Shivers for Christmas (44 page)

Wilfred, looking round in a bad temper, said—

‘We laugh at your master Pimenti and all his like. Look at that young man; look at him well. You see he has not yet got a single hair on his chin; he has only played in the little cabins in the Black Forest for the
bourengredel
and the charcoal-burners to dance. Well, this little fellow, with his long fair hair and his big blue eyes, defies all your Italian impostors. His left hand holds in it melodious treasures—treasures of grace and suppleness. His right hand is gifted with the most wonderful command over the fiddlestick, that heaven in its most bounteous mood ever bestowed on man.'

‘Ah, ah,' said the other. ‘Is that so?'

‘It is as I tell you,' cried Wilfred, setting off at his full speed, and blowing on his red fingers.

I thought he was only making fun of the stranger, who kept up with us at a gentle trot.

So we went on for about half a league in silence. All of a sudden the stranger said to us, sharply—

‘Whatever may be your ability, go back again to the Black Forest. We have enough vagabonds at Heidelberg without your coming to increase the number. I give you good advice, especially under the present circumstances. Take it.'

Wilfred was about to make a sharp reply, but the stranger, putting his horse to the gallop, was already going down the Elector's Avenue. As he rode on, a company of ravens flew over the plain, seeming as if they were accompanying him, and filling the air with their clamour.

We came to Heidelberg at seven o'clock, and we there found on every wall the big placards of Pimenti.

‘Grand Concert, Solo, &c.'

The same evening while visiting the taverns we met many musicians from the Black Forest—old comrades, who invited us to join them. There was old Brêmer, the violincellist; his two sons, Ludwig and Karl, two good second violins; Henry Siebel, the clarionet player; the famous Bertha, with her harp; lastly, Wilfred, with his counter-bass, and myself as first violin.

It was resolved that we should go together, and that after Christmas we should share like brothers. Wilfred had already taken for us two a room on the sixth floor of a little inn called the Pied-de-Mouton, in the middle of the Holdergrasse, for four kreutzers a night. It was in truth nothing more than a garret, but luckily there was an iron stove in it, and so we lighted a fire there in order to dry our clothes.

While we were sitting down enjoying ourselves eating chestnuts and drinking a flask of wine, behold Annette, the servant, in a little red petticoat, hat of black velvet, her cheeks red, her lips rosy as cherries—Annette comes creeping up the stair, knocks at the door, enters, and throws herself into my arms overjoyed.

I had known the dear girl for a long time, for we came from the same village, and I may tell you that her bright eyes and her pretty ways had completely captivated me.

‘I have come to talk with you for a minute,' said she, sitting down upon a stool. ‘I saw you come an hour ago, and so here I am.'

Then she commenced to chatter, asking me news about this person and that, till she had asked after all the village, hardly giving me time to reply to her. At length she stopped and looked at me with her sweet expression. We should have sat there till morning if Mother Gredel Dick had not commenced to call out at the foot of the stairs—

‘Annette! Annette! Where are you?'

‘I am coming, I am coming,' cried the poor child, jumping up.

She gave me a little tap on the cheek and ran to the door, but before going she stopped.

‘Ah,' she cried, coming back again, ‘I forgot to tell you. Do you know of it?'

‘Of what?'

‘Of the death of our pro-rector, Zâhn?'

‘Well, what is that to us?'

‘Oh, take care, take care, if your papers are not in order. They will be here tomorrow at eight o'clock to see them. They have been stopping everyone, all the world, during the last five days. The pro-rector was murdered in the library of St Christopher's cloister yesterday evening. Last week some one murdered, in a like manner, the old sacristan, Ulmet Elias, of the Rue des Juifs. Some days before, some one killed the old wise woman Christina Haas, and the agate merchant, Seligmann, of the Rue Durlach. Do look well after yourself, my poor Kaspar,' said she tenderly, ‘and see that your papers are all right.'

While she was speaking the voice on the stairs kept on crying—

‘Annette, Annette, are you coming? Ah, the baggage! to leave me all alone.'

We could also hear the voices of the drinkers as they called for wine, for beer, for ham, for sausages. It was necessary she should go, and Annette ran away as she had come, and we heard her sweet voice—

‘Heavens, madam, why do you call so? One would think that the house was on fire!'

Wilfred shut the door, and having sat down again, we looked at one another with some uneasiness.

‘That is strange news,' said he. ‘Are your papers all right?'

‘No doubt they are,' and I handed mine to him.

‘Good! Mine are there. I had them looked over before I left. For all that, these murders may be unpleasant for us. I am afraid we shall do no good here, so many families will be in mourning, and, besides, the distraction of the others, the worrying vigilance of the police, the disturbance—'

‘Nonsense,' said I. ‘You see only the dark side of things.'

We continued to talk of these strange events till it was past midnight. The fire in our little stove lit up every cranny in the roof, the square window with its three cracked panes, the straw mattress spread out near the eaves where the sloping roof met the floor, the black cross beams, and threw a dancing shadow of the little fir table on the worm-eaten floor. From time to time a mouse, attracted by the warmth, would dart like an arrow along the floor. We heard the wind moaning in the high chimneys, and sweeping the powdered snow off the roofs. I thought of Annette. All was silence.

All of a sudden Wilfred, taking off his waistcoat, said—‘It is time we went to sleep. Let us put some wood on the fire and go to bed!'

‘Yes. It is the best thing we can do.'

Saying so, I took off my boots, and in a couple of minutes we were on the pallet, the coverlet drawn up to our chins, a piece of wood under our heads for a pillow. Wilfred was quickly asleep. The light from the stove came and went. The wind grew fiercer, and I at length slept, in my turn, like one of the blessed.

Towards two o'clock in the morning I was roused by a strange noise. I thought at first that it must be a cat upon the roof, but, placing my ear against the rafters, I was not long in uncertainty. Some one was passing over the roof. I nudged Wilfred with my elbow to wake him.

‘Be quiet,' said he, taking my hand. He had heard the noise as well as I. The fire threw around its last gleams, which flickered on the old walls. I was about to get up, when, with one blow of a stone, the fastening of the little window was broken and the casement was thrown open. A white face, with red whiskers, gleaming eyes, and twitching cheeks, appeared, and looked into the room. Our terror was such that we could not even cry out. The man put one leg and then another through the window, and at last jumped into the loft, so lightly, however, that his footsteps made not a sound.

This man, round-shouldered, short, thick-set, his face distorted like that of a tiger on the spring, was none other than the good-natured fellow who had given us advice on our road to Heidelberg. But how changed he was! In spite of the terrible cold he was in his shirt sleeves. He had on a plain pair of breeches. His stockings were of wool, and in his shoes were silver buckles. A long knife, stained with blood, glistened in his hand.

Wilfred and I thought we were lost. He did not seem, however, to see us as we lay in the shadow of the garret, although the flame of the fire was rekindled by the cold air which came in at the window. The man sat down on a stool, and shivered in a strange manner. Suddenly his green yellowish eyes rested on me. His nostrils dilated. He looked towards me for a minute. The blood froze in my veins. Then he turned away towards the fire, coughed huskily, like a cat, not a muscle of his face moving. At length he took out of his trouser-pocket a large watch, looked at it like one seeking the time, and either not knowing what he was doing or designedly, laid the watch upon the table. Then he rose as if uncertain what to do, looked at the window, appeared to hesitate, and went out at the door, leaving it wide open.

I rose to bolt the door, and I could hear the steps of the man as he went down two flights of stairs. A great curiosity overcame my fear, and when I heard him open a window looking into the yard, I turned to an opening in a little turret on the stairs which looked out on the same side. The yard, from this height, looked like a well. A wall fifteen or sixteen feet high divided it in two. To the right of this wall was the yard of a pork-butcher; on the left was that of the inn, the Pied-de-Mouton. It was covered with damp moss and such vegetation as grows in dark corners. The top of the wall could be reached from the window which the man had opened, and from there the wall ran straight on till it reached the roof of a big solemn-looking building at the back of the Bergstrasse. As the moon shone between big snow-clouds, I saw all this in an instant, and I trembled as my eye fell upon the man on the wall, his head bent down, his long knife in his hand, while the wind sighed mournfully around.

He reached the roof in front, and disappeared in at a window.

I thought I was dreaming. For some moments I stood there, my mouth open, my breast bare, my hair flying, the rime from off the roof falling about my head. At last, recovering myself, I went back to our garret, where I found Wilfred, haggard-looking and murmuring a prayer in a low voice. I hastened to put some wood in the stove, and to bolt the door.

‘Well?' asked my friend, rising.

‘Well,' said I, ‘we have escaped. If that man did not see us it is because heaven did not will our death.'

‘Yes,' said he. ‘Yes. It was one of the murderers whom Annette spoke about. Good heavens! What a figure, and what a knife!'

He fell back upon the bed. I drained the wine that remained in the flask, and as the fire burnt up and the heat spread itself through the room, and since the bolt on the door seemed strong enough, I took fresh courage.

But the watch was there, and the man might come back for it. The idea made us cold with fear.

‘What had we better do?' asked Wilfred. ‘It seems to me that our best way would be to go back as quickly as we can to the Black Forest.'

‘Why?'

‘I do not much care now for double-bass. Do as you wish.'

‘But why should we return? What necessity is there for us to leave? We have committed no crime.'

‘Hush, hush,' said he. ‘That simple word “crime” would suffice to hang us if any one heard us talking. Poor devils like us are made examples of for the benefit of others. People don't care whether they are guilty or not. It will be enough if they find that watch here.'

‘Listen, Wilfred,' said I. ‘It will do us no good to lose our heads. I certainly believe that a crime has been committed near at hand this night. Yes, I believe it, it is most probable; but in such a case, what ought an honest man to do? Instead of flying he ought to assist in discovering the guilty; he ought—'

‘And how—how can we assist?'

‘The best way will be to take the watch, give it up to the magistrate, and tell him all that has occurred.'

‘Never—never. I could not dare to touch that watch.'

‘Very well, then, I will go. Let us lie down now and see if we can get some sleep.'

‘I cannot sleep.'

‘Well then, let us talk. Light your pipe and let us wait for daybreak. I daresay there may be some one up in the inn. If you like, we will go down.'

‘I like to remain here better.'

‘All right.'

And we sat down beside the fire.

As soon as it was light I went to take up the watch that lay upon the table. It was a very handsome one, with two dials, the one showing the hours and the other the minutes. Wilfred seemed in better spirits.

‘Kaspar,' said he, ‘after considering the matter over, I think it might be better for me to go to the magistrate. You are too young to manage such matters. You would not be able to explain yourself.'

‘As you wish,' said I.

‘Yes, it might seem strange that a fellow of my age should send a lad on such an errand.'

‘All right. I understand, Wilfred.'

He took the watch, and I could see that his vanity alone urged him on. He would have blushed, no doubt, among his friends at the idea that he was less courageous than myself.

We descended from our garret wrapt in deep thought. As we went along the alley which leads to the Rue Saint Christopher, we heard the clinking of glasses and forks. I recognised the voices of old Brêmer and his two sons, Ludwig and Karl.

‘Would it not be well,' I said to Wilfred, ‘before going out, to have something to drink?'

At the same time I pushed open the door of the inn. All our friends were there, the violins, the hunting-horns hung up upon the walls, the harp in a corner. We were welcomed with joyful cries, and were pressed to place ourselves at the table.

‘Ha,' said old Brêmer, ‘good luck to you, comrades. More wind! more snow! All the inns are full of folk, and every flake that falls is a florin in our pockets.'

I saw Annette fresh, beaming, laughing at me with her eyes and lips. The sight did me good. The best cuts of meat were for me, and every time that she came to lay a dish on my right her sweet hand was laid upon my shoulder.

My heart bounded as I thought of the chestnuts we had eaten together. Then the ghastly figure of the murderer passed from time to time before my eyes, and made me tremble. I looked at Wilfred. He was in deep thought. As it struck eight o'clock we were about to part, when the door of the room opened and three tall fellows, with livid faces, with eyes shining like those of rats, with misshapen hats, followed by several others, appeared on the threshold. One of them, with a long nose, formed, as they say, to scent good dishes, a big baton attached to his wrist, approached, and exclaimed—