, rest her soul! Lisa’s mother was blond -also, but with hair like the flame of sunset. She was a fine, strong -creature, and could carry a sack of salt up the steps to Anacapri as -well as any girl in the village—yes, even better than any other. She -married a custom-house officer and moved to Naples, where she had meat -on her table once every blessed week. But even in her prosperity the -misfortunes of the family followed her, and the cholera carried off her -husband,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> herself, and a boy baby—may their souls rest in -Paradise!—leaving Lisa alone in the world but for me, who have lived to -see all this misery and all these changes. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! -Lisa resembles her mother only in her eyes. All the rest of her is -Caprian. Ah me! ah me! She’s the image of what I was, except her eyes. -By the grace of God I am able to see it! May the Virgin spare her to -suffer—” and so on to the end of the chapter of mingled family history -and invocations.</p> - -<p>Lisa resemble her? I thought. Impossible. What! that wrinkled skin ever -know the bloom of youth like that on Lisa’s cheek; that sharp chin ever -have a rounded contour; that angular face ever show as perfect an oval -as the one fringed by the wavy hair straggling out from Lisa’s kerchief? -Did that mask, seared with the marks of years of suffering, privation, -and toil, ever bear the sweet, bewitching expression which in Lisa’s -face haunts me with a vague, half-remembered fascination? Never! It -cannot be!</p> - -<p>This history of a love-tragedy, enacted when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> Goethe was still walking -among the artificial antiquities in the groves of Weimar had a curious -charm for me. I patiently listened to hours of irrelevant gossip and -uninteresting description of family matters before I succeeded in -getting together even as meagre a thread of the story as the one I have -just repeated. The old woman had a feeble memory for recent events and -dates, but she seemed to be able to recollect as well as ever incidents -which took place at the beginning of the century. She retailed the -scandals of fifty years ago with as much delight as if the interested -parties had not all of them long since been followed to the hillside -graveyard or been buried in the waste of waters in that mysterious -region known as the coral fisheries.</p> - -<p>Partly in order to test the accuracy of her memory, and partly to -satisfy my curiosity, I persuaded her to show me the place where the -sculptor used to walk along the edge of the cliff. I had previously -taken a look at the cave from the water, and knew its position in -relation to the cliff, but had never been able to discover how the -German had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> succeeded in clambering up and down. Accordingly, one Sunday -afternoon, when most of the islanders were in church, she hobbled along -with me a short distance up the hillside and pointed out the spot where -the children had seen the mad sculptor vanish in the air. This place was -marked by a projecting piece of rock, which cropped out of the turf on -the very edge of the cliff, not at its highest point, but at some -distance down the shoulder of the hill, where it had been broken sheer -off in the great convulsion of nature which raised the isolated, lofty -island above the sea. I could not induce her to go within a dozen rods -or more of the edge of the cliff, and, having shown me the spot I wished -to find, she hobbled homeward again.</p> - -<p>There was no path across the hill in any direction, and the scant grass -was rarely trodden except by the goats and their keepers. On that Sunday -forenoon there was no one in sight except, a long distance off, a -shepherd watching a few goats. Thinking it a favorable opportunity to -investigate the truth of the story about the sculptor, I walked up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> to -the very brink of the precipice and lay down flat on the top of the -piece of rock pointed out by the old woman, and cautiously looked over -the abyss. The cliff below me was by no means sheer, for it was broken -by a number of irregular shelf-like projections, a few inches wide, upon -which loose bits of falling stone had caught from time to time. -Cautiously looking over the cliff, I saw at once that it would be -possible for me to let myself down to the first irregular projection, or -bench, provided I could get some firm hold for my hands. The turf -afforded no such hold, and at the very edge, where it was crumbled by -the weather, it was so broken as to be dangerous to stand on. I looked -along the smooth, perpendicular ledge, but found no ring to fasten a -rope to and no marks of any such contrivance. A careful search in the -immediate neighborhood disclosed no signs of a wooden post or stake, or, -indeed, anything which would serve as an anchor for a hand rope. I lay -down and hung over the cliff, to see if I could discover any traces of a -ladder, marks of spikes, tell-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span>tale streaks of iron-rust, or anything to -show how the descent had been made. Nothing of the kind was visible.</p> - -<p>Far below, the great expanse of turquoise sea, stained with the shadows -of summer clouds, seemed to rise with a convex surface to meet the sky -at the distant horizon line. Away off to the south, towards Stromboli -and Sicily, a few sails, minute white dots relieved against the delicate -blue water, hung motionless, as if suspended in an opalescent ether. To -the left the green shores of the mainland stretched away to hazy Pæstum. -To the right the headland of Anacapri rose majestically against the -tender summer sky, and a bank of cumulus clouds was reflected in the -smooth sea. Beneath screamed a flock of sea-gulls, sailing hither and -thither in graceful flight.</p> - -<p>While dreaming over the beauty of the scene before me, I suddenly caught -sight out of the very corner of my eye, as it were, of a crevice in the -ledge beside me, almost hidden by the grass which grew tall against the -rock. Hastily tearing the grass away with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> my right hand, I found that -this cleft, which was only a couple of inches wide at the most, -continued downward along the face of the cliff in a slanting direction, -rapidly diminishing in width until it lost itself or became a simple -crack in the rock. With my knife and fingers I dug the cleft out clean, -as far in as I could reach, expecting to find an iron rod or a spike or -something to which a rope could be fastened. But I was again -disappointed, for there were no signs of iron and no visible marks of -man’s handiwork. Whether this was an artificial excavation in the rock, -or merely an accidental irregularity, I could not determine, but it made -a perfect hold for the hand, like an inverted draw-pull. The moment I -discovered this I saw how the descent could easily be accomplished, and -without stopping to reflect I clutched my right hand firmly in the cleft -and swung off the cliff. My feet struck a pile of loose stones, but I -soon kicked them off, made a solid foothold for myself, and then -cautiously turned around. The wall of rock pitched backward sufficiently -for me to lean up against it, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> my face to the sea, and stand there -perfectly secure. When I turned again and stood facing the rock, my head -was above the edge of the cliff so that I could overlook quite an area -of the hilltop. Before attempting to descend the cliff I thought it -prudent to test my ability to reach the turf again. Seizing the cleft -with the fingers of my right hand, and clutching the irregularities of -the edge of the rock with my left, I easily swung myself upon my chest, -and then upon my knees, and stood on the turf. Elated now by my success, -I let myself over the edge again, and began the difficult task of -picking my way down the face of the cliff. By diligently kicking and -pushing the rubble from the bench I was on, I slowly made my way along, -steadying myself as well as I could by putting my fingers in the -crevices of the rock. In two places I found three or four holes, which -had the appearance of having been artificially made, and by the aid of -these I let myself down to the second and third projecting benches. From -this point the descent was made without much difficulty, al<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span>though I -carefully refrained from casting my eyes seaward during the whole climb. -Fortunately I was on the face of the cliff, which was at a receding -angle, and consequently was not swept by the telescope of the guard on -the beach to the right, and I finished the descent and reached a point -to the left of the mouth of the cave, and on a level with it, without -any interruption. I was too much fatigued to care to risk discovery by -the guard in entering the cave, which was in full sight of his station; -so, after resting awhile on the rocks, I clambered up the path I had -come, and found that the ascent, though toilsome, was not particularly -difficult.</p> - -<p>I told no one of my adventure, not even the old woman; but early the -next Sunday morning I went down the cliff again, unobserved as before, -and, watching my chance when the guard was sweeping the shore to the -right with his glass, I stole into the cave. It was an irregular hole, -perhaps thirty feet deep at its greatest length, and not over ten feet -high in any part. Three shallow, alcove-like chambers led off the main -room. These<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> were all three nearly full of gravel, sand, and -disintegrated rock, and the floor of the whole cavern was covered with -this same accumulation. There were plentiful marks of the labors of the -Italian antiquarians, for the ground had all been dug up, and the last -shallow pits which had been excavated to the bed-rock had not been -refilled.</p> - -<p>With no settled purpose I took up a piece of an old spade I found there, -and began to dig on one side of the cave near the largest alcove. The -accumulation was not packed hard, and I easily threw it aside. I had -removed a few feet of earth without finding anything to reward my -labors, and then began to dig in the heap of rubbish which was piled in -the alcove, nearly touching its low ceiling. Almost the first shovelful -of earth I threw out had a number of small gray tesseræ in it. Gathering -these up and taking them to the light, I found that part of them were of -marble, or other light-colored stone; but that a few were of glass with -a corroded surface, which could be clipped off with great ease, -disclosing beautiful iridescent cubes un<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span>derneath. The whole day was -passed in this work, for I was much interested in my discovery. The -tesseræ were of no great value, to be sure, but they proved that the -cave had been used by the Romans, probably as a grotto of the nymphs, -and they were certainly worth keeping in a private collection. Possibly -not a little of the charm of the operation of excavating was due to the -element of danger in it. The guard was stationed less than a rifle-shot -away, and if I had been discovered, fine and possibly imprisonment would -have been my lot.</p> - -<p>To make a long story short, I made several excursions to the cave in the -same manner, and dug nearly the whole ground in a systematic way, -leaving until the last a small alcove near the mouth of the cave, -because I found very few tesseræ anywhere in the strong daylight. -Everything which was not a simple, uninteresting piece of stone or shell -I stowed away in a bag and carried to my studio. In a few Sundays I had -a peck or more of tesseræ, a quarter of them glass ones, and a great -many bits of twisted glass<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> rod and small pieces of glass vessels. One -day the spade turned out, among other things, several small pieces of -brown, porous substance which looked in the dim light like decayed wood. -I put them in the bag with the rest, to be examined at my leisure at -home. The next morning, when I came to turn out the collection gathered -the day before, these curious pieces fell out with the rest, and -immediately attracted my attention. In the strong light of day, I saw at -once what they were. They were the decayed phalanges of a human hand. -The story of Tedesco and Rubina was always in my mind; and I compared -the bones with my own fingers, and found them to be without doubt the -bones of an adult, and probably of a man.</p> - -<p>I could scarcely wait for the next Sunday to arrive, but I did not dare -to risk the descent of the cliff on a week-day lest I should be seen by -the fishermen. When at last I did reach the cave again, I went at my -work with vigor, continuing my search in the place where I left off the -previous week. In a short<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> time I unearthed several more bones similar -to those I already had, but, although I thoroughly examined every cubic -foot of earth which I had not previously dug over, I found no more of -the skeleton.</p> - -<p>In my studio that evening I arranged the little bones as well as I could -in the positions they had occupied in the human hand. As far as I could -make out, I had the thumb, the first and third fingers and one joint of -the second, three of the bones of the hand, and one of the wrist-bones. -There could be no question but these had once belonged to a human hand, -and to the right hand, too. There was no means of knowing how long ago -the person had died, neither could there be any possible way of -identifying these human relics. The possession of the grewsome little -objects seemed to set my imagination on fire. After going to bed at -night I often worked myself into a state of disagreeable nervous tension -by meditating on the history of the sculptor, and revolving in my mind -the theories I had formed of the mystery of his life and the manner of -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> death. For some reason the old woman had never told me where his -studio had been, and it never occurred to me to ask her until the -thought suddenly came during one of these night-hours of wakefulness. -When I put the question to her the next afternoon, she replied, simply:</p> - -<p>“This studio was his, <i>signor padrone</i>.”</p> - -<p>The poor old soul had been living her life over again, day after day, as -she sat knitting and looking out to sea, her imagination quickened and -her memory refreshed by the surroundings which in many decades had -scarcely changed at all.</p> - -<p>This information gave a new stimulus to my thoughts, and I lay awake and -pondered and surmised more than ever. There seemed to be something -hidden away in my own consciousness, which was endeavoring to work its -way into recognition. It would almost come in range of my mental vision, -and then would lose itself again, just as some well-known name will -coquettishly elude the grasp of the memory. While lying awake in a real -agony of thought, a vague feeling would en<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span>ter my mind for an instant, -that I had only to interpret what I already knew, and the mystery of my -imagination would be clear to me. Then I would revolve and revolve again -all the details of the story, but the fugitive idea always escaped me. -With that discouraging persistence which is utterly beyond our control, -whenever great anxiety weighs upon our minds, I would repeat, again and -again, the same series of arguments and the same line of theories until -at last, utterly worn out, I would go to sleep. It was quite -inexplicable that I should think so much about a sculptor of whom I had -never heard, except from Tedesco’s Rubina, and who died long before I -was born; but, in spite of my reason, I could not rid myself of the -vague consciousness that there was something I was unwittingly hiding -from myself.</p> - -<p>One warm night in summer I sat up quite late writing letters, and then, -thinking I should go to sleep at once on account of my fatigue, went to -bed. But sleep came only after some hours, and even then not until I had -stood for a long time looking out of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> window on the moonlit houses -below, with my bare feet on the cold stone floor. The first thought that -came to my head, as I awoke the next morning, was about that marble head -I had seen in Rome a year before. The dark page of my mind became -illuminated in an instant. I did not need to summon Lisa to note the -resemblance of her face to the marble one which had so fascinated me, -for I was familiar enough with her features to require no aid to my -memory. Besides, I had a fairly accurate study of her head on my easel, -and I compared the face on the canvas with the marble one which I now -remembered so vividly. There was the identical contour of the cheeks and -forehead, with the hyper-delicate chin; the nose, the mouth, the eyes, -each repeated the forms of the marble bust. It was the color alone that -gave the painting its modern aspect, and it had been, I now saw, my -preoccupation with the color which had prevented my observing the -resemblance before. The only thing my portrait lacked, as a -representation of the model from whom the marble was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> made, was that -fascinating expression of girlhood, which, I was obliged to confess to -myself, I had not succeeded in catching.</p> - -<p>Full of my discovery, I wrote at once to the authorities in Rome, asking -for a history of the fragment.</p> - -<p>In a few days I received the not unexpected information that it had been -given by the Naples Museum in exchange for another piece of antique -sculpture. I hurried across to Naples and interviewed the authorities -there, requesting precise statements about the bust, on the plea that I -was interested in the particular period of art which it represented. In -the list of objects of antiquity excavated in the summer of 18—, I -found this entry, under the head of Capri:</p> - -<p>“Female head with ivy wreath in hair—Marble—Broken off at neck—No -other fragments discovered. Mem.: This probably belonged to a statue of -a sea-nymph, as it was found in a grotto with the remains of mosaic -pavement and ceiling.”</p> - -<p>In return for this information I gave the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> authorities my sincere -thanks, but not my secret.</p> - -<p>Three years later I met my two artist friends in New York. Like all who -have torn themselves away from the enchanting influences of Italy, we -reviewed with delight every incident of our sojourn there, not -forgetting the visit to the museum in Rome. Two plaster copies of the -head had been made, and the mould then broken.</p> - -<p>In each of the studios the plaster head occupied the place of honor, and -its owner exhausted the choicest terms of art phraseology in its praise. -Foolish fellows, they could not escape from the potent spell of its -bewitching expression, and, burdened with the weight of the sentimental -secret, each of them took occasion, privately and with great hesitation -and shamefacedness, to confess to me that he had stolen away, while we -were together in the museum in Rome, to kiss the marble lips of the -fascinating fragment.</p> - -<p>To each of them I made the same remark:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, if you were so foolish as to fall in love with a marble -head, and a fragment at that, what would you have done in my place? I -was intimately acquainted with the model who sat for it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="MEDUSAS_HEAD" id="MEDUSAS_HEAD"></a>MEDUSA’S HEAD</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>ENRY SEYMOUR fancied he was a realist. Indeed, he was very much annoyed -when his work was described by an art critic as idealistic, or when he -was alluded to in the art columns as “a rising young artist quite out of -place in the realistic circle to which he affects to belong.” But the -bias of mind which prevented him from recognizing the real qualities in -his own productions, equally hindered him from accomplishing what was -his present highest ambition—an accurate and realistic imitation of -nature. In common with the large majority of the young artists of the -day, he studied two or three years in Europe, notably in Paris, where he -learned to believe, or fancied he believed, that the most hopeful -tendency of modern art consisted in the elimination of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> all idea and all -sentiment from the motive of a picture, and the glorification of the -naturalistic and, if I may say so, earthly qualities of the model.</p> - -<p>After his return from the ateliers of Paris, Seymour divided his time -between the apotheosis of rags and squalor and the delineation of the -features of the New York banker, broker, or insurance president, with an -occasional excursion into the field of female portraiture, which was -opened to him through the large and influential circle of friends and -acquaintances of his family. His efforts in this direction frequently -resulted in popular and artistic success, and after a season or two -gained for him a profitable and exceedingly agreeable line of sitters. A -strange jumble of millionaires, bootblacks, society ladies, and -beggar-women covered the canvases that encumbered his studio. The -portraits went away in their turn, but the pictures, after brief -absences at exhibitions, remained his own property, testifying to the -practical worthlessness of the encouragement of his comrades, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> would -sniff at his portraits of ladies and gentlemen, and prostrate themselves -before his studies of gutter-snipe. It must be understood that no one of -his artistic clique disapproved of his painting society portraits, for -they had all adopted some means of gaining a livelihood outside of the -special line of art which they, in their mistaken zeal, believed to be -the only true and worthy one. Most of his comrades taught in the art -schools of the city; some of the more fortunate ones conducted highly -profitable private classes, where, at an enormously extravagant price -per season, they actively stimulated and encouraged the artistic -illusions of wealthy young ladies, and helped them to acquire a -superficial and dangerous facility, which, for a future mistress of a -house, is the most useless accomplishment imaginable.</p> - -<p>Seymour was of an energetic and enterprising turn of mind, and if it had -not been for his unwavering devotion to his artistic creed, he would -have speedily made a wide reputation for himself as a painter with an -original and charming talent. But accident<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> of situation had exposed him -to the contagion of realism, and the fever which seized him in Paris was -now kept alive, in a milder form to be sure, by association with the -young painters in New York, who had been abroad the same time as -himself. After two seasons at home he found his studio too small and -inconvenient, and he turned a stable in the spacious back yard of his -father’s house, on one of the cross streets near Fifth Avenue, into a -fine studio, with a side and top light, and transported thither his -easels, his bric-à-brac, and the lares and penates of his Bohemian -quarters. The new studio was entered by a <i>porte-cochère</i> at one side of -the house, and was therefore as isolated and private as if it stood in -the centre of an acre of ground.</p> - -<p>Among the sitters who came to him in his new studio was Miss Margaret -Van Hoorn, the only daughter of a well-known wealthy man, who had a -stalwart pride in his Knickerbocker origin, and boasted generations of -opulent Van Hoorns before him. Miss Van Hoorn was not an ordinary -society belle, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> an intelligent, capable, sensible girl, and a -favorite no less for the charm of her personal character than for a -distinguished type of face and figure, which would stimulate the -ambition of the most worn and weary portrait-painter.</p> - -<p>Here, then, was Seymour’s golden opportunity. He recognized it, and -began to make the most of it by starting to paint a portrait of the -young lady in a party dress. It had hitherto been his custom to deny to -his sitters the privilege of watching his work in its various stages, -but he was unable to refuse Miss Van Hoorn’s request that she might be -permitted to see the portrait in progress. Her desire to watch his work -was excusable, because she had already taken lessons in painting, and -had some little knowledge of technique. After the first sitting was over -she occupied the divan under the large window, and chatted cheerfully an -hour or more, thus initiating an intimacy which grew rapidly as the -sittings went on. The painter, as long as he had his palette on his -thumb, looked upon his sitter as a sort of autom<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span>aton, watched the pure -lines of her neck and arms with no conscious feeling except that of keen -anxiety to reproduce their grace, and studied the mobile turn of the -lips and the varying curve of the eyelids with a single-minded desire to -catch something of their charm and fix it on the canvas.</p> - -<p>But soon another element crept insensibly into the relation between -sitter and painter, and long before it was recognized by either of them, -became a potent factor in the growing problem. Miss Van Hoorn first -began to question Seymour about his artistic creed, then showed an -interest in his early life, thus encouraging the artist to talk about -himself. She grew bold in criticising his work, and even modestly -declared her disapproval of the confusion of his studio, and -occasionally gave to the arrangement of the objects a few of those -skilful feminine touches which add an indefinable charm to any interior. -The artist, in his turn, suggested books for her to read, frequently -joined her in the box at the Metropolitan Opera-house, accompanied her -to picture exhibitions, and even advised her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> as to the color and style -of dress most suited to her complexion and figure. They were all the -while under the protection of that unwritten social law which grants a -certain brief license to sitter and painter, which, like the freedom of -a picnic or an excursion party, usually lasts no longer than the -conditions which make this freedom innocent and desirable.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Seymour,” said the sitter one day, “why don’t you paint an ideal -subject, something classical or poetical?”</p> - -<p>“I’m a realist, Miss Van Hoorn, and I have come to the conclusion, since -I began your portrait, that I had better stick to copper pots and -cabbages.”</p> - -<p>“But no one cares for copper pots and cabbages, even if the former do -have the sheen of burnished gold, and the latter sparkle with dew-drop -jewels. I think every painter ought to paint something more than the -surface of things.”</p> - -<p>“How about Vollon and—”</p> - -<p>“You know,” she interrupted, “I am not far enough along, as you call it, -to appreciate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> the wild combinations of color and the hodge-podge of -splashes and dashes affected by the modern school. I have tried to -acquire this taste under your tuition, but I cannot do it. I shall -always believe in the verdict of past centuries, that good art has its -reason in the immortalization of the beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“But there’s Terburg—” he began.</p> - -<p>“Raphael,” she interrupted.</p> - -<p>“Van der Meer de Delft,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“Botticelli,” she argued, and so the conversation went on, and at last -ended, as discussions on religion, politics, and art always do, in each -declaring unwavering adherence to original views.</p> - -<p>Excursions to the art galleries and to the Metropolitan Museum were -often the result of these little flutters; but although neither the -artist nor the sitter would confess to the least disturbance of artistic -faith, Seymour actually began, before he knew why, to select an ideal -subject. Several motives from classical poetry, from mythology, and from -modern writers came to his mind, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> he was unable to decide, nor did -he know that he really cared to fix on any one of them. Meanwhile the -sittings continued, and the portrait approached completion. Suddenly one -day a compromise suggested itself to the painter, how or why he never -knew, and he quietly remarked, “Miss Van Hoorn, I am going to paint a -Medusa’s head.”</p> - -<p>“Horrid,” she said, frankly. “I hate snakes.”</p> - -<p>Seymour was somewhat discouraged by her impulsive disapproval of his -subject, but, nevertheless, warmly defended his choice, and was all the -more eloquent, perhaps, because he felt that she had recognized his -ingenious compromise between idealism and realism. He insisted that the -proportions of her face had suggested the subject to him, and was so -serious in his assertion that she was in this degree responsible for his -choice of motive, that she finally yielded to his eager solicitation, -and consented to sit for the eyes and mouth of the Medusa’s head.</p> - -<p>The same afternoon he went down-town<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> to a shop near the docks, where -all kinds of birds, animals, and reptiles were sold alive—a sort of -depot, in fact, for the dime museums and small menageries—and bought a -box of a dozen moccasin snakes recently arrived from the South. He -selected this variety on account of the venomous appearance of the small -heads, the repulsive thickness of the bodies, and the richness of color -of the mottled scales, intending to make a close study of all the -characteristics of this variety of the serpent. He could in this way -heighten the contrast which he proposed to make between the calm beauty -of the woman’s face and the repulsiveness of the serpent locks. He -ordered the box to be sent to his studio the same afternoon, and spent -that evening in blocking out on the canvas a charcoal sketch of the head -he had in his mind.</p> - -<p>The following day was Sunday, and during the night a severe cold wave, -accompanied by a blizzard of unusual severity, began to sweep over the -city. Early on Monday morning the artist went around<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> into the studio, -and was surprised to find that the snow had blown in through the -ventilator, and that the temperature was very low, notwithstanding the -fact that a fire had been kept up all the time in the great magazine -stove. His first thought was for the snakes, and, by no means certain -that they were not already frozen, he moved the box near the fire, -closed the ventilators in the roof of the studio, opened the dampers in -the stove, and shook the grate, so as to start the fire more briskly.</p> - -<p>It was the last day Miss Van Hoorn could come, because she was about to -accompany her family to Florida for a few weeks, and in order to sit a -little for the picture she had promised to come earlier than usual.</p> - -<p>Seymour, like all who were not obliged to brave the blizzard on that now -memorable Monday, had no idea of the severity of the storm which was -raging, and was not surprised, therefore, at the appearance of his -sitter shortly after nine o’clock. She was accompanied, as usual, by her -maid and by her pug-dog. Miss Van Hoorn never looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> more charming than -she did at that moment, for her cheeks were ruddy with the cold, and her -eyes sparkled with the excitement of the drive.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” she said, “we came very near not getting here. The drifts -were so high that John was scarcely able to get the horses through the -street; and as for the cold, I never felt anything like it. There now, I -do believe I have left my opera cloak at home, and you must finish the -drapery to-day. You’ll have to run back and bring it,” she added, -turning to her maid. “I don’t think the storm is as bad as it was; the -wind does not sound so loud, at any rate.”</p> - -<p>The maid courageously set out on her walk, but before she crossed the -avenue was blown down, half smothered with the snow and half frozen, and -was finally rescued by a policeman, who carried her into the basement of -the nearest house, where she was obliged to remain the larger part of -the day.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the artist and his sitter sat for a long time beside the fire, -expecting the return of the maid at every moment. Almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> the first -thing Miss Van Hoorn noticed was the box of snakes, and, although she -was horrified and disgusted at the first sight of them, soon began to -look at them with interest, because the artist was so enthusiastic about -the use he proposed to make of them, and so full of the picture he had -begun. The glass in front of the box was slightly clouded by vapor -condensed by the change in temperature, and in order to examine more -closely the beautiful colors of the scales, Seymour took out the glass, -placed it on top of the box, and went to get a paint-rag to wipe off the -vapor. The moccasins made no sign of life.</p> - -<p>Miss Van Hoorn was very much interested in the charcoal sketch of the -head, criticised it frankly and freely, and they both grew quite -absorbed in the changes the artist rapidly made in the proportions of -the face. The loud striking of the antique clock soon reminded them, -however, that the hour for the sitting was long past, and that the -portrait was of more present importance than the embryonic picture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span></p> - -<p>The artist was shortly busy with his painting, and the sitter, now well -accustomed to the pose, endeavored to facilitate the progress of the -work by remaining as quiet as possible. The silence of the studio was -broken only by the stertorous breathing of the pug, asleep on the -Turkish carpet in front of the stove, and by the rattle of the sleet -against the large window.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the shrill yelps of the dog startled them from their -preoccupation. On the carpet, near the stove, one of the moccasins was -coiled, ready to strike the pug, who, in an agony of terror, could not -move a foot, but only uttered wild and piercing shrieks.</p> - -<p>“Never mind; I’ll soon settle him,” said Seymour; and he rushed at the -snake with his maul-stick. But before he could cross the room, the -moccasin had struck his victim; and as the artist shattered his slender -stick at the first blow, he saw that the box was empty, and that the -other snakes were wriggling around the studio.</p> - -<p>Miss Van Hoorn was transfixed with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> horror, but she neither shrieked nor -fainted, although she looked as if she would swoon before Seymour could -reach her. The pair were fairly surrounded by the reptiles before the -artist had time to think of another weapon.</p> - -<p>The only thing to do in the emergency occurred to both of them at the -same instant, and in a much shorter time than it takes to tell it Miss -Van Hoorn was safely perched on the solid crossbar of the French easel, -four feet or more from the ground; and the painter, who had hastily -thrown the portrait on the floor, face upward, was standing on the -shelf.</p> - -<p>Knowing the venomous character of the moccasin, Seymour was not eager -for a fight with the snakes, particularly since he was without a weapon. -It was impossible to reach the trophy of Turkish yataghans on the -farther wall of the studio without encountering at least two of the -reptiles, and after a moment’s consideration he climbed up and sat down -beside Miss Van Hoorn, <i>tête-à-tête</i> fashion, and, like herself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> put -his arm around the upright piece between them.</p> - -<p>Neither one of them spoke for a moment; and then he, overcome with -remorse at his carelessness, and trembling at the possible result of the -adventure, exclaimed, in a tone of despair, “Here’s a situation!”</p> - -<p>This commonplace remark did not carry with it a hint of a satisfactory -solution of the difficulty, and he felt this the moment he had uttered -it. Miss Van Hoorn made no reply, but with pale cheeks and frightened -eyes sat silent, clinging almost convulsively to her support.</p> - -<p>“We can easily bring the people by shouting,” suggested her companion.</p> - -<p>“No, no!” she half gasped. “What a ridiculous position to be found in! -Indeed, I—I—Are you sure the neighbors cannot see through the window?”</p> - -<p>“Of course they can’t; it’s corrugated glass. But then, after all, if -any one should come, the moccasins might bite them, and we should be no -better off.”</p> - -<p>The snakes became more and more active.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill_001_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ill_001_sml.jpg" width="304" height="500" alt="[Image unavailable." /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">“MISS VAN HOORN WAS SAFELY PERCHED ON THE SOLID -CROSSBAR.”</span> -</div> - -<p class="nind">The pug lay in his last death-agonies, and as he struggled on the -carpet, almost under their feet, the soft fingers of the young lady -instinctively found their way to the firm, muscular hand of the artist, -and closed around it with a confiding pressure, as if she recognized in -him her sole protector in this danger, and had great need of his -sympathy and support.</p> - -<p>If the truth must be told, her sweet unconsciousness was not shared by -her companion, for he felt a distinct sense of satisfaction at the touch -of her hand, and this sensation fully dominated for a moment the complex -feeling of relief at escape from recent imminent danger and of great -present perplexity, uncertainty, and fear.</p> - -<p>They were now fairly besieged; and although no harm could come to them -in their present position, it was by no means comfortable to sit perched -on a narrow oak bar, and it was impossible to tell how or when they -would be delivered from their enemy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span></p> - -<p>A strange and oppressive silence seemed to have come over the whole -city; not so much a silence, perhaps, as an unusual muffling of all the -ordinary sounds of traffic and activity. The swish of the sleet against -the window was almost continuous, but when it ceased for a moment there -was heard no rattle of the streets, no rumble of the horse-cars, no -clatter of trains on the elevated railroad. Instead of these familiar -sounds, a wide, deep, and ominous murmur filled the air. This was not a -loud and heavy sound, like the roar of the ocean, nor yet shrill, like -the rush and whistling of a gale, but had a peculiar low and muffled -quality that made a weird accompaniment to the dramatic situation of the -artist and sitter in the storm-and-serpent-beleaguered studio.</p> - -<p>There was a horrible fascination in watching the movements of the snakes -as they restlessly glided from one part of the studio to another, the -scales on their thick repulsive bodies glistening in the strong light, -and flashing a variety of colors. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span> stove was now red-hot, and the -fire was roaring loudly. In spite of the intense cold outside, the heat -became oppressive at the height where they sat, and Miss Van Hoorn, -whose nerves were much shaken by her fright, and kept in a flutter by -the movements of the snakes below, began to feel faint. The -house-servants had standing orders never to interrupt the sittings on -any excuse until the artist rang for luncheon. It was now half-past -eleven, and Seymour, despairing of the return of the maid, at last -resolved to shout as loudly as possible, and to stop the servant from -opening the door by calling out to him as he came along the passageway. -He explained this plan to Miss Van Hoorn, and proceeded to shout and -halloo with the full strength of his lungs. He waited a few moments, but -no sound of footsteps was heard, and then he shouted again and again. -Still the roaring of the fire, the grumble of the storm, and the hideous -rustling of the snakes alone greeted their eager ears. At last he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> -obliged to conclude that the noise of the storm prevented his cries from -reaching the house.</p> - -<p>What to do next he did not know, but as he was fanning Miss Van Hoorn -with a letter out of his pocket—indeed, with one of her own notes to -him—he struck upon a plan of letting in air, and at the same time -attracting the attention of some one. When the brief faint turn had -passed off, he climbed down to the shelf, gathered up his tubes of -color, and returned to his perch. After a few vigorous throws with the -heaviest tubes, he succeeded in breaking one of the panes of the large -window, and a fierce gust of wind blew upon them. To their great -disappointment the opening in the glass disclosed only the blank wall of -the opposite extension; and as he had wasted all his heavy ammunition, -he could not break another pane higher up in the window. He tried -shouting again, but with no result.</p> - -<p>The situation was now worse than before, for Miss Van Hoorn was in her -even<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span>ing dress and exposed to the freezing draught of a blizzard. -Seymour persuaded her to put on his velveteen jacket, and, after a few -attempts, succeeded in tearing down a curtain that hung from the ceiling -alongside the opening in the roof in order to cast a shadow on the -background. This he wrapped around both of them, then sat and considered -what to do next. No new plan, however, suggested itself to either of -them. They did not talk much, for they were too seriously occupied with -the problem of escape to waste words. The single hand of the antique -clock moved with agonizing slowness, and the pair sat there a long time -in silence, shivering, despairing. Once or twice a sense of the -ludicrousness of their position came over them, and they laughed a -little; but their mirth was almost hysterical, and was succeeded by a -greater depression of spirits than before. Seymour had proposed several -times to make a dash for the door, but two or three of the reptiles were -always moving about between<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> the easel and the entrance, and Miss Van -Hoorn entreated him tearfully not to attempt it. The cold seemed to -increase, and Seymour soon noticed that the fire was burning itself out. -This was a new source of anxiety, and neither of them cared to -anticipate their sufferings on the top of the easel with the temperature -below zero.</p> - -<p>“Just look at the snakes!” suddenly cried Seymour, in great excitement.</p> - -<p>Miss Van Hoorn was startled by the vehemence of his cry, and could only -gasp: “No, no! I can’t bear to look at them any more.”</p> - -<p>“The cold is making them torpid again,” he fairly shrieked, in the joy -of his discovery. “How stupid not to have thought of this before!” he -added, in a tone of disgust.</p> - -<p>He was right. One by one they ceased to crawl, and those nearest the -window soon lay motionless. Checking his impatience to descend on the -snakes until those by the stove ceased to show signs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> of active life, he -dropped from the perch, seized a yataghan from the wall, and speedily -despatched them all.</p> - -<p>Miss Van Hoorn anxiously watched the slaughter from the safe elevation -of the easel, and, when it was over, fainted into the artist’s arms.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The most unique and remarkable engagement ring ever marked with a date -at Tiffany’s was a beautiful antique intaglio of Medusa’s head set in -Etruscan gold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THE_FOURTH_WAITS" id="THE_FOURTH_WAITS"></a>THE FOURTH WAITS</h2> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE click of dominos is an accompaniment scarcely in harmony with a -discussion of psychology and religion. But no subject is too sacred, or -too profane, to be discussed in a café—that neutral ground where all -parties and all sects meet; and it was a serious debate during a game of -dominos that marked the beginning of a course of strange coincidences -and sad occurrences that crowd one chapter in an eventful Bohemian life.</p> - -<p>There were four of us art-students in the Academy of Antwerp assembled, -as was our custom after the evening life-class, at a café in a quiet -<i>faubourg</i> of the city. It was a gloomy November evening, cold and raw -in the wind, but not too chill to sit in the open<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> air under the lee of -the wooden shed which enclosed two sides of the café garden. The heavy -atmosphere had not crushed every spark of cheerfulness out of the -buoyant natures of the materialistic Flemings, and the tables were -filled with noisy <i>bourgeois</i> and their families, drinking the mild beer -of Louvain or generous cups of coffee. Their gayety seemed sacrilegious -in the solemn presence of approaching winter—that long, depressing, -ghostly season which in the Low Countries gives warning of its coming -with prophetic sobs and continued tears, and trails the shroud of summer -before the eyes of shrinking mortals for weeks before it buries its -victim. In a climate like that of Flanders, the winter, rarely marked by -severe cold, really begins with the rainy season in early autumn, and it -continues in an interminable succession of dismal days with shrouded -skies.</p> - -<p>On the evening in question the clouds seemed lower than usual; the wind -was fitful and spasmodic, and came in long, mournful, insinuating sighs -that stole in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> mockingly between the peals of music and laughter, and -startled every one in his gayest mood. The gas-jets flickered and -wavered weirdly, and the dry leaves danced accompaniment to the -movements of the swift-footed waiters. The clatter of wooden shoes on -the pavement without, and the measureless but not unmusical songs of the -jolly workmen on their way home, filled the score of the medley of -sounds that broke the sepulchral quiet of the evening.</p> - -<p>There were four of us, as I have said: old Reiner, Tyck, Henley, and -myself. Each represented a different nationality. Reiner was a Norwegian -of German descent, tall and ungainly, with a large head, a shock of -light-colored, coarse hair, a virgin beard, and a good-humored face -focused in a pair of searching gray eyes that pried their way into -everything that came under their owner’s observation. He was by no means -a handsome man, neither was he unattractive; and his sober habits, cool -judgment, and great stock of general information gained for him the -familiar name of old Reiner among the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> thoughtless and more -superficial students who were his friends. He was by nature of a more -scientific than artistic turn of mind. He was conversant with nine -languages, including Sanskrit, had received a thorough university -education in Norway and Germany, took delight in investigating every -subject that came in his way—from the habits of an ant to the movements -of the gold market in America—and could talk intelligently and -instructively on every topic proposed to him. Indeed, his scientific and -literary attainments were a wonder to the rest of us, who had lived -quite as long and had accomplished much less. As an artist he had great -talents as well; but here also his love of investigation constantly -directed his efforts. In his academic course he had less success than -might have been anticipated, except in the direction of positive -rendering of certain effects. He was not a colorist; such natures rarely -are; and it is probable that he would never have made a brilliant artist -in any branch of the profession, for he was too much of a positivist, -and even his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> historical pictures would have been little more than -marvels of correctness of costume and accessories. In his association -with us, the flow of his abundant good-humor, which sometimes seemed -unlimited, was interrupted by occasional spells of complete reaction, -when he neither spoke to nor even saw any one else, but made a hermit of -himself until the mood had passed.</p> - -<p>Tyck at first sight looked like a Spaniard. He was slight in stature, -one short leg causing a stoop which made him appear still smaller than -he was. His skin was of a clear brown, warmed by an abundance of rich -blood; a mass of strong, curling hair, and a black moustache and -imperial framed in a face of peculiar strong beauty. His eyes had -something in them too deep to be altogether pleasing, for they caused -one to look at him seriously, yet they were as full of laughter and -good-nature and cheerfulness as dark eyes can be. His face was one that, -notwithstanding its peculiarities, gave a good first impression; and a -long friendship had proved him to be chargeable with fewer<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> blemishes of -character than are written down against the most of us. But his hands -were not in his favor. They were long, bony, and cold; the finger-joints -were large and lacked firmness, and the pressure of the hand was -listless or unsympathetic. The lines of life were faint and -discouraging, and there were few prominent marks in the palm. The secret -of his complexion lay in his parentage, for his mother was a native -woman of Java, and his father a Dutch merchant, who settled in that -far-off country, built up a fortune, and raised a small family of boys, -who deserted the paternal nest as soon as they were old enough to -flutter alone. Tyck was a colorist. He seemed to see the tones of nature -rich with the warm reflections of a tropical sun; and his studies from -life, while strong and luscious in tone, were full of fire and subtle -gradations—qualities combined rarely enough in the works of older -artists. He was to all appearance in the flush of health, and, -notwithstanding his deformity, was uncommonly active and fond of -exercise. We who knew him intimately, however, always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> looked upon him -as a marked man. With all his rugged, healthy look, his physique was not -vigorous enough to resist the attacks of the common foe, winter, and we -knew that he occasionally pined mentally and physically for the -luxurious warmth of his native land. He flourished in the raw climate of -Flanders only as a transplanted flower flourishes; still, he was not -declining in health or strength.</p> - -<p>It is a long and delicate process to build up an intimate friendship -between men of mercurial temperament and such an impersonation of -coolness and deliberation and studied manners as was Henley, the third -member of our group. From his type of face and his peculiar bearing he -was easily recognizable as an Englishman, and even as a member of the -Church of England. His manner was plainly the result of a severe and -formal training; his whole life, as he told us himself, had been passed -under the careful surveillance of a strict father, who was for a long -time the rector of one of the first churches of London. But Henley, -serious,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> formal, and cool, was not uncompanionable; and I am not quite -sure whether it was not the bony thinness of his face, his straggling -black beard and abundant dead-colored hair, that predisposed one at -first sight to judge him as a sort of melancholy black sheep among his -lighter-hearted companions. So we all placed him at our first meeting. -When once the ice was broken, and we felt the sympathetic presence that -surrounded him in his intercourse with friends, he became a necessity to -complete the current of our little circle, and his English steadiness -often served a good purpose in many wordy tempests.</p> - -<p>In religious opinions we four were as divided as we were distinct in -nationality. Henley, as I have said, was a member of the Church of -England. Tyck was a Jew and a Freemason. Reiner entirely disbelieved in -everything that was not plain to him intellectually. Our discussions on -religious subjects were long and warm, for the theories of the fourth -member of the circle piled new fuel upon the flames that sprang up under -the friction of the ideas of the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> three, and on these topics alone -we were seriously at variance. Rarely were our disputes carried to that -point where either of us felt wounded after the discussion was ended, -but on more than one occasion they were violent enough to have ruptured -our little bond if it had not been strengthened by ties of more than -ordinary friendship.</p> - -<p>This friendship was of the unselfish order, too. We were in the habit of -living on the share-and-share-alike principle. Henley was the only one -who had any allowance, and he always felt that his regular remittance -was rather a bar to his complete and unqualified admission to our little -ring. The joint capital among us was always kept in circulation. When -one had money and the others had none, and it suited our inclinations or -the purposes of our study to visit the Dutch cities, or even to cross -the Channel, we travelled on the common purse. Share-and-share-alike in -cases less pressing than sickness or actual want may not be a sound -mercantile principle; but where the freemasonry of mutual tastes, united -purposes, and com<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span>mon hardships binds friend to friend, the spirit of -communism is half the charm of existence. Especially is this true of -Bohemian life.</p> - -<p>In introducing the characters a little time has been taken, partly in -order to give us a chance to move our table into a more sheltered -corner, and to allow us to get well started in another game of dominos. -As I remember that evening, Reiner, who had not entirely recovered from -an attack of one of his peculiar moods, had been discussing miracles and -mysteries with more than his accustomed warmth, and the rest of us had -been cornered and driven off the field in turn; even to Henley, who was -not, with all his study, quite as well up on the subject of the Jewish -priests and the Druids as old Reiner, whom no topic seemed to find -unprepared. When the discussion was at its height I observed in Reiner -certain uneasy movements, and I instinctively looked behind him to see -if any one was watching him, as his actions resembled those of a person -under the mesmerism of an unseen eye. I saw no one, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> concluded that -my imagination had deceived me. But Reiner became suddenly grave and -even solemn, and the debate stopped entirely. At last, after a long -silence, Reiner proposed another game of dominos. When the pieces were -distributed he began the moves, saying at the same time, quite in -earnest and as if talking to himself, “This will decide it.”</p> - -<p>His voice was so strange and his look so determined that we felt that -something was at stake, and instinctively and in chorus declared that it -was useless to play the game out, and proposed an adjournment to the -sketching-club. Reiner did not object, and we rose to go. As we left the -table I saw behind Reiner’s chair two small, luminous, green balls, set -in a black mass, turned towards us—evidently the eyes of a dog, -glistening in the reflection of the gas like emerald fires. Possibly the -others did not notice the animal, and I was too much startled at the -discovery of the unseen eye to speak of it at that moment. Before I had -recovered myself completely we were out of the gate, fol<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span>lowed by the -dog. Under the street-lamp, he leaped about and seemed quite at home. He -was seen to be a perfectly black Spitz poodle, with cropped ears and -tail, very lively in his movements, and with a remarkably intelligent -expression. He was a dog of a character not commonly met, and once -observed was not easily mistaken for others of the same breed. Our walk -to the club was dreary enough. The gloomy manner of old Reiner was -contagious, and no one spoke a word. I was too busy reflecting on the -strange manner in which our game had been interrupted to occupy myself -with my companion, remembering the now frequent recurrence of Reiner’s -blue days, and dreading his absence from the class and the club, which I -knew from experience was sure to follow such symptoms as I had observed -in the café. To the sketching-club we brought an atmosphere so -forbidding that it seemed as if we were the heralds of some misfortune. -Scarcely a cheerful word was said after our entrance, and frequent -glasses of Louvain or <i>d’orge</i>, drunk on the production of new -cari<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span>catures, failed to raise the barometer of our spirits. The meeting -broke up early, and we four separated. The dog, which had been lying -under a settee near the door, followed Reiner as he turned down the -boulevard.</p> - -<p>For a week we did not meet again. Reiner kept his room or was out of -town. He made no sign, and without him we frequented neither the café -nor the club. The weather grew cold and rainy; the last evening at the -café proved to have been the final gasp of dying autumn, and winter had -fairly begun. At last Reiner made his appearance at dinner one dark -afternoon, and took his accustomed seat at our table, near the window -which opened out upon the glass-covered court-yard of the small hotel -where we used to dine, a score of us, artists and students all. He -looked very weary and hollow-eyed; said he had been unwell, had taken an -overdose of laudanum for neuralgia, and had been confined to his room -for a few days. Expecting each day to be able to go out the next -morning, he had neglected to send us word, and so the week had passed. -As he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> was speaking I noticed a dog in the court-yard, the same black -poodle that attached himself to us in the café. Reiner, observing my -surprise, explained that the dog had been living with him at his room in -the Steenhouwersvest, and that they were inseparable companions now. We -could all see that old Reiner was not yet himself again. One of us -ventured to suggest that there might be something Mephistophelian about -the animal, and that Reiner was endeavoring, Faust-like, to get at the -kernel of the beast, so as to fathom whatever mystery of heaven or earth -was as yet to him inexplicable. No further remarks were made, as Reiner -arose to go away, leaving his dinner untouched. He shook hands with us -all almost solemnly, and with the poodle went out into the gloomy -street.</p> - -<p>Another week passed, and we saw neither Reiner nor the poodle. December -began, and the days were short and dark, the sun scarcely appearing -above the cathedral roof in his course from east to west. The absence of -old Reiner was a constant theme of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> conversation, and there were -multitudes of conjectures as to whether he were in love, in debt, or -really ill. We had no message from him, not a word, not a written line.</p> - -<p>One evening as we sat at dinner—it was Thursday, and a heavy rain was -falling—the black poodle dashed suddenly in, closely followed by -Reiner’s servant-girl, bonnetless and in slippers, and drenched to the -skin. Her message was guessed before she had time to gasp out, “Och, -Mynheeren, uwer vriend Reiner is dood!” Not waiting for explanations, we -followed her as she returned through the slippery streets, scarcely -walking or running. How I got there I never knew; it seemed at the time -as if I were carried along by some superior force. Filled with dread and -fear, mingled with hope that it was an awful mistake and that something -might yet be done, I reached the door of the house. Through the -grocery-shop, where was assembled a crowd of shivering, drenched people -who had gathered there on hearing of the event, conscious that all were -watching our entrance with solemn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> sympathy, not seeing distinctly any -one or anything, forgetting the narrow, dark, and winding wooden stair, -I was at the door of Reiner’s room in an instant. The tall figure of a -gendarme was silhouetted against the window; a few women stood by the -table whispering together, awe-stricken at the sight of something that -was before them, to the left, and still hidden from me as I took in the -scene on entering the door.</p> - -<p>Another step brought me to the bedside. There in the dim light lay old -Reiner, not as if asleep, for the awful pallor of death was on his face, -but with an expression as calm and peaceful as if he were soon to awake -from pleasant dreams, as if his soul were still dreaming on. He lay on -his right side, with his head resting on his doubled arm. The bedclothes -were scarcely disturbed, and his left arm lay naturally on the sheet -which was turned over the coverlid. Great, dark stains splashed the wall -behind the bed and the pillow; dark streaks ran along over the linen and -made little pools upon the floor. His shirt-bosom was one broad, -irregular blotch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> of blood, and in his left hand I could see the carved -ivory handle of the little Scandinavian sheath-knife that he always -carried in his belt. Before I had fully comprehended the awful reality -of poor Reiner’s death, the doctor arrived, lights were brought, and the -examination began. Our dead comrade’s head being raised and his -shirt-bosom opened, there were exposed two great gashes across the left -jugular vein and one across the right, and nine deep wounds in the -breast. Few of the cuts would not have proved mortal, and the ferocity -with which the fatal knife had been plunged again and again into his -breast testified to the madness of the determination to destroy his -life. On the dressing-table by the bed we found two small laudanum -vials, both empty, and one over-turned, as if placed hastily beside its -fellow. In all probability poor Reiner took this large dose of laudanum -early in the morning, as it was found that he had been in bed during the -entire day, and was seen by the servant to be sleeping at three o’clock -in the afternoon. His iron constitution and great phys<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span>ical strength -overcoming the effects of the narcotic, he probably awoke to -consciousness late in the afternoon. Finding himself still alive, in the -agonies of despair and disappointment at the unsuccessful attempt to -dream over the chasm into the next world, he seized his knife and madly -stabbed himself, doubtless feeling little pain, and only happily -conscious that his long-planned step was successfully taken at last. The -room was unchanged, nothing was disturbed, and there was no evidence of -the premeditation of the suicide, except an open letter on the table, -addressed to us, his friends. It contained a simple statement of his -reasons for leaving the world, saying that he was discouraged with his -progress in art, that he could not establish himself as an artist -without great expense to his family and friends, and that he believed by -committing suicide he simply annihilated himself—nothing more or -less—and so ceased to trouble himself or those interested in him. He -gave no directions as to the disposal of his effects, but enclosed a -written confession of faith, which read:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Frederik Reiner, athée, ne croyant à rien que ce que l’on peut -prouver par la raison et l’expérience. Croyant tout de même à -l’existence d’un esprit, mais d’un esprit qui dissoud et disparaît -avec le corps.</p> - -<p>“L'âme c’est la vie, c’est un complexité des forces qui sont -inséparables des atoms ou des molecules dont se compose le corps. -L’un comme l’autre a existé depuis l’éternité. Moi-même, mon âme -comme mon corps, un complexité accidentel, une réunion passagère.</p> - -<p>“J’insisterai toujours dans les éléments qui me composent mais -dissoudent en d’autres complexités. Ainsi, <i>moi, ma personnalité</i>, -n’existera plus après ma mort.”</p></div> - -<p>Beside this letter on the table lay Henri Murger’s “Scènes de la Vie de -Bohème,” open, face downward. The pages contained the description of the -death of one of the artists, and the following brief and touching -sentence was underlined: <i>“Il fut enterré quelquepart.”</i> A litter was -brought from the hospital, and four men carried away the body; the dog, -which we had come to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> upon almost with horror, closely following -the melancholy procession as it gradually disappeared in the drizzling -gloom of the narrow streets. We three went to our rooms in a strange -bewilderment, and huddled together in speechless grief and horror around -the little fireplace. When bedtime came we separated and tried to sleep, -but I doubt if an eye was closed or the awful vision of poor Reiner, as -we last saw him, left either of us for a moment.</p> - -<p>The days that followed were, to me at least, most agonizing. The -terrible death of old Reiner grew less and less repulsive and more -horribly absorbing. I had often read of the influence of such examples -on peculiarly constituted minds, but had never before felt the dread and -ghastly fascination which seemed to grow upon me as the days following -the tragedy drew no veil across the awful spectacle, ever present in my -mind’s eye, but rather added vividness and distinctness to the smallest -details of the scene. My bed, with its white curtains, the conventional -pattern of heavy Flemish<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> furniture found in every room, came to be -almost a tomb, in the morbid state of my imagination. I could never look -at its long, spotless drapery without fancying my own head on the -pillow, my own blood on the wall and staining with splashes of deep red -the curtain and sheets. The number and shape of the spots on old -Reiner’s bed seemed photographed on the retina of my eye, and danced -upon the slender, graceful folds of the curtains as often as I dared -look at them. A little nickel-plated derringer, always lying on my table -as a paper-weight, often found its way into my hands, and I would -surprise myself wondering whether death by such a means were not, after -all, preferable to destruction by the knife. A few cartridges in the -corner of my closet, which I had hidden away to keep them from the -meddling hands of the servant, seemed to draw me towards them with a -constant magnetism. I could not forget that shelf and that particular -spot behind a bundle of paint-rags. If there was need of anything on -that particular shelf for months after Reiner’s death, I always took<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> it -quickly and resolutely, shutting the closet door as if I were shutting -in all the evil spirits that could possess me. The tempter was -exorcised, but with difficulty, and to this day, for all I know, the -cartridges may still lie hidden there. Then, too, a quaint Normandy -hunting-knife was quite as fiendish in its influence as the derringer. -Its ugly, crooked blade, and strong, sharp point were very suggestive, -and for a time I was almost afraid to touch the handle, lest the demon -of suicide should overcome me. Still, in the climax of this fever, which -might well have resulted in the suicide of another of the four, for it -was evident that Henley and Tyck were also under the same influences -that surrounded me day and night, the thought of burdening our friends -with our dead bodies was the strongest inducement that stayed our hands. -It is certain that if we had been situated where the disposal of our -bodies would have been a matter of little or no difficulty—as, for -example, on board ship—one or perhaps all three of us would have -succumbed to the influence of the mania that possessed us.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was on the Sunday forenoon—a grim, gray morning threatening a -storm—following the fatal Thursday, that we met in the court-yard of -the city hospital to bury poor Reiner.</p> - -<p>The hideous barrenness of a Flemish burial-ground, even in bright, -cheerful weather, is enough to crush the most buoyant spirits; it is -indescribably oppressive and soul-sickening. The awful desolation of the -place in the dreariness of that day will ever remain a horrid souvenir -in my mind. Nature did not seem to weep, but to frown; and in the heavy -air one felt a deep and solemn reproach. The soaked and dull atmosphere -was stifling in its density, like the overloaded breath from some newly -opened tomb. There was an army of felt but unseen spirits lurking in the -ghostly quiet of the place, which the presence of a hundred mortals did -not disturb. There was no breath of wind, and the settling of the snow -and a faint, faint moan of the distant rushing tide made the silence -more oppressive. The drip of the water from the drenched mosses on the -brick<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> walls; the faintest rustle of the wreaths of immortelles hung on -every hideous black cross; the fall of one withered flower from the -forgotten offerings of some friend of the buried dead—every sound at -other times and in other places quite inaudible, broke upon that -unearthly quiet with startling distinctness. The sound of our footsteps, -as we followed the winding path to the fresh heap of earth in a remote -corner, fell heavily on the thick air, and the high brick walls, mouldy -and rotting in the sunless angles, gave a deep and unwilling echo. It -was like treading the dark and skull-walled passages of the Catacombs -without the grateful veil of a partial darkness. All that was mortal and -subject to decay, all that was to our poor human understanding immortal -and indestructible, seemed buried alike in this rigid, barren enclosure. -Beyond? There was no beyond; the straight, barren walls on all sides, -and the impenetrable murkiness of the gray vault that covered us, barred -out the material and the spiritual world. Here was the end, here all was -certain and defined<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span>—a narrow ditch, a few shovelfuls of earth, and -nothing more that needed or invited explanation. There was no future, no -waking from that sleep: all exit from that narrow and pitiless graveyard -seemed forever closed. Such thoughts as these were, until then, -strangers to us. Could it be the unextinguishable influence of that -nerveless body that filled the place with the dread and uncongenial -presence that urged us to accept for the time, then and there, the -theories and convictions of the mind which once animated that cold and -motionless mass?</p> - -<p>The fresh, moist earth was piled on one side of the grave, and the -workmen with their shovels stood near the heap as we filed up, and at a -sign lowered the coffin into the grave. A Norwegian minister approached -to conduct the services. He took his place apart from all, at the head -of the grave, and began with the customary prayer in the Norwegian -language. He was dressed in harmony with the day and scene. A long, -black gown fell to the feet and was joined by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> single row of thickly -sewn buttons; a white band hung from his neck low down in front, and -white wristbands half covered his gloved hands; a silk hat completed the -costume. His face was of the peculiar, emotionless Northern type, -perfectly regular in feature, with well-trimmed reddish-brown beard and -hair, and small, unsympathetic gray eyes, and it bore an expression of -congealed conviction in the severity of divine judgment. His prayer was -long and earnest, and the discourse which followed was full of honest -regret for the loss of our friend, but mainly charged with severe -reproach against the wickedness of the suicide, the burden of the sermon -being, “The wages of sin is death.” We stood there, shivering with the -penetrating chill of the damp atmosphere, filled with the horrors of -this acre of the dead, and listened patiently to the long discourse. In -the very middle of the argument there was a sudden rustle near the head -of the grave, a momentary confusion among those standing near the -minister, and, to the great amazement and horror of Tyck, Henley, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> -myself, that black poodle, draggled but dignified, walked quietly to the -edge of the pit as if he had been bidden to the funeral, and sat down -there, midway between the minister and the little knot of mourners, -eying first the living and then the dead with calm and portentous -gravity. He seemed to pay the closest attention to the words of the -discourse, and with an expression of intelligent triumph, rather than -grief, cocked his wise little head to one side and eyed the minister as -he dilated on the sin of suicide, and then looked solemnly down into the -grave. His actions were so human and his expression so fiendishly -exultant that to the three of us, who had previously made his -acquaintance, his presence was an additional horror; among the rest it -merely excited comment on the sagacity of the beast. There he sat -through the whole of the services, and nothing could move him from his -post.</p> - -<p>At the close of the sermon, and after a short eulogy in Flemish -delivered by one of us, the minister gave out the Norwegian hymn with -this refrain:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Min Gud! gjör dog for Christi Blod<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Min sidste Afskedstime god!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">The first part of the air is weird and Northern, and the last strain is -familiar to us by the name of “Hebron.” The Norwegian words were -significant and well-chosen for this occasion, very like the simple -stanzas of our “Hebron.” The hymn is sad enough at all times; when tuned -to the mournful drag of our untrained voices it seemed like the sighing -of unshrived spirits.</p> - -<p>As the sad measures wailed forth, the day seemed to grow colder and -darker; a dreary wind rustled the dry branches of the stunted trees, and -rattled the yellow wreaths of immortelles and the dry garlands and -bouquets. The dog grew uneasy between the verses, and howled long and -piteously, startling us all in our grief, and causing a dismal echo from -the cold, bare walls that hemmed us in. At last the painfully long hymn -was ended, immortelles were placed upon the coffin-lid, each one threw -in a handful of earth, and we turned our faces towards the gate, away -from death and desolation to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> dismal and melancholy life and our now -distasteful occupation. With one last look into the enclosure, we passed -out of the gate, closing it behind us. The dog was still at his post.</p> - -<p>A rapid drive brought us in fifteen minutes to the Place de Meir, where -we alighted and found to welcome us the same black poodle that we left -at the grave. The cemetery of Kiel is at least two miles from the Place -de Meir; yet the dog left it after we did, and, panting and covered with -mud, was awaiting us at the latter place. He could have made his escape -from the cemetery only by the aid of some one to open the heavy gate for -him, and, considering this necessary delay, his appearance in the city -before us was, to say the least, startling. He welcomed us cheerfully, -but we gave him no encouragement. The inexplicable ubiquity of the beast -horrified us too much to allow any desire for such a companion. As we -separated and took three different roads, to my great relief he followed -neither of us, but stood undecided which way to turn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span></p> - -<p>The circumstances attending the burial of poor Reiner and the events -which followed tended to increase our disposition to imitate the -questionable action of our friend; but the annual <i>concours</i> of the -academy, which demanded the closest attention and the most severe work -for nearly three months, counteracted all such evil tendencies, and by -spring-time we laughed at the morbid fancies of the previous winter.</p> - -<p>The evening after the funeral, on my way to the life class, I met the -poodle again, and, in reply to his recognition, drove him away with my -cane. Both Tyck and Henley related at the class a similar experience -with the dog, which we had now come to look upon as a fiend in disguise. -After this the meetings with the poodle were daily and almost hourly. He -would quietly march into the hotel court-yard as we were at dinner; we -would stumble over him on the stairs; at a café the <i>garçon</i> would hunt -him from the room; at the academy he would startle us, amuse the rest of -the students, and enrage the professor by breaking the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> guard of the old -surveillant, and rushing into the life class. He seemed to belong to no -one and to have no home, and yet he was an attractive animal with his -long, glossy coat, saucy ears and tail, and bright, intelligent eyes. We -often endeavored to rid ourselves of him. Many times I tried my best to -kill him, arming myself expressly with my heavy stick; but he avoided -all my attacks, and always met me cheerfully at our next interview. At -times he was morose and meditative. It used to be a theory of mine that -at these seasons he was making up his mind which one of us he had better -adopt as his master, declaring—only half in earnest, however—that the -one whom the animal especially favored would be sure to meet poor -Reiner’s fate. The months of January and February passed, and the poodle -still haunted us. In the course of these dark months we repeatedly -attempted to make friends with the dog, finding that we could not make -an enemy of him, and hoped thus to disprove the imagined fatality of the -beast or else to break the spell by our own<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> wills. All efforts at -conciliation failed; he would never enter even to take food the room -where we three were alone, and would show signs of general recognition -only, and those but sparingly, when we were together. He seemed content -with simply watching us, and not desirous of further acquaintance. Yet, -in the face of this mysterious behavior, I doubt very much if any one of -us really believed that anything would come of our forebodings; for we -began to speak of the dog at first quite in jest, and grew more serious -only as we were impressed after the death of Reiner by the consistent -impartiality of his fondness for our society, and by the unequalled -persistency with which he haunted us wherever we went abroad.</p> - -<p>We made inquiries about the dog at the house where old Reiner used to -live, and diligently searched various localities, but we could not find -out where he passed his nights, and we discovered only that he was known -all about the town simply as Reiner’s dog, the story of his presence at -the funeral having been repeated by some of those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> noticed his -actions at the grave. March came and went, and the dog had not yet taken -his choice of us, and we began to be confident that he never would. But -in one of the first warm days of spring we noticed his absence, and for -a day or two saw nothing of him. One Sunday, after a fête-day when we -three had not met as usual at the academy, a pure spring day, I received -a short note from Henley, asking me to come to his room on the Place -Verte, as he was unwell. I went immediately to his lodgings, and found -him sitting up, but quite pale and with a changed expression on his -face. I knew he had been suffering from a severe cold for some time, but -we all had colds in the damp, unhealthful old academy. His noticeably -increasing paleness was due, I had supposed, to the anxious labor and -prolonged strain of the <i>concours</i>. In one instance when we had been for -thirty-six hours shut up in a room with sealed doors and windows, -threescore of us, together with as many large kerosene lamps and nearly -the same number of foul pipes, with three large, red-hot cylinder -stoves, and no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> exit allowed on any excuse, we were all more or less -affected by the poisoned air and the long struggle with the required -production. The idea, then, that there was anything serious the matter -with Henley never entered my head as I saw him sitting there in his -room; but his first words brought me to a realization of the case, and -all the horror of that long winter and its one mournful event came back -to me in a flash. His remark was significant. He simply said, “That dog -is here.”</p> - -<p>To be sure, the poodle was quietly sleeping near Henley’s easel, in the -sun. After a few general remarks, my friend said to me, quite abruptly, -as if he had made up his mind to come to the point at once:</p> - -<p>“I thought I would send for you, old boy, to give you a souvenir or two. -I am more seriously ill than you imagine. My brother will be here -to-morrow; I shall return with him to England, and you and I shall -probably meet no more.”</p> - -<p>There was resignation in every word he uttered, and he was evidently -convinced of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span> the hopelessness of attempting to struggle with the -disease, his languid efforts to throw it off not having in the least -retarded its advance. I tried to prove to him the folly of the -superstition about the dog, but it was useless. He quietly said that the -doctor had assured him of the necessity of an immediate return to a -warmer climate and to the care of his friends. Tyck, who had been sent -for at the same time, came in shortly after, and was completely shaken -by the strange fulfilment of our mysterious forebodings. We passed a sad -hour in that little room, and took our leave only when we saw that -Henley was fatigued with too much talking, for he began to cough -frightfully, and could hardly speak above a whisper. He gave to each of -us, with touching tenderness, a palette-knife—the best souvenirs we -could have, he said, because they would be in our hands constantly—and -we took our leave, promising to meet him on the boat the following day. -We learned from the servant that the poodle had inhabited the cellar for -several days, and that they had not been able to drive him away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span></p> - -<p>Tyck seemed perfectly dazed by the severity of Henley’s malady and the -suddenness of his departure. Both of us avoided speaking of the dog, -each fearing that his own experience with the unlucky acquaintance might -follow that of our two companions. Tyck, I knew, was more subject to -colds than the rest of us, for he had never been completely acclimated -in Flanders, and he doubtless feared that one of the frequent slight -attacks that troubled him might prove at last as serious as the illness -that now threatened poor Henley. With Henley’s departure Antwerp would -lose half its attraction for us, for since the death of old Reiner we -three had been even more closely attached than before. Henley had lost -some of his insular coldness and formality of manner, was daily assuming -more and more the appearance and acquiring the free and easy habits of -an art-student, and his unchanging good-nature, his stability of -character, and his entertaining conversation made him the leader of our -trio. During the exhausting months of the <i>concours</i>, and in face<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> of -the discouraging results of weeks of most energetic and nervous toil, he -never lost his patience, but encouraged us by his superior strength of -purpose and scorn of minor disappointments.</p> - -<p>The next day we three met on board the Baron Osy just before the cables -were cast off the quay. Henley was one of the last passengers to get -aboard, and fortunately our parting was by necessity short. He was very -weak, and evidently failed from hour to hour, for he could walk only -with the support of his brother’s arm. He said good-by hopelessly but -calmly, and we parted with scarcely another word. We felt that regrets -were useless and words of encouragement vain, and that the only thing -that remained to do was to accept his fate calmly, and as calmly await -our own. There was not a shadow of hope that we would ever meet again, -and I can never forget the far-off look in Henley’s face as he turned -his eyes for an instant towards the swift, yellow current of the -Scheldt, with the rich-hued sails, the fleecy spring clouds, and the -gorgeously colored roofs of Saint<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> Anneke reflected in its eddying -surface. The cables were cast off and we hurried ashore. In the bustle -and confusion a black poodle was driven off the plank by one of the -stewards, but the crowd was so great and the noise and the tumult of the -wharf-men so distracting, that it was impossible to see whether the dog -remained on the boat or was put ashore. However, we saw him no more, and -did not doubt that he went with Henley to London. In less than two weeks -a letter from Henley’s brother announced the death of our friend from -quick consumption. Nothing was said of the dog.</p> - -<p>From that time Tyck was preoccupied; he was much alone, ceased to -frequent the academy, and neither worked nor diverted himself: it was -plain that he needed change. Antwerp, at the best a cheerless town, gay -on the surface, perhaps, because its people are as thoughtless and -improvident as children, but full of misery and well-concealed -wretchedness, grew hateful to us both.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Tyck announced his purpose of going to Italy, and I resolved to -break my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span> camp as well, make an artistic tour of the East, and meet my -friend in Rome in the autumn. We divided our canvases and easels among -the rest of the fellows, rolled up our studies, and with the color-box, -knapsack, and travelling-rug were prepared in a day to leave the scene -of our sad experiences. It was with feelings of great relief and -satisfaction that we saw the red roofs of Antwerp disappear behind the -fortifications as the train carried us southward.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>Eight months after Tyck and I parted at Brussels, I arrived in Rome. -Sharing, as I did, the general ignorance in regard to the severity of -the Italian winters, I was surprised to find the weather bitterly cold. -It was the day before Christmas, and a breeze that would chill the bones -swept the deserted streets. After three months’ idling in the East, -paddling in the Golden Horn, dreamily watching from the hills of Smyrna -the far-off islands of the Grecian Archipelago,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> and sleeping in the sun -on the rocks at Piræus, Italy seemed as cold and barren as the shores of -Scandinavia. It is a popular mistake to winter in Italy. The West of -England, the South of France, and many sections of our own country are -far preferable. It is not to be denied that Italy can be thoroughly -enjoyed only in the warm months. Even in the hottest season, Americans -find Naples, Rome, and Florence less uncomfortable than Boston, New -York, and Philadelphia. Immediately on my arrival Tyck came to meet me -at the hotel, and we spent a happy Christmas Eve, discussing the -thousand topics that arise when two intimate friends meet after a -separation like our own. Tyck was in better health and spirits than I -had ever known him to be in before, and to all appearances Italian air -agreed with him. In the course of the evening he gave me an invitation -to make one of a breakfast-party that was to celebrate Christmas in his -studio the next day, and the invitation was accompanied with the request -to bring eatables and liquids enough to satisfy my own appe<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span>tite on that -occasion—a Bohemian fashion of giving dinner-parties to which we were -no strangers. Accordingly, the next morning at eleven o’clock we were to -meet again in Tyck’s quarters.</p> - -<p>The studio was in the fifth story of a large block not far from the -Porta del Popolo, and looked out upon a large portion of the city, the -view embracing the Pincio and St. Peter’s, Monte Mario, and the -Quirinal. The entrance on the street was dismal and prison-like. A long, -dark corridor led back to a small court at the bottom of a great pit -formed by the walls of the crowded houses, and the stones of the -pavement were flooded with the drippings from the buckets of all the -neighborhood, as they slid up and down the wire guys leading into the -antique well in one corner, and rattled and splashed until they were -drawn up by an unseen hand far above in the maze of windows and -balconies—an ingenious and simple way of drawing water, quite common in -Rome. From this sunless court-yard a broad, musty staircase twisted and -turned capriciously up past<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> narrow, gloomy passages to the upper floors -of the house. At the fourth story began a narrow wooden staircase, -always perfumed with the odors of the adjacent kitchens; and it grew -narrower and steeper and more crooked until it met a little dark door at -the very top, bearing the name of Tyck. The suite of rooms which Tyck -occupied made up one of those mushroom-like wooden stories that are -lightly stuck on the top of substantial stone or brick buildings. They -add to the beauty of the silhouette, but detract from the dignity of the -architectural effect, and look like the cabin of a wrecked ship flung -upon the rocks. From the outside, quaint little windows, pretty hanging -gardens, or an airy <i>loggia</i> make the place look cheerful and cosy. -Within, one feels quite away from the world; far up beyond neighbors and -enclosing walls, tossed on a sea of roofs, and with a broad sweep of the -horizon on every side. Such a perch is as attractive as it is difficult -to reach, and offers to the artist the advantages of light, quiet, and -perfect freedom. Tyck’s rooms were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span> three in number. A narrow corridor -led past the door of the store-room to the studio—a large, square room -with a great window on the north side and smaller ones with shutters on -the east and west. From the studio a door opened into the chamber, in -turn connected with the store-room. Thus there was a public and a -private entrance to the studio.</p> - -<p>The Christmas breakfast had more than ordinary significance: it was to -be the occasion of the presentation of Tyck’s household to his artist -friends. This, perhaps, needs explanation. At the time of our departure -from Antwerp, Tyck was engaged to be married to a young lady, the -daughter of a Flemish merchant, and there was every prospect of a -wedding within a year. After he had been absent two or three months her -letters ceased to come, and Tyck learned from a friend that the thrifty -father of the girl had found a match more desirable from a mercenary -point of view, and had obliged his daughter to break engagement number -one in order to enter into a new relation. Tyck,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> after some months of -despondency, at last made an alliance with a Jewish girl of the working -class, and it was at the Christmas breakfast that Lisa was to be -presented for the first time to the rest of the circle. When I entered -the studio there were already a good many fellows present. The apartment -was a picture in itself; and a long dining-table placed diagonally -across the room, bearing piles of crockery and a great <i>pièce montée</i> of -evergreen and oranges, and surrounded by a unique and motley assemblage -of chairs, did not detract from the picturesqueness of the interior.</p> - -<p>As studios go, this would not, perhaps, have been considered luxurious -or of extraordinary interest, but it had a character of its own. Two -sides of the room were hung with odd bits of old tapestry and stray -squares of stamped leather, matched together to make an irregular -patchwork harmonious in tone and beautifully rich in color. In the -corner were bows and arrows, spears, and other weapons, brought from -Java, a branch or two of palm, and great reeds from the Cam<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span>pagna with -twisted and shrivelled leaves, yellow and covered with dust. Studies of -heads and small sketches were tucked away between the bits of tapestry -and leather, and thus every inch of these walls was covered. On another -wall was a book-shelf with a confused pile of pamphlets and -paper-covered books, and under this hung a number of silk and satin -dresses, various bits of rich drapery, a coat or two, and a Turkish fez. -The remaining wall, and the two narrow panels on either side of the -great window, were completely covered with studies of torsos, drawings -from the nude, academy heads, sketches of animals and landscapes, -together with a shelf of trinkets, a skeleton, and a plaster death-mask -of a friend hung with a withered laurel-wreath. Quaint old chairs, bits -of gilded stage furniture, racks of portfolios, a small table or two -covered with the odds and ends of draperies, papers, sketches, the -accumulation of months, filled the corners and spread confusion into the -middle of the room. Three or four easels huddled together under the -light, holding stray pan<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span>els and canvases and half-finished pictures, a -lay-figure—that stiff and angular caricature of the human form—and a -chair or two loaded with brushes, color-box, and palettes, witnessed -that tools were laid aside to give room for the table that filled every -inch of vacant space. In one corner was an air-tight stove, and this was -piled up with dishes and surrounded by great tin boxes, whence an -appetizing steam issued forth, giving a hint of the good things awaiting -us. The bottles were beginning to form a noble array on the table, and -as often as a new guest appeared, a servant with a <i>porte-manger</i> and a -couple of bottles would contribute to the army of black necks and add to -the breastwork of loaded dishes that flanked the stove. Tyck was in his -element, welcoming heartily and with boyish enthusiasm every arrival, -and leading the shout of joy at the sight of a fat bundle or a heavy -weight of full bottles. By eleven o’clock every one was on hand, and -there was an embarrassment of riches in the eating and drinking line. -Before sitting down at the table—there were eighteen of us—we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> made a -rule that each one should in turn act as waiter and serve with his own -hand the dishes he had brought, the intention being to divide the -accumulated stock of dishes into a great many different courses. French -was chosen as the language of the day.</p> - -<p>While we were discussing the question of language, Lisa came in and was -presented to us all in turn, impressing us very favorably. She was -slight, but not thin, with dark hair, large brown eyes, and a -transparent pink-and-white complexion—a fine type of a Jewess. She took -the place of honor at Tyck’s right hand, and we sat down in a very jolly -mood.</p> - -<p>The <i>menu</i> of that breakfast would craze a French cook, and the -arrangement of the courses was a work of great difficulty, involving -much general discussion. The <i>trattorie</i> of Rome had been ransacked for -curious and characteristic national dishes; every combination of goodies -that ingenious minds could suggest was brought, and plain substantials -by no means failed. In the <i>hors d'œuvre</i>, we had excellent fresh -caviare, the contribution of a Russian; Bologna sausage and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> nibbles of -radish; and, to finish, <i>pâté de foie gras</i>. Soup <i>à la jardinière</i> was -announced, and was almost a failure at the start-off, because one very -important aid to the enjoyment of soup, the spoons, had been forgotten -by the contributor. A long discussion as to the practicability of -leaving the soup to the end of the meal, meanwhile ordering spoons to be -brought, terminated in the employment of extra glasses in place of -spoons and soup-plates. Then all varieties of fish followed in a rapid -succession of small courses. Tiny minnows fried in delicious olive-oil; -crabs and crawfish cooked in various ways; Italian oysters, small, thin, -and coppery in flavor; canned salmon from the Columbia River; <i>baccalà</i> -and herrings from the North Sea; broad, gristly flaps from the body of -the devil-fish, the warty feelers purple and suggestive of the stain of -sepia and of Victor Hugo—all these, and an abundance of each, were -passed around. An immense joint of roast beef, with potatoes, -contributed by an Englishman; a leg of mutton, by a Scotchman; a roast -pig, from a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span> Hungarian; the potted meat of Australia, and the tasteless -<i>manzo</i> of Italy, formed the solid course. Next we devoured a whole -flock of juicy larks with crisp skins, pigeons in pairs, ducks from the -delta of the Tiber, a turkey brought by an American, pheasants from a -Milanese, squash stuffed with meat and spices, and a globe of <i>polenta</i> -from a Venetian. At this point in the feast there were cries of quarter, -but none was given. An English plum-pudding of the unhealthiest species, -with flaming sauce; a pie or two strangely warped and burned in places, -from the ignorance of the Italian cook or the bad oven; pots of jelly -and marmalade, fruit mustard, stewed pears, and roasted chestnuts, -<i>ekmekataïf</i> and <i>havláh</i> from a Greek, a profusion of fruits of all -kinds, were offered, and at last coffee was served to put in a -paragraph. The delicate wines of Frascati and Marino, the light and dark -Falernian, a bottle of Tokay, one of Vöslau, thick red wine of Corfu, -and flasks of the ordinary Roman mixture—a little more than water, a -little less than wine—Capri <i>rosso</i> and <i>bianco</i>, Bordeaux and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> -Burgundy, good English ale and porter, Vienna beer, American whiskey, -and Dutch gin, Alkermes, Chartreuse, and Greek mastic, made, all told, a -wine-list for a king, and presented a rank of arguments to convert a -prohibitionist. This was no orgy that I am describing, simply a jolly -breakfast for eighteen Bohemians of all nationalities—a complex, -irregular affair, but for that reason all the more delightful.</p> - -<p>When we were well along in the bill of fare, a little incident occurred -which put me out of the mood for further enjoyment of the breakfast, and -for the rest of the day my position was that of silent spectator, -watching the amusements with an expression not calculated to encourage -sport. To begin with, I was unusually sensitive to nervous shocks, from -the fact that my first impression of Rome had been intensely -disagreeable. I found myself in a strangely exciting atmosphere, and -subject to unpleasant influences. The first night passed in Rome was -crowded with visions, and I cannot recall a period of twenty-four hours -during<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> my residence in that city that has not its unpleasant souvenir -of strange hallucinations, wonderful dreams, or some shock to my nerves. -The meeting with Tyck was doubtless the occasion of my visions and -restlessness on the night before the Bohemian breakfast. The events of -the previous winter in Antwerp came freshly to my mind; I lived over -again that dark season of horrors, and the atmosphere of Rome nourished -the growth of similar strange fancies. There was, however, in my train -of thoughts on Christmas Eve no foreboding that I can recall, no -prophetic fear of a continuance of the strange relations with that black -poodle which had already taken away the best half of our circle. It -needed little, nevertheless, to put me in a state of mind very similar -to that which tortured me for months in Antwerp.</p> - -<p>But to return to the breakfast. While we were at the table a hired -singer and guitar-player, a young girl of sixteen or seventeen years, -sang Italian popular songs and performed instrumental pieces. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> had -nearly exhausted her list when she began to sing the weird, mournful -song of Naples, “Palomella,” at that time quite the rage, but since worn -threadbare, and its naïve angles and depressions polished down to the -meaningless monotony of a popular ditty. We heard a dog howl in the -sleeping-room as the singer finished the ballad, and Lisa rose to open -the door. My seat on Tyck’s left brought me quite near the door, and I -turned on my chair to watch the entrance of the animal. A black poodle, -as near as I could judge the exact counterpart of the Flemish dog, -quietly walked into the room, evidently perfectly at home. My first calm -reflection was that it was an hallucination, a mental reproduction of -one of the grim pictures of the past winter; I could not believe my own -vision, and it was some time before I came to realize the fact that my -senses were not deceived. I was about to ask Tyck if he had noticed in -the dog any curious resemblance to our self-appointed companion in -Antwerp, when he turned, and, as I thought then, with a lin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span>gering touch -of the old superstitious fear in his voice, said: “You’ve noticed the -dog; he belongs to Lisa. When he first came here, a month ago, I was -horrified to find in him the image of our Flemish friend. Lisa laughed -me out of my fears, saying that the animal had been in the family for -six months or more, and at last I began to look upon him as a harmless -pup, and to wonder only at the strange coincidence.” But I could not -turn the affair into a joke or forget for a moment past events, now -recalled so vividly to my mind. This was the third time that a black -poodle had taken a liking to one of us, and two out of the three -attachments had already proved fatal to the human partner. It was not by -any means clear that the same dog played these different renderings of -one part, but to all appearance it was the identical poodle. If in two -cases this friendship of the dog for his self-chosen master had proved -fatal, it was but a natural inference that the third attachment would -terminate in a similar manner. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> Tyck was in better health than ever -before, notwithstanding the companionship of the dog. Was not this a -proof of the folly of my superstition? I asked myself. Reasons were not -wanting to disprove the soundness of my logic. It was undoubtedly true -that stranger and more wonderful coincidences had happened, and nothing -had come of them, and it was undeniable that the imagination might -distort facts to such a degree that coincidences would be suspected -where none existed. If it were only a coincidence, fears were childish. -And the dog manifested no particular friendship for Tyck; he belonged to -Lisa, and seemed to take no special notice of any one else.</p> - -<p>The <i>déjeuner</i> went on without further interruption, and the guitar girl -drummed away until the table was cleared. We were not at a loss for -entertainments after the feast was ended. Tyck’s costumes were drawn -upon, and a Flemish musician sang a costume duet with a Walloon -sculptor, one being laced up in a blue satin ball-dress, and the other -stag<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span>gering under the weight of a janissary’s uniform. Later on there -was a dancing <i>concours</i>, in which the Indian war-dance, the English -jig, the negro walk-around, the tarantella, the Flemish <i>reuske</i>, and -the Hungarian <i>csárdás</i> each had its nimble-footed performers. The scene -was worth putting upon canvas. The confusion of quaint and rare -trinkets, the abundance of color-bits, and the picturesque groups of -figures in all the costumes that could be improvised for the dance or -the song—a museum of <i>bric-à-brac</i> and a carnival of characters—all -this made a <i>tableau vivant</i> of great richness and interest.</p> - -<p>About the middle of the afternoon the entertainment began to flag a -little, and the moment there was a lull in the sport some one proposed a -trip to Ponte Molle. The vote was immediately taken and carried, and we -marched out to the Piazza del Popolo and engaged an omnibus for the rest -of the day.</p> - -<p>The straggling suburb outside the Porta del Popolo was lively with -pleasure-seeking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span> Romans. The wine-shops were full of sad-eyed peasants -and weary, careworn laborers; all the mournful character of a Roman -merry-making was unusually prominent on this cheerless holiday, and the -cloaked natives chatted as solemnly as if they were mourners at a -funeral. Roman festivities are, in general, not calculated to divert the -participants to a dangerous extent. Wine-drinking is the chief -amusement; and even under the enlivening influences of his potations the -Roman rarely loses his habitual seriousness of manner, but bears himself -to the end of the orgy as if he expected every moment to be called upon -to answer for the sins of his ancestors. As we drove along the straight, -broad road that raw afternoon, we met numberless carts and omnibuses -filled with laborers returning from the wine-shops in the Campagna; the -sidewalks were crowded with people on their way to and from the -<i>trattorie</i> near the Tiber; and scarcely a song was heard, rarely a -laugh sounded above the rattle of the wheels. The natives were making a -business of amusement, and formed a staid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span> and sober procession, on an -occasion when in Germany or Belgium the frolics and noisy merriment of -the people would have known no bounds short of the limit of physical -endurance. We were probably regarded as escaped maniacs because we -persisted in breaking the voiceless confusion by our hearty Flemish -songs. We left the omnibus in the yard of a <i>trattoria</i> at some distance -out in the Campagna, and strolled over the hills for an hour, watching -the dark, cold mountains and the broad, sad-tinted waste spread out -before us. The solemn beauty of the Campagna is always impressive; under -a gray sky it assumes a sombre and mournful aspect. To the north of the -city, the low, flat-topped hills combine in a peculiar way to form -silhouettes of great nobleness of character and simplicity of line. They -are the changeless forms that endure like the granite cliffs, monumental -in their grandeur. When moving shadows of the clouds form purple patches -across these hills, and the dull gray of the turf comes into occasional -relief in a spot of strong sunlight, the scene is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> one of unique and -matchless beauty—a heroic landscape, with wonderful vigor and dignity -of line and extraordinary delicacy of tone. That afternoon the dog, -which had accompanied Tyck on the excursion, furnished us our chief -amusement. We tossed sticks down the steep gravel banks, to watch his -lithe black form struggle through the brambles, seize the bit, and -return it to us. He, poor animal, had probably been shut up within the -walls of Rome longer than the rest of the party, and entered into the -outdoor frolics with even more zest than his human companions. Below the -<i>trattoria</i> there was a narrow brook bridged by a rail, and we tried to -get the poodle to walk this narrow path, but with no success. Tyck at -last made the attempt, to encourage the dog, but on his way back he -slipped and wet his feet and ankles thoroughly. Most of us thought this -accident of not the least importance, but one or two of the old -residents advised a return to the wine-shop, hinting of a possible -serious illness in consequence of the wetting. At the <i>trattoria</i> Tyck -dried<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span> himself at the large open fire in the kitchen, and we thought no -more of it. The old Porta del Popolo answered our chorus with a -welcoming echo as we drove in, shortly after dark, and mingled with the -shivering crowd hurrying to their homes. Our Christmas had at least been -a merry one to the most of us, but I could not forget the incident of -the dog; and as I walked through the streets to my cheerless room a -strange dread gradually took entire possession of me in spite of my -reason.</p> - -<p>For a day or two, that least amusing of all occupations, studio-hunting, -kept me busy from morning till night, and I saw none of the -breakfast-party. It was beginning to surprise me that Tyck did not make -his appearance, when I had a call from Lisa, bearing a message from him, -saying he was slightly unwell and wanted me to come and see him. I lost -no time in complying with his request. On my way to his room the same -old dread, stifled for a while in the busy search for rooms, came back -with all its force, and I already began to suffer the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> first agonies of -grief at the loss of my friend. For, although the message was hopeful -enough, it came at a time when it seemed the first sign of the -fulfilment of my forebodings, and from that moment I looked upon Tyck as -lost to us. Not pretending to myself that it was an excusable weakness -on my part to become the victim of what would generally be declared a -morbid state of the imagination; reasoning all the while that the -weather, the peculiar, tomb-like atmosphere of Rome, our previous -experience in Antwerp, and our long absence from the distractions and -worldliness of a civilized society would have caused this state of mind -in healthier organizations than my own; I still could not help thinking -of my friend as already in the clutch of death, and soon to be numbered -as the third lost from our little circle, while the fourth was still to -wait.</p> - -<p>Tyck was in bed when I entered his chamber. There was a fresh glow deep -in his brown cheek, and his eyes seemed to me brighter than usual; still -there was no visible sign of a dangerous illness, and my rea<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span>son laughed -at my fears. He complained of dizziness, headache, pains in the back, -and coughed at intervals. His manner showed that his mind was troubled, -and from Lisa I learned that he had not yet received the expected -remittance for the sale of his last pictures sent to London. The winter -was severe and fuel expensive; models were awaiting payment, and the -rent-day was drawing near. I gave Lisa all the money I had with me, and -charged her to keep me posted as to the wants of the household, if by -any bad fortune Tyck should be obliged to keep his room for any length -of time. She afterwards told me that later in the day several friends -called, suspected the state of affairs, and each contributed according -to his purse—always without the knowledge of the sufferer.</p> - -<p>Every day after that, I passed a portion of the daylight in Tyck’s room. -His cough gradually grew more violent, and in a day or two he became -seriously ill with high fever. The doctor, a spare, wise-looking German, -of considerable reputation as a successful practi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span>tioner in fever cases, -was called that day and afterwards made more frequent visits than the -length of our purses would warrant. On the third or fourth day he -decided that the disease was typhoid fever, and commenced a severe and -to us inexperienced nurses a harsh treatment, dosing continually with -quinine and blistering the extremities. Before the end of a week Tyck -fell into long spells of delirium, and recognized his friends only at -intervals. His tongue was black, and protruded from his mouth, and -between his fits of coughing he could at last only whisper a few words -in Italian. We had been in the habit of conversing at discretion in -English, French, Flemish, or German; talking always on art questions in -French, telling stories in the picturesque Flemish patois, and reserving -the German and English languages for more solemn conversation. Tyck -would frequently attempt to use one of these languages when he wished to -speak with me during his illness, aware of my slight acquaintance with -Italian, and it was most painful to witness his struggles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> with an -English or French sentence. The words seemed too rasping for his tender -throat and blistered tongue; the easy enunciation of the Italian vowels -gave him no pain, and in a sigh he could whisper a whole sentence.</p> - -<p>When at last Lisa was quite worn out with nursing, and there was need of -more skilful and experienced hands to administer the medicines and -perform the thousand duties of a sick-room, the doctor advised us to -make application at a convent for a sister to come and watch at night. -We did so, and on the evening of the same day a cheerful, home-like -little body, in the stiffest of winged bonnets, climbed the long stairs -and took immediate possession of the sick-room, putting things into -faultless order in a very few moments. Her first step was to banish the -dog to a neighboring studio, and I awaited her entrance into the -painting-room with some anxiety. The long table had been removed, but -otherwise the studio remained just the same as it was on the day of the -feast. A regiment of bottles was drawn up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span> near the window; various -tell-tale dishes, broken glasses, and other <i>débris</i> cluttered the -corner near where the stove stood, and I was sure that a lecture on the -sin of the debauchery which had brought my friend to a sick-bed awaited -me the moment the sister saw these proofs of our worldliness. She -trotted out into the studio at last, in the course of her busy -preparation for the night; and then, instead of bursting forth with a -reproof, she covered her face with her hands, turned about, and walked -out of the house. I, of course, followed her and begged for an -explanation. She hesitated long, but finally with some difficulty said -she could not stay in a room where such pictures decorated the walls, -and before she would consent to return she must be assured of their -removal or concealment. I hastened up, covered all the academy studies -with bits of newspaper; and the sister returned and went on with her -duties as if nothing had happened. So the expected lecture was never -delivered. In the sight of the greater enormity of academy studies, she -clearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span> thought it useless to lecture on the appetite.</p> - -<p>Few days elapsed after the sister took charge of the sick-room before we -were all rejoiced at an improvement in Tyck. He grew better rapidly, and -in two weeks was able to sit up in bed and talk to us. Though we were -full of joy at his apparent speedy recovery, there was always a -bitterness in the thought that the fatal relapse might be expected at -every moment, and this shadow hung over us even in the most hopeful -hours. The sister gave up her charge, and as Tyck grew better day by -day, Lisa came to act as sole nurse and companion, although we made -daily visits to the sick-room. The month of January passed, and Carnival -approached. Tyck was able to have his clothes put on, and to move around -the room a little. The doctor made infrequent and irregular visits, and -but for the fear of a relapse would have ceased to come altogether.</p> - -<p>The morning of the first day of Carnival week, I was awakened while it -was still dark<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> by the ringing of my door-bell, and lay in bed for a -while undecided whether it was not a dream that had roused me. My studio -and apartment were of a very bogyish character, located at the top of a -house on the Tiber, completely shut away from the world, and full of -dream-compelling influences that lurked in the dingy and long-disused -bedroom with its worn and faded furniture, and filled the spacious -studio and the musty little <i>salon</i> with an oppressive presence, which -did not vanish in the brightest days nor in the midst of the liveliest -assembly that ever gathered there. So it never astonished me to be -awakened by some unaccountable noise, or by the mental conviction that -there was some disturbance in the crowded atmosphere. When I was aroused -that dark, drizzly morning, I awaited the second pull of the bell before -I summoned courage enough to pass through the shadowy <i>salon</i> and the -lofty studio, with its ghostly lay-figure and plaster casts, like pale -phantoms in the dim light of a wax taper, and open the great door that -led into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span> narrow corridor. A slender form wrapped in a shawl entered -the studio, and Lisa stood there, pale with fright, her great brown eyes -drowned in tears, shrinking from the invisible terrors that seemed to -pursue her. She whispered that Tyck was worse, and asked me to go for -the doctor. I led her back to Tyck’s room, and in an hour the doctor was -there.</p> - -<p>The details of that last illness are painful in the extreme. The sister -was not in attendance, it having been decided by the superior that -artists’ studios were places whither the duties of the sisterhood did -not call its members, and so Lisa’s mother came and did her best to -fill, in a rough sort of way, the delicate office of nurse. On the last -day of Carnival, little suspecting that the end of my friend was near, I -was occupied in my own studio, until nearly dark, and just as the sport -was at its height I struggled through the crowd and reached Tyck’s -studio, white with <i>confetti</i> and flour, and in a state of mind hardly -fitted for the sick-room. In the studio two doctors sat in consultation, -and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> serious faces, with the frightened look in Lisa’s eyes, told -me the sad story at once. They had decided that Tyck must die, and made -a last examination just after I entered. They raised him in bed, thumped -his poor back, pulled out his swollen tongue, and felt of his tender -scalp, burned with fever and frozen with a sack of ice. The group at the -bedside, so picturesquely impressive, will always remain in my memory -like the souvenir of some gloomy old picture. Lisa’s mother was seated -on the back of the bed, raising Tyck like a sick child, his limp arms -dangling over her shoulders and his head drooping against her cheek. To -the right the slight and graceful form of Lisa, holding the earthen -lamp; one doctor bending over to listen at the bared back, the focus of -the dim light; the other doctor solemn and motionless, a dark silhouette -against the bed and the wall beyond. The examination only proved the -truth of the decision just reached, and it was then announced for the -first time that the real malady was lung-fever, with the not -infrequently accompany<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span>ing first symptoms of typhoid. A few moments -later one or two young artists dropped in, learned the sad news, and -went away to warn the rest of the friends. At eight o’clock we were all -in the studio, and after a hushed and hasty discussion as to whether or -not a priest should be called in this last hour, the Catholic friends -were overruled, and it was decided to consult no spiritual adviser. -Tyck, meanwhile, was scarcely able to talk. One by one the fellows came -to his bedside, were recognized, and went away. I alone stayed in the -studio, waiting, waiting. The doctor was to come at half-past nine, and -the fellows had promised to return again at ten.</p> - -<p>For a long hour we sat in silence, Lisa and I, and watched the approach -of death. The mother, completely exhausted, lay on the bare floor near -the stove, as motionless as a corpse; the dim light reflected from the -sick-room transformed the draperies into mysterious shapes, and made the -lay-figure look vaporous and spectral. Frequent fits of violent, -suffocating cough would call us<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span> to the bedside, and after a severe -struggle Tyck would for a moment throw off the clutch of the malady and -breathe again. He was in agony to speak with me, but was unable to. I -guessed part of his wishes, repeated them in Flemish, and he made a -signal of assent when I was right. In this way he communicated certain -directions about his affairs, and I promised to see Lisa provided for -and all his business properly settled. But there was something more he -was anxious to tell, and he continued to the last his vain struggle to -express it.</p> - -<p>The stillness of the studio in the intervals between the spasms of -suffocation was painfully broken, as the long hour passed, by his heavy -breathing and by the stifled sobs of the poor girl, who, at last, cried -herself to sleep, exhausted by her watching. From outside, a dog’s -mournful howl, breaking into a short, spasmodic bark, came up at -intervals, and I could see that this sound disturbed the sufferer, -probably recalling to his waning faculties the history of the dog that -had so haunted us. From the street the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> chorus of the maskers came -floating to us, sounding hollow and far away, like the chant of a -distant choir in some great cathedral. Occasionally a carriage rumbled -over the rough pavement, the deep sound echoing through the deserted -court-yard and up the long, dreary stairways. It was within a few -moments of the doctor’s expected visit that a spasm more violent than -any previous one called me to the bedside. We had long since stopped the -medicine, and nothing remained to do but to ease the sufferer over the -chasm as gently as possible. He did not seem at all anxious to live, and -in the agonies of the suffocation there was no fear in those dark eyes -that rolled in their hollow sockets. I raised him in bed, and at last, -after the most prolonged fight, he caught his breath, opened his eyes, -turned towards me, and said plainly in English, “All right, old boy.” -Then he relapsed into a comatose state and never spoke again. The doctor -found him rapidly sinking, and another spasm came on while he was -feeling the pulse. The patient recovered from it only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> to pass into -another and more protracted one, at the end of which he sighed twice and -was dead. For a second or two after the last deep breath his face had -all the fever-flush and the look of life, but almost instantly he fell -over towards me, changed beyond recognition. The wave of death had -passed over us, carrying with it the last trace of life that lingered in -the face of my friend, and a ghastly pallor crept over his cheeks, -transforming him that I loved into an unrecognizable, inert thing. I -turned away and never saw that face again, although they told me it was -nobly beautiful in its Egyptian, changeless expression. That pause of an -instant, while death was asserting its power, impressed me -strangely—and this was no new experience for me. In that pause, when -time seemed to stand still, something urged me to raise my eyes in -confident expectation of seeing the spirit as it left the body. Even my -heated imagination, to which I was ready to charge much that was -inexplicable in my experience, did not produce an image, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span> instead, -where the wall should have been I seemed to look into space, into a -wide, wide distance. An awful vacancy, an infinity of emptiness, yawned -before me, and I looked down to meet the fixed expression of that -changed face. For that moment there was no lingering presence of my -friend that I could feel; in that short struggle he had separated -himself entirely from us and from the place he used to fill with his -charming presence. In the chamber of death there was no adumbration of -the life that once flourished there, of the soul that had just fled. And -so I thought only of burying the body and providing for poor Lisa.</p> - -<p>The rest of the fellow-painters came a few moments after it was all -over, and received the news with surprise. Lisa still slept, and we did -not wake her. I remained in the studio all night, and in the morning the -formalities of the police notification were gone through with, and the -preparations made for the funeral. In the studio, unchanged in every -respect from the day when Tyck put<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span> his brushes in his palette and laid -it upon a chair, we held a meeting to decide upon the funeral -ceremonies. Lisa was completely broken down by grief and exhaustion, -and, with her mother and the dog, who joyfully occupied his old place by -the stove and disputed the entrance of every one, lived in the studio -and the store-room.</p> - -<p>On Sunday morning we buried our friend in the Protestant cemetery. -Arriving at the little house in the enclosure, we found the coffin -there, with the undertaker, Lisa, her mother, and the dog. An hour later -an English minister came and conducted the ceremonies in a cold, hurried -manner; but perhaps the services were quite as satisfactory, after all, -because his language was unintelligible to the majority of those -present. We stood shivering in a circle around the coffin until the -services were over, and then bore the burden to the grave, dug deep near -the wall in a picturesque nook under a ruined tower—a fit monument to -our friend. Lisa and her mother stood a little apart, holding the dog, -while we put the body in the grave,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span> and a cold sun shone down upon us, -quite as cheerless and as unsympathetic as the dull, lowering clouds of -that day in Flanders a year before. After the customary handful of earth -had been thrown, we turned away and separated, for the living had no -sympathy with each other after the cold formality of the funeral. As I -strolled across the field in the direction of Monte Testaccio, I looked -back once only. There, on the mound of fresh earth, stood the dog, and -Lisa was bending over to arrange a wreath of immortelles.</p> - -<p>After the sale of Tyck’s effects, which brought a comfortable little sum -to Lisa, I left Rome, now unbearable, and sought the distractions of -busy Naples. Later, with warm weather, I settled in a solitary nest in -Venice, where the waves of the lagoon lapped my door-step. The -distressed cries of a dog called me to the water door, one rainy -morning, while I was writing a part of this very narrative, and I pulled -out of the water a half-drowned, shaggy black dog. With some anxiety I -assisted the poor animal to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span> dry his fur, and found, instead of my old -enemy, a harmless shaggy terrier, who rests his dainty nose on the paper -as I write.</p> - -<p>And so the fourth still waits.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span> </p> -<h2><a name="THE_BUSH" id="THE_BUSH"></a>THE BUSH</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE six short stories in this volume have all been written at sea in -those brief intervals of enforced rest from an exacting profession which -a transatlantic voyage compels; and I have offered them to the public -with the full knowledge of the necessity of some explanation to palliate -my offence of meddling with literature, and in the belief that I must -hang out some sort of a bush to call attention to whatever merits they -may have. This bush will be a confession, made, like the confidential -communications in all prefaces, into the ear of the reader alone. The -reason why I have put my preface—if I may be permitted to misuse the -term—at the end of the book instead of at the beginning, is that the -confidences I impart may be, by reason of their position be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span>tween the -covers, less likely to be read by the careless or mechanical reviewer or -by the superficial “skimmer” of fiction. I was afraid that if the reader -should by chance read the preface first, he would not care to peruse the -stories, because, having been admitted to the dark room, as it were, and -having had the formula of the developer told to him, he might, after he -had seen one set of images come up on the dull surface of the negative, -find his curiosity abated, his interest gone, and his desire satisfied.</p> - -<p>These stories have been published in various magazines, at different -times, since the centennial year. When the earliest one of the series -appeared, I was not a little flattered by being often asked how much of -it was true. When the second one came out, this question grew a little -stale, and I began to resent the curiosity as to my method of -story-telling. The climax was finally reached when I received a letter -from a writer of most excellent short stories, in which communication he -desired information about the characters in the tale, and led me to -understand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> that he believed the main part of the tale to be true. In my -answer to his letter I wrote him this old story of the Western bar-room: -A crowd of men were leaning over a bar drinking together and listening -to the yarns of a frontiersman who, stimulated by the laughter and -applause, was drawing a very long bow. His triumph was not quite -complete, however, for he noticed a thin, silent man at the farther end -of the bar, whose face did not change its habitual expression at any of -the mirth-or wonder-compelling incidents. At last, having directed the -fire of his dramatic expression for some time towards the silent man -with no result, the Western Munchausen turned to him with an oath and -said: “Why in —— don’t you laugh or cry, or do something, when I tell a -story?” “The fact is, stranger,” the sad man replied, in a mournful tone -of voice—“the fact is, I’m a liar myself!” I never heard from my -correspondent again.</p> - -<p>We all think we have fertile imaginations, and no one can blame me for -not liking to be denied the credit of invention and imag<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span>ination, even -if the stories be mostly true. It seemed to me quite as foolish to -expect a short story to be a simple chronicle of some experience with -changed names and localities as it would be to demand of an historical -artist that he paint only those events of history of which he has been -an actual spectator. However, while this suspicion of the existence of a -foundation of truth was not altogether flattering or encouraging, it did -set me to thinking what part of these stories was actually drawn from my -real experience, in what way the ideas arose, grew, and developed into -stories. The result of this examination—the confession of the -proportion of truth to fiction—is the bush, then, which I propose to -hang out.</p> - -<p>The plot of the “Capillary Crime” turns on the force of capillary -attraction in wood. The remote origin of the idea was reading about the -employment of wooden wedges in ancient quarries, which were first driven -in dry and then, on being wetted, swelled and burst off the blocks of -stone. While living in Paris, in the Rue de l’Orient, a small street<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> on -Montmartre, which was lighted at that time by lanterns hung on ropes -across from house to house, I had occasion to take out the breech-pin of -an old Turkish flint-lock gun in order to draw the charge. It was -impossible to start the plug at first, but after it had been soaked for -a short time in petroleum it was easily unscrewed. Capillary attraction -had carried the oil into the rusted threads of the screw. The knowledge -of this action, together with the memory of the immense power of wooden -wedges, naturally brought to my mind a possible case where the wetting -of wood in a gun-stock might so affect the mechanism of the lock that -the hammer would fall without the agency of the trigger. I constructed a -model on the plan of the finger of a manikin, and it worked perfectly. -An artist in the neighborhood committed suicide just about this time. My -studio on Montmartre had once been the scene of a similar tragedy. There -was every reason, then, why I selected that studio as the scene; there -was a plausible excuse for connecting capillary force with the -dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span>charge of a gun; there was my recent experience with suicide to -warrant a realistic description of such an event. My story was -ready-made. I had only to sew together the patchwork pieces.</p> - -<p>While I was engaged in revising “A Capillary Crime” for publication in -book form, a friend sent me a slip cut from a Western newspaper, which -testifies in such an unexpected manner to the possibility of the -combination of circumstances described in my story that I insert it -here:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c"> -“FACT AGAINST FICTION.<br /> -<br /><small> -“A STRIKING INSTANCE OF THE UNRELIABILITY OF<br /> -CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.<br /></small> -</p> - -<p>“There is no figment of the imagination—if it is at all within the -limit of possibilities—more curious or strange than some things -that actually happen. The following is an instance in proof of -this:</p> - -<p>“A few years ago Frank Millet, the well-known artist, war -correspondent, and story-writer, published a short story in a -leading magazine which had as its principal features the mysterious -killing of a Parisian artist in his own studio. A web of -circumstantial evidence led to the arrest of a model who had been -in the habit of posing for him. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span> through some chain of -circumstances which the writer of this has now forgotten, the -murder—if murder it can be called—was found to have been caused -by the discharge of a firearm through the force of capillary -attraction. The firearm was used by the artist as a studio -accessory, and was hung in such a manner that he was directly in -line with it. Its discharge occurred when he was alone in his -studio.</p> - -<p>“The story was a vivid and ingenious flight of the imagination. Now -for its parallel in fact:</p> - -<p>“A recent number of the Albany <i>Law Journal</i> tells of the arrest of -a man upon the charge of killing his cousin. The dead man was found -lying upon a lounge, about three o’clock in the afternoon, with a -32-caliber ball in his brain. The cousin, who had an interest of -$100,000 in his death, was alone with him in the house at the time. -The discovery of the real cause of death was due to the lawyer of -the accused, who took the rifle from which the ball had been fired, -loaded and hung it upon the wall, and then marked the form of a man -upon a white sheet and placed it upon the lounge where the man had -been found. Then a heavy cut-glass pitcher of water was placed upon -a shelf above. The temperature was 90° in the shade. The pitcher of -water acted as a sun-glass, and the hot rays of the sun shining -through the water were refracted directly upon the cartridge -chamber of the rifle. Eight<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span> witnesses were in the room, and a few -minutes after three o’clock there was a puff and a report, and the -ball struck the outlined form back of the ear, and the theory of -circumstantial evidence was exploded.</p> - -<p>“This is interesting, not only because the real occurrence is quite -as strange as the imagined one, but because the fact came after the -fiction and paralleled it so closely.”</p></div> - -<p>I have accurately reported the brief conversation I had with the friend -who occupied the Roman studio with me, and can give no further proof of -the peculiar character of the place nor add to the description of the -uncomfortable sensations we endured there. My friend’s remarks so far -confirmed my own impressions that I have always felt that he must have -had the same experience as myself—if I may call the incident of the -simulacrum an experience. He has never to my knowledge talked with any -one about this, but now that I have broken the ice in this public manner -he may feel called upon to tell his own story, if he has any to relate.</p> - -<p>There used to come and pose for me in my Paris studio a Hungarian model -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span> had been a circus athlete. The ranks of male models are largely -recruited from circus men, actors, lion-tamers—people of all trades and -professions, indeed—and it is not unusual to find among them -individuals of culture and ability whom some misfortune or bad habit has -reduced to poverty. This one was an unusually useful model. He had -tattooed on the broad surface of skin over his left biceps his name, -Nagy, not in ordinary letters, but in human figures in different -distorted positions, representing letters of the alphabet, evidently -copied from a child’s cheap picture-book. While I was painting from him, -the war between Russia and Turkey broke out, and the model came one day -and announced that he had joined the Hungarian Legion, and was off for -Turkey. As he left me I said:</p> - -<p>“If you’re killed, there’ll be no trouble in identifying you, for, -unless your left arm is shot off, you have your passport always with -you.”</p> - -<p>At that time I had no intention of going to Turkey myself, but in a few -days I found<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span> myself on the way there, and, while passing through -Hungary, Nagy naturally came to my mind, and it occurred to me that I -might possibly run across him. However, the fortunes of war did not -bring us together, and I never saw him or heard of him again. On my way -through London to America, after the war, I was witness to a slight -trapeze accident in a circus which, though by no means startling, -recalled to my mind Nagy and his tattooed name; and then, thinking over -the campaign and meditating on the possibilities of my having met him -there, the plan of the tale developed itself in a perfectly easy and -regular way. I had only to introduce a little incident of my Italian -travels, a bit of local coloring from Turkey, and the thing was done.</p> - -<p>The evolution of “Tedesco’s Rubina” was simpler than that of either of -the preceding stories. Any one familiar with Capri will remember a -grotto similar to the one described, and probably many visitors to that -little terrestrial paradise have been made acquainted with the secret of -the smugglers’ path down<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> into the grotto. A dozen years or more ago, -there was a very old model in Capri who had a remarkable history, and -who was accustomed to drone on for hours at a stretch about her early -experiences and the artists of a generation or two ago. Sketches of her -at different periods of her life hung in most of the public resorts of -the island. I made a careful study of this old and wrinkled face, still -bearing traces of youthful beauty. The contrast between this painting -and the plaster cast of the head of a Roman nymph which occupied a -prominent place in my studio was the cause of many a jest, and called -forth many a tradition of model life from the garrulous members of that -profession. The visible proofs that the old woman had once been the -great beauty of the island; the incident of the bust in the museum at -Rome; the discovery of human bones in the grotto—all were interwoven -together in a web of romance before I even thought of putting it on -paper. When I came to write it out, it was very much like telling a -threadbare story.</p> - -<p>The Latin Quarter in Paris is the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span> fertile spot in the world for -the growth of romances, most of them of the mushroom species. If a -stenographer were to take down the stories he might hear any evening in -a <i>brasserie</i> there, he would have a unique volume of strange -incidents—some of them incredible, perhaps, but all with much flavor of -realism about them to make them interesting from a human point of view. -Not a few strange suicides, incomprehensible alliances, marvellously -curious and pathetic bits of human history, have come under my own -notice there. Student life in the Latin Quarter is not all “beer and -skittles,” for its sordid side is horribly depressing and hopeless. Few -who have experienced it have ever entirely recovered from the taint of -this unnatural and degrading life.</p> - -<p>Away up in the top of one of the largest and most populous hotels of the -quarter, an American artist has kept “bachelor hall” for a score of -years or more. He is an animal-painter, and spends the winter in -elaborating his summer’s studies, and in preparing immense canvases for -sacrifice before that Jug<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span>gernaut, the annual Salon. He received once a -commission to paint a portrait—a “post-mortem,” as such a commission is -usually called—of a deceased black-and-tan terrier. The only data he -had to work from were a small American tintype and the tanned skin of -the defunct pet. Having been inoculated with the spirit of modern French -realism, the artist could not be content with constructing a portrait of -the dog out of the materials provided, and went to a dog-fancier and -hired an animal as near as could be like the one in the tintype. At the -appointed hour the dog was brought to the studio in a covered basket. -When the canvas was ready and the palette set, the artist opened the lid -of the basket and the animal sprang out and began to run about the room. -The artist thought the dog would soon make himself at home, so at first -he did not attempt to secure him. But he shortly found that he grew -wilder and more excited every moment, and that catching him was no easy -matter. After knocking over all the furniture in the room except the -heavy easel, he succeeded<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span> in cornering him and seized him by the -collar. A savage bite through the thumb made him loose his hold, and the -rôles of pursuer and pursued immediately changed. The beast flew into a -terrible state of rage, snapping and snarling like a mad thing. As there -was no safer refuge than the large easel, the artist climbed upon that -to escape his infuriated enemy. By the aid of a long mahl-stock he -fished up the bell-cord which hung within reach, and pulled it until the -concierge came. The owner of the dog was speedily brought, and the siege -of the studio was raised. The same artist brought in from the country -one autumn a torpid snake, which he kept in a box all through the -winter. One morning in spring he was horrified to find the reptile -coiled up on the rug beside his bed. He killed it by dropping a heavy -color-box on it, without stopping to find out whether it was venomous or -not. It is easy to see how my story grew out of these two incidents.</p> - -<p>Now that the chief actors in the drama which I have sketched in “The -Fourth Waits” are long since dead, I may confess without fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> of -hurting anybody’s feelings that all the incidents in this tale are -absolutely true. There are plenty of witnesses to the accuracy of this -statement, and I have no doubt they would, if called upon, gladly -testify to almost every detail of the descriptions. No one who was -present at the funeral ceremonies in Antwerp and Rome can ever forget -the impression made upon him at the time; neither is any member of the -little artistic circle likely to forget to the end of his days the -strange sensation of superstitious awe with which the incidents of the -story of the stray dog were listened to every time the subject was -broached among us. The memory of this experience weighed heavily upon my -mind for two or three years, and I only threw off the load after I had -written the story.</p> - -<p>It is only to complete this series of confessions that I explain how -this preface came to be written. I was riding home with a friend late -one raw afternoon at the close of a long day’s hunting in one of the -Midland counties of England, and we stopped to refresh ourselves and -horses at a wayside inn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span> called The Holly Bush. When we mounted again at -the door, I reached up with my hunting crop and struck the holly bush -that hung over the door as a sign. It rattled like metal, and as we rode -away I said to my companion:</p> - -<p>“That wasn’t a real holly bush!”</p> - -<p>“That wasn’t real whiskey!” he replied.</p> - -<p>The memory of the mongoose story which these remarks called up cheered -us more than the pause at the inn.</p> - -<p>“The mongoose story is almost the only tale that need not be explained -even to a Scotchman,” my friend added.</p> - -<p>This is how I came to think of explaining the construction of my -stories, and how I came to call my confessions “The Bush.”</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Capillary Crime and other Stories, by -F. D. 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