Jezebel's Daughter Read online

you of some of the responsibility. No grief of mine shall interfere with

  my duty to my husband's partner. I will speak to the young man myself.

  Bring him here this evening, after business-hours. And don't leave us

  just yet; I want to put a question to you relating to my husband's

  affairs, in which I am deeply interested." Mr. Hartrey returned to his

  chair. After a momentary hesitation, my aunt put her question in terms

  which took us all three by surprise.

  CHAPTER III

  "My husband was connected with many charitable institutions," the widow

  began. "Am I right in believing that he was one of the governors of

  Bethlehem Hospital?"

  At this reference to the famous asylum for insane persons, popularly

  known among the inhabitants of London as "Bedlam," I saw the lawyer

  start, and exchange a look with the head-clerk. Mr. Hartrey answered with

  evident reluctance; he said, "Quite right, madam"--and said no more. The

  lawyer, being the bolder man of the two, added a word of warning,

  addressed directly to my aunt.

  "I venture to suggest," he said, "that there are circumstances connected

  with the late Mr. Wagner's position at the Hospital, which make it

  desirable not to pursue the subject any farther. Mr. Hartrey will confirm

  what I say, when I tell you that Mr. Wagner's proposals for a reformation

  in the treatment of the patients----"

  "Were the proposals of a merciful man," my aunt interposed "who abhorred

  cruelty in all its forms, and who held the torturing of the poor mad

  patients by whips and chains to be an outrage on humanity. I entirely

  agree with him. Though I am only a woman, I will not let the matter drop.

  I shall go to the Hospital on Monday morning next--and my business with

  you to-day is to request that you will accompany me."

  "In what capacity am I to have the honor of accompanying you?" the lawyer

  asked, in his coldest manner.

  "In your professional capacity," my aunt replied. "I may have a proposal

  to address to the governors; and I shall look to your experience to

  express it in the proper form."

  The lawyer was not satisfied yet. "Excuse me if I venture on making

  another inquiry," he persisted. "Do you propose to visit the madhouse in

  consequence of any wish expressed by the late Mr. Wagner?"

  "Certainly not! My husband always avoided speaking to me on that

  melancholy subject. As you have heard, he even left me in doubt whether

  he was one of the governing body at the asylum. No reference to any

  circumstance in his life which might alarm or distress me ever passed his

  lips." Her voice failed her as she paid that tribute to her husband's

  memory. She waited to recover herself. "But, on the night before his

  death," she resumed, "when be was half waking, half dreaming, I heard him

  talking to himself of something that he was anxious to do, if the chance

  of recovery had been still left to him. Since that time I have looked at

  his private diary; and I have found entries in it which explain to me

  what I failed to understand clearly at his bedside. I know for certain

  that the obstinate hostility of his colleagues had determined him on

  trying the effect of patience and kindness in the treatment of mad

  people, at his sole risk and expense. There is now in Bethlehem Hospital

  a wretched man--a friendless outcast, found in the streets--whom my noble

  husband had chosen as the first subject of his humane experiment, and

  whose release from a life of torment he had the hope of effecting through

  the influence of a person in authority in the Royal Household. You know

  already that the memory of my husband's plans and wishes is a sacred

  memory to me. I am resolved to see that poor chained creature whom he

  would have rescued if he had lived; and I will certainly complete his

  work of mercy, if my conscience tells me that a woman should do it."

  Hearing this bold announcement--I am almost ashamed to confess it, in

  these enlightened days--we all three protested. Modest Mr. Hartrey was

  almost as loud and as eloquent as the lawyer, and I was not far behind

  Mr. Hartrey. It is perhaps to be pleaded as an excuse for us that some of

  the highest authorities, in the early part of the present century, would

  have been just as prejudiced and just as ignorant as we were. Say what we

  might, however, our remonstrances produced no effect on my aunt. We

  merely roused the resolute side of her character to assert itself.

  "I won't detain you any longer," she said to the lawyer. "Take the rest

  of the day to decide what you will do. If you decline to accompany me, I

  shall go by myself. If you accept my proposal, send me a line this

  evening to say so."

  In that way the conference came to an end.

  Early in the evening young Mr. Keller made his appearance, and was

  introduced to my aunt and to me. We both took a liking to him from the

  first. He was a handsome young man, with light hair and florid

  complexion, and with a frank ingratiating manner--a little sad and

  subdued, in consequence, no doubt, of his enforced separation from his

  beloved young lady at Wurzburg. My aunt, with her customary kindness and

  consideration, offered him a room next to mine, in place of his room in

  Mr. Hartrey's house. "My nephew David speaks German; and he will help to

  make your life among us pleasant to you." With those words our good

  mistress left us together.

  Fritz opened the conversation with the easy self-confidence of a German

  student.

  "It is one bond of union between us that you speak my language," he

  began. "I am good at reading and writing English, but I speak badly. Have

  we any other sympathies in common? Is it possible that you smoke?"

  Poor Mr. Wagner had taught me to smoke. I answered by offering my new

  acquaintance a cigar.

  "Another bond between us," cried Fritz. "We must be friends from this

  moment. Give me your hand." We shook hands. He lit his cigar, looked at

  me very attentively, looked away again, and puffed out his first mouthful

  of smoke with a heavy sigh.

  "I wonder whether we are united by a third bond?" he said thoughtfully.

  "Are you a stiff Englishman? Tell me, friend David, may I speak to you

  with the freedom of a supremely wretched man?"

  "As freely as you like," I answered. He still hesitated.

  "I want to be encouraged," he said. "Be familiar with me. Call me Fritz."

  I called him "Fritz." He drew his chair close to mine, and laid his hand

  affectionately on my shoulder. I began to think I had perhaps encouraged

  him a little too readily.

  "Are you in love, David?" He put the question just as coolly as if he had

  asked me what o'clock it was.

  I was young enough to blush. Fritz accepted the blush as a sufficient

  answer. "Every moment I pass in your society," he cried with enthusiasm,

  "I like you better--find you more eminently sympathetic. You are in love.

  One word more--are there any obstacles in your way?"

  There _were_ obstacles in my way. She was too old for me, and too poor

  for me--and it all came to nothing in due course of time. I admitted the

  obstacles; abstaining, with an
Englishman's shyness, from entering into

  details. My reply was enough, and more than enough, for Fritz. "Good

  Heavens!" he exclaimed; "our destinies exactly resemble each other! We

  are both supremely wretched men. David, I can restrain myself no longer;

  I must positively embrace you!"

  I resisted to the best of my ability--but he was the stronger man of the

  two. His long arms almost strangled me; his bristly mustache scratched my

  cheek. In my first involuntary impulse of disgust, I clenched my fist.

  Young Mr. Keller never suspected (my English brethren alone will

  understand) how very near my fist and his head were to becoming

  personally and violently acquainted. Different nations--different

  customs. I can smile as I write about it now.

  Fritz took his seat again. "My heart is at ease; I can pour myself out

  freely, he said. "Never, my friend, was there such an interesting

  love-story as mine. She is the sweetest girl living. Dark, slim,

  gracious, delightful, desirable, just eighteen. The image, I should

  suppose, of what her widowed mother was at her age. Her name is Minna.

  Daughter and only child of Madame Fontaine. Madame Fontaine is a truly

  grand creature, a Roman matron. She is the victim of envy and scandal.

  Would you believe it? There are wretches in Wurzburg (her husband the

  doctor was professor of chemistry at the University)--there are wretches,

  I say, who call my Minna's mother "Jezebel," and my Minna herself

  'Jezebel's Daughter!' I have fought three duels with my fellow-students

  to avenge that one insult. Alas, David, there is another person who is

  influenced by those odious calumnies!--a person sacred to me--the honored

  author of my being. Is it not dreadful? My good father turns tyrant in

  this one thing; declares I shall never marry 'Jezebel's Daughter;' exiles

  me, by his paternal commands, to this foreign country; and perches me on

  a high stool to copy letters. Ha! he little knows my heart. I am my

  Minna's and my Minna is mine. In body and soul, in time and in eternity,

  we are one. Do you see my tears? Do my tears speak for me? The heart's

  relief is in crying freely. There is a German song to that effect. When I

  recover myself, I will sing it to you. Music is a great comforter; music

  is the friend of love. There is another German song to _that_ effect." He

  suddenly dried his eyes, and got on his feet; some new idea had

  apparently occurred to him. "It is dreadfully dull here," he said; "I am

  not used to evenings at home. Have you any music in London? Help me to

  forget Minna for an hour or two. Take me to the music."

  Having, by this time, heard quite enough of his raptures, I was eager on

  my side for a change of any kind. I helped him to forget Minna at a

  Vauxhall Concert. He thought our English orchestra wanting in subtlety

  and spirit. On the other hand, he did full justice, afterwards, to our

  English bottled beer. When we left the Gardens he sang me that German

  song, 'My heart's relief is crying freely,' with a fervor of sentiment

  which must have awakened every light sleeper in the neighborhood.

  Retiring to my bedchamber, I found an open letter on my toilet-table. It

  was addressed to my aunt by the lawyer; and it announced that he had

  decided on accompanying her to the madhouse--without pledging himself to

  any further concession. In leaving the letter for me to read, my aunt had

  written across it a line in pencil: "You can go with us, David, if you

  like."

  My curiosity was strongly aroused. It is needless to say I decided on

  being present at the visit to Bedlam.

  CHAPTER IV

  On the appointed Monday we were ready to accompany my aunt to the

  madhouse.

  Whether she distrusted her own unaided judgment, or whether she wished to

  have as many witnesses as possible to the rash action in which she was

  about to engage, I cannot say. In either case, her first proceeding was

  to include Mr. Hartrey and Fritz Keller in the invitation already

  extended to the lawyer and myself.

  They both declined to accompany us. The head-clerk made the affairs of

  the office serve for his apology, it was foreign post day, and he could

  not possibly be absent from his desk. Fritz invented no excuses; he

  confessed the truth, in his own outspoken manner. "I have a horror of mad

  people," he said, "they so frighten and distress me, that they make me

  feel half mad myself. Don't ask me to go with you--and oh, dear lady,

  don't go yourself."

  My aunt smiled sadly--and led the way out.

  We had a special order of admission to the Hospital which placed the

  resident superintendent himself at our disposal. He received my aunt with

  the utmost politeness, and proposed a scheme of his own for conducting us

  over the whole building; with an invitation to take luncheon with him

  afterwards at his private residence.

  "At another time, sir, I shall be happy to avail myself of your

  kindness," my aunt said, when he had done. "For the present, my object is

  to see one person only among the unfortunate creatures in this asylum."

  "One person only?" repeated the superintendent. "One of our patients of

  the higher rank, I suppose?"

  "On the contrary," my aunt replied, "I wish to see a poor friendless

  creature, found in the streets; known here, as I am informed, by no

  better name than Jack Straw.

  The superintendent looked at her in blank amazement.

  "Good Heavens, madam!" he exclaimed; "are you aware that Jack Straw is

  one of the most dangerous lunatics we have in the house?"

  "I have heard that he bears the character you describe," my aunt quietly

  admitted.

  "And yet you wish to see him?"

  "I am here for that purpose--and no other."

  The superintendent looked round at the lawyer and at me, appealing to us

  silently to explain, if we could, this incomprehensible desire to see

  Jack Straw. The lawyer spoke for both of us. He reminded the

  superintendent of the late Mr. Wagner's peculiar opinions on the

  treatment of the insane, and of the interest which he had taken in this

  particular case. To which my aunt added: "And Mr. Wagner's widow feels

  the same interest, and inherits her late husband's opinions." Hearing

  this, the superintendent bowed with his best grace, and resigned himself

  to circumstances. "Pardon me if I keep you waiting for a minute or two,"

  he said, and rang a bell.

  A man-servant appeared at the door.

  "Are Yarcombe and Foss on duty on the south side?" the superintendent

  asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Send one of them here directly."

  We waited a few minutes--and then a gruff voice became audible on the

  outer side of the door. "Present, sir," growled the gruff voice.

  The superintendent courteously offered his arm to my aunt. "Permit me to

  escort you to Jack Straw," he said, with a touch of playful irony in his

  tone.

  We left the room. The lawyer and I followed my aunt and her escort. A

  man, whom we found posted on the door-mat, brought up the rear. Whether

  he was Yarcombe or whether he was Foss, mattered but little. In either
/>   case he was a hulking, scowling, hideously ill-looking brute. "One of our

  assistants," we heard the superintendent explain. "It is possible, madam,

  that we may want two of them, if we are to make things pleasant at your

  introduction to Jack Straw."

  We ascended some stairs, shut off from the lower floor by a massive

  locked door, and passed along some dreary stone passages, protected by

  more doors. Cries of rage and pain, at one time distant and at another

  close by, varied by yelling laughter, more terrible even than the cries,

  sounded on either side of us. We passed through a last door, the most

  solid of all, which shut out these dreadful noises, and found ourselves

  in a little circular hall. Here the superintendent stopped, and listened

  for a moment. There was dead silence. He beckoned to the attendant, and

  pointed to a heavily nailed oaken door.

  "Look in," he said.

  The man drew aside a little shutter in the door, and looked through the

  bars which guarded the opening.

  "Is he waking or sleeping?" the superintendent asked.

  "Waking, sir."

  "Is he at work?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The superintendent turned to my aunt.

  "You are fortunate, madam--you will see him in his quiet moments. He

  amuses himself by making hats, baskets, and table-mats, out of his straw.

  Very neatly put together, I assure you. One of our visiting physicians, a

  man with a most remarkable sense of humor, gave him his nickname from his

  work. Shall we open the door?"

  My aunt had turned very pale; I could see that she was struggling with

  violent agitation. "Give me a minute or two first," she said; "I want to

  compose myself before I see him."

  She sat down on a stone bench outside the door. "Tell me what you know

  about this poor man?" she said. "I don't ask out of idle curiosity--I

  have a better motive than that. Is he young or old?"

  "Judging by his teeth," the superintendent answered, as if he had been

  speaking of a horse, "he is certainly young. But his complexion is

  completely gone, and his hair has turned gray. So far as we have been

  able to make out (when he is willing to speak of himself), these

  peculiarities in his personal appearance are due to a narrow escape from

  poisoning by accident. But how the accident occurred, and where it

  occurred, he either cannot or will not tell us. We know nothing about

  him, except that he is absolutely friendless. He speaks English--but it

  is with an odd kind of accent--and we don't know whether he is a

  foreigner or not. You are to understand, madam, that he is here on

  sufferance. This is a royal institution, and, as a rule, we only receive

  lunatics of the educated class. But Jack Straw has had wonderful luck.

  Being too mad, I suppose, to take care of himself, he was run over in one

  of the streets in our neighborhood by the carriage of an exalted

  personage, whom it would be an indiscretion on my part even to name. The

  personage (an illustrious lady, I may inform you) was so distressed by

  the accident--without the slightest need, for the man was not seriously

  hurt--that she actually had him brought here in her carriage, and laid

  her commands on us to receive him. Ah, Mrs. Wagner, her highness's heart

  is worthy of her highness's rank. She occasionally sends to inquire after

  the lucky lunatic who rolled under her horse's feet. We don't tell her

  what a trouble and expense he is to us. We have had irons specially

  invented to control him; and, if I am not mistaken," said the

  superintendent, turning to the assistant, "a new whip was required only

  last week."

  The man put his hand into the big pocket of his coat, and produced a

  horrible whip, of many lashes. He exhibited this instrument of torture