Shivers for Christmas

by Richard Dalby

  ‘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—

  ‘Your papers, gentlemen.’

  Everyone hastened to comply with this command. Wilfred, however, who stood beside the stove, was seized with an unfortunate fit of trembling, and when the police-officer lifted his eye from the paper in order to take a side glance at him, he discovered him in the act of slipping the watch into his boot. The officer struck his comrade on the thigh, and said to him in a joking tone—

  ‘Ha, it seems that we trouble this gentleman!’

  At these words Wilfred, to the surprise of all, fell fainting. He sank into a chair, white as death, and Madoc, the chief of the police, coolly drew forth the watch, with a harsh laugh. When he had looked at it, however, he became grave, and turning to his followers—

  ‘Let no one leave,’ he cried, in a terrible voice. ‘We will take all of them. This is the watch of the citizen, Daniel van den Berg. Attention! Bring the handcuffs.’

  The word made our blood run cold, and terror seized on us all. As for me, I slipped under a bench near the wall, and as the officers were engaged in securing poor old Brêmer, his sons, Henry, and Wilfred, who sobbed and entreated, I felt a little hand rest on my neck. It was the pretty hand of Annette, and I pressed it to my lips in a farewell kiss. She took hold of of me by the ear, and led me gently, gently. At the bottom of the table I saw the flap of the cellar open. I slipped through it, and the flap closed above me.

  All this took but a moment, while all around was in an uproar.

  In my retreat I heard a great stamping, then all was still. My poor friends had gone. Mother Gredel Dick, left standing alone upon the threshold, was uttering some peacock-like cries, declaring that the Pied-de-Mouton had lost its good name.

  I leave you to imagine what were my reflections during that day, squatted down behind a cask, cross-legged, my feet under me, thinking that if a dog should come down, or if the innkeeper should take it into her head to come to fill a flask of wine, if a cask should run out and it was necessary to tap another—that any one of these things might ruin me.

  All these thoughts and a thousand others passed through my brain. In my mind’s eye I already saw old Brêmer, Wilfred, Karl, Ludwig, and Bertha hanging from a gibbet, surrounded by a crowd of ravens, who glutted themselves on them. My hair stood on end at the picture.

  Annette, no less anxious than myself, in her fear took care to close the cellar-flap every time she went in and out, and I heard the old dame say to her—

  ‘Leave that flap alone. Are you foolish, that you bother so much about it?’

  So the door remained half-open, and from the deep shadow in which I was I saw fresh revellers gather around the tables. I heard their cries, their disputes, and no end of accounts of the terrible band of criminals. The scoundrels!’ said one. Thank heaven, they are caught. What a pest have they been to Heidelberg! One dared not walk in the streets after six o’clock. Business was interrupted. However, it is all over now. In five days everything will be put in order again.’

  ‘You see those musicians from the Black Forest,’ cried another, ‘are all a lot of scoundrels. They make their way into houses pretending that they come to play. They look around, examine the locks, the chests, the cupboards, the ins and outs, and some fine morning the master of the house is found in his bed with his throat cut, his wife has been murdered, his children strangled, the whole place ransacked from top to bottom, the barn burnt down or something of that kind. What wretches they are! They ought to be put to death without any mercy, and then we should have some peace.’

  ‘All the town will go to see them hanged,’ said Mother Gredel. It will be one of the best days in my life.’

  ‘Do you know, if it had not been for the watch of the citizen Daniel they would never have been discovered. The watch disappeared last night, and this morning Daniel gave notice of its loss to the police. In one hour after, Madoc laid his hand on the whole gang—ha! ha! ha!’ and all the room rang with their laughter, while I trembled with shame, rage, and fear by turns.

  At last night came, and only a few drinkers sat at the table. The people of the inn had been up late the night before, and I heard the fat mistress gape and say—

  ‘Ah, heavens! when shall we be able to go to bed?’

  Only one light remained in the room.

  ‘Go to sleep, mistress,’ said the sweet voice of Annette. ‘I can see very well to all that is wanted until these gentlemen go.’

  The topers took the hint, and all left save one, who remained drowsily before his glass.

  The watchman at length came round, looked in, woke the man up, and I heard him go out grumbling and reeling till he came to the door.

  ‘Now,’ said I to myself, ‘that is the last. Things have gone well. Mother Gredel will go to sleep, and little Annette will come to let me out.’

  While this pleasant thought passed through my mind I stretched my cramped limbs, when I heard the old innkeeper say—

  ‘Annette, shut up, and do not forget to bar the door. I am going into the cellar.’

  It seemed that such was her custom, in order to see all was right.

  ‘The cask is not empty.’ stammered Annette, ‘there is no necessity for you to go down.’

  ‘Look after your own business,’ said the old woman, and I saw the light of her candle as she began to descend.

  I had only time to place myself again behind the barrel. The woman, bent down under the low roof of the cellar, went about from one cask to another, and I heard her say—

  ‘Ah, the jade! How she lets the wine drip from the taps! Look! look! I must teach her how to turn a tap better. Did one ever see such a thing! Did one ever see the like!’

  Her light threw deep shadows on the damp wall. I drew myself closer and closer.

  All of a sudden, when I was imagining that the woman’s visit was ended, I heard her sigh—a sigh so deep, so mournful, that I thought something extraordinary must have happened. I raised my head just the least bit, and what did I see? Dame Gredel Dick, her mouth open, her eyes almost out of her head, looking at the foot of the barrel behind which I lay still as a mouse. She had seen one of my feet under the woodwork on which the barrel rested, and she imagined, no doubt, that she had discovered the very chief of the assassins lying hid there in order to throttle her in the night. I at once resolved what to do. Standing up, I said to her—

  ‘Madam, in heaven’s name, have pity on me. I am—’ But then, without looking at me, without listening to me, she began to utter her peacock-like cries, cries to stun you, while she began to rush out of the cellar as fast as her extreme stoutness would let her. I was seized with terror, and taking hold of her dress, I threw myself on my knees. That seemed to make matters worse.

  ‘Help! Murder! Oh, heaven! let me go. Take my money. Oh, oh!’

  It was terrible.

  ‘Madam,’ said I, ‘look at me. I am not what you take me for.’

  Bah! she was foolish with fright. She raved and bawled in such a shrill voice that if she had been under the earth all the neighbourhood must have been aroused. In such a strait, becoming angry, I pulled her back, jumped before her to the door and shut it in her face with a noise like thunder, fastening the bolt
. During the struggle her light had gone out. Dame Gredel remained in the dark, and her voice was now only heard feebly as if far off.

  Exhausted, breathless, I looked at Annette, whose trouble equalled mine. We could not speak, and we listened to the cries as they died away, The poor woman had fainted.

  ‘Oh, Kaspar!’ said Annette then, taking my hands in hers, ‘what shall we do? Save yourself, save yourself. Someone has perhaps heard the noise. Have you killed her?’

  ‘Killed? Me?’

  ‘Ah well. Run. I will open the door,’

  She drew the bolt, and I ran off down the street without so much as even waiting to thank her. How ungrateful! But I was so afraid. The danger was so near.

  The sky was black. It was an abominable night, not a star to be seen, not a ray of light, and the wind, and the snow! I ran on for at least half an hour before I stopped to take breath, and then imagine how surprised I was when, on lifting up my eyes, I saw, just in front of me, the Pied-de-Mouton. In my fright I must have run round the neighbourhood; perhaps I had gone round and round. My legs felt heavy, were covered with mud, and my knees shook.

  The inn, which had been deserted an hour before, was now as lively as a bee-hive. Lights gleamed from every window. No doubt the place was full of police-officers. Wretched as I was, worn out with cold and hunger, desperate, not knowing where to hide my head, I took the strangest course of all.

  ‘Well,’ said I, ‘one can but die after all, and one may as well be hanged as leave one’s bones in the fields on the way to the Black Forest.’ And I went into the inn to give myself up.

  Besides the sour-looking fellows in battered hats, whom I had seen in the morning, and who went and came, ferreted about, and looked everywhere, before a table sat the chief magistrate Zimmer, clothed in black, solemn, with a piercing eye, and by him was his secretary Roth, with his brown periwig, his wise look, and his great eyes big as oyster-shells. No one paid any attention to me, a circumstance which changed my resolution. I sat down in one of the corners of the room, by the great oven, in company with two or three neighbours who had come to see what was going on, and asked in a calm voice for half-a-pint of wine and for something to eat.