The Valancourt Book of Horror Stories, Volume Two

by James D. Jenkins

  Elias entreated his son earnestly to withdraw, but Rudolph could not command himself; and he exclaimed, ‘I doubt, I doubt, sir, that this is the book which belongs to the scrutoire.’

  His father assented with visible confusion.

  ‘Well, then, allow me to say that I am greatly surprised at your treating in this way an heirloom that for a century and more has always been transmitted to the eldest son.’

  ‘You are in the right, my son,’ said the father affectionately, taking him by the hand. ‘You are partly in the right; it is not quite defensible, I admit; and I myself have had many scruples about the course I have taken. Yet still I feel myself glad upon the whole that I have destroyed this accursed book. He that wrote it never prospered, – all traditions agree in that; why then leave to one’s descendants a miserable legacy of unhallowed mysteries?’

  This excuse, however, did not satisfy Rudolph. He maintained that his father had made an aggression upon his rights of inheritance; and he argued the point so well, that Elias himself began to see that his son’s complaint was not altogether groundless. The whole of the next day they behaved to each other, not unkindly, but yet with some coolness. At night Elias could bear this no longer, and he said,‘Dear Rudolph, we have lived long together in harmony and love; let us not begin to show an altered countenance to each other during the few days that I have yet to live.’

  Rudolph pressed his father’s offered hand with a filial warmth; and the latter went on to say, ‘I purpose now to communicate to you by word of mouth the contents of the book which I have destroyed. I will do this with good faith and without reserve, unless you yourself can be persuaded to forego your own right to such a communication.’

  Elias paused, flattering himself as it seemed that his son would forego his right. But in this he was mistaken; Rudolph was far too eager for the disclosure, and earnestly pressed his father to proceed.

  Again Elias hesitated, and threw a glance of profound love and pity upon his son, – a glance that conjured him to think better, and to waive his claim, but this being at length obviously hopeless, he spoke as follows: ‘The book relates chiefly to yourself; it points to you as to the last of our race. You turn pale. Surely, Rudolph, it would have been better that you had resolved to trouble yourself no further about it?’

  ‘No,’ said Rudolph, recovering his self-possession. ‘No; for it still remains a question whether this prophecy be true.’

  ‘It does so; it does, no doubt.’

  ‘And is this all that the book says in regard to me?’

  ‘No, it is not all; there is something more. But possibly you will only laugh when you hear it; for at this day nobody believes in such strange stories. However, be that as it may, the book goes on to say plainly and positively, that the Evil One (Heaven protect us!) will make you an offer tending greatly to your worldly advantage.’

  Rudolph laughed outright, and replied, that, judging by the grave exterior of the book, he had looked to hear of more serious contents.

  ‘Well, well, my son,’ said the old man, ‘I know not that I myself am disposed to place much confidence in these tales of contracts with the devil. But, true or not, we ought not to laugh at them. Enough for me that under any circumstances I am satisfied you have so much natural piety, that you would reject all worldly good fortune that could meet you upon unhallowed paths.’

  Here Elias would have broken off, but Rudolph said, ‘One thing more I wish to know: what is to be the nature of the good fortune offered to me? and did the book say whether I should accept it or not?’

  ‘Upon the nature of the good fortune the writer has not explained himself; all that he says is, that by a discreet use of it, it is in your power to become a very great man. Whether you will accept it – but God preserve thee, my child, from any thought so criminal – upon this question there is a profound silence. Nay, it seems even as if this trader in black arts had at that very point been overtaken by death, for he had broken off in the very middle of the word. The Lord have mercy upon his soul!’

  Little as Rudolph’s faith was in the possibility of such a proposal, yet he was uneasy at his father’s communication and visibly disturbed; so that the latter said to him, ‘Had it not been better, Rudolph, that you had left the mystery to be buried with me in the grave?’

  Rudolph said, ‘No:’ but his restless eye and his agitated air too evidently approved the accuracy of his father’s solicitude.

  The deep impression upon Rudolph’s mind from this conversation – the last he was ever to hold with his father – was rendered still deeper by the solemn event which followed. About the middle of that same night he was awakened suddenly by a summons to his father’s bedside; his father was dying, and earnestly asking for him.

  ‘My son!’ he exclaimed with an expression of the bitterest anguish; stretched out both his arms in supplication towards him; and in the anguish of the effort he expired.

  The levity of youthful spirits soon dispersed the gloom which at first hung over Rudolph’s mind. Surrounded by jovial companions at the university which he now visited, he found no room left in his bosom for sorrow or care: and his heaviest affliction was the refusal of his guardian at times to comply with his too frequent importunities for money.

  After a residence of one year at the university, some youthful irregularities in which Rudolph was concerned subjected him, jointly with three others, to expulsion. Just at that time the Seven Years’ War happened to break out; two of the party, named Theiler and Werl, entered the military service together with Rudolph; the last very much against the will of a young woman to whom he was engaged. Charlotte herself, however, became reconciled to this arrangement, when she saw that her objections availed nothing against Rudolph’s resolution, and heard her lover describe in the most flattering colours his own return to her arms in the uniform of an officer; for that his distinguished courage must carry him in the very first campaign to the rank of lieutenant, was as evident to his own mind as that he could not possibly fall on the field of battle.

  The three friends were fortunate enough to be placed in the same company. But, in the first battle, Werl and Theiler were stretched lifeless by Rudolph’s side; Werl by a musket-ball through his heart, and Theiler by a cannon-shot which took off his head.

  Soon after this event, Rudolph himself returned home; but how? Not, as he had fondly anticipated, in the brilliant decorations of a distinguished officer, but as a prisoner in close custody: in a transport of youthful anger he had been guilty, in company with two others, of insubordination and mutiny.

  The court-martial sentenced them to death. The judges, however, were so favorably impressed by their good conduct while under confinement, that they would certainly have recommended them unconditionally to the royal mercy, if it had not been deemed necessary to make an example. However, the sentence was so far mitigated, that only one of the three was to be shot. And which was he? That point was reserved in suspense until the day of execution, when it was to be decided by the cast of the dice.

  As the fatal day drew near, a tempest of passionate grief assailed the three prisoners. One of them was agitated by the tears of his father; the second, by the sad situation of a sickly wife and two children. The third, Rudolph, in case the lot fell upon him, would be summoned to part not only with his life, but also with a young and blooming bride, that lay nearer to his heart than anything else in the world. ‘Ah!’ said he on the evening before the day of final decision, ‘Ah! if but this once I could secure a lucky throw of the dice!’ And scarce was the wish uttered, when his comrade Werl, whom he had seen fall by his side in the field of battle, stepped into his cell.

  ‘So, brother Schroll, I suppose you didn’t much expect to see me?’

  ‘No, indeed, did I not,’ exclaimed Rudolph in consternation; for, in fact, on the next day after the battle he had seen with his own eyes this very Werl committed to the grave.

  ‘Ay, ay, it’s strange enough, I allow; but there are not many such surgeons as
he is that belongs to our regiment; he had me dug up, and brought me round again, I’ll assure you. One would think the man was a conjurer. Indeed, there are many things he can do which I defy any man to explain; and to say the truth, I’m convinced he can execute impossibilities.’

  ‘Well, so let him, for aught that I care; all his art will scarcely do me any good.’

  ‘Who knows, brother? who knows? The man is in this town at this very time; and for old friendship’s sake I’ve just spoken to him about you; and he has promised me a lucky throw of the dice, that shall deliver you from all danger.’

  ‘Ah!’ said the dejected Rudolph, ‘but even this would be of little service to me.’

  ‘Why, how so?’ asked the other.

  ‘How so? Why, because – even if there were such dice (a matter I very much dispute) – yet I could never allow myself to turn aside, by black arts, any bad luck designed for myself upon the heads of either of my comrades.’

  ‘Now this, I suppose, is what you call being noble? But excuse me, if I think that in such cases one’s first duty is to one’s self.’

  ‘Ah, but just consider; one of my comrades has an old father to maintain, the other a sick wife with two children.’

  ‘Schroll, Schroll, if your young bride were to hear you, I fancy she wouldn’t think herself much flattered. Does poor Charlotte deserve that you should not bestow a thought on her and her fate? A dear young creature, that places her whole happiness in you, has nearer claims (I think) upon your consideration than an old dotard with one foot in the grave, or a wife and two children that are nothing at all to you. Ah! what a deal of good might you do in the course of a long life with your Charlotte! So then, you really are determined to reject the course which I point out to you? Take care, Schroll! If you disdain my offer, and the lot should chance to fall upon you, – take care lest the thought of a young bride whom you have betrayed, take care I say, lest this thought should add to the bitterness of death when you come to kneel down on the sand-hill. However, I’ve given you advice sufficient, and have discharged my conscience. Look to it yourself: and farewell!’

  ‘Stay, brother, a word or two,’ said Rudolph, who was powerfully impressed by the last speech, and the picture of domestic happiness held up before him, which he had often dallied with in thought, both when alone and in company with Charlotte. ‘Stay a moment. Undoubtedly, I do not deny that I wish for life, if I could receive it a gift from Heaven; and that is not impossible. Only I would not willingly have the guilt upon my conscience of being the cause of misery to another. However, if the man you speak of can tell, I should be glad that you would ask him upon which of us three the lot of death will fall. Or – stay; don’t ask him,’ said Rudolph, sighing deeply.

  ‘I have already asked him,’ was the answer.

  ‘Ah! have you so? And it is after his reply that you come to me with this counsel?’

  The foretaste of death overspread the blooming face of Rudolph with a livid paleness; thick drops of sweat gathered upon his forehead; and the other exclaimed with a sneer: ‘I’m going; you take too much time for consideration. Maybe you will see and recognize me at the place of execution; and, if so, I shall have the dice with me; and it will not be too late even then to give me a sign; but, take notice, I can’t promise to attend.’

  Rudolph raised his forehead from the palm of his hand, in which he had buried it during the last moments of his perturbation, and would have spoken something in reply; but his counsellor was already gone. He felt glad, and yet at the same time sorry. The more he considered the man and his appearance, so much the less seemed his resemblance to his friend whom he had left buried on the field of battle. This friend had been the very soul of affectionate cordiality, – a temper that was altogether wanting to his present counsellor. No! the scornful and insulting tone with which he treated the unhappy prisoner, and the unkind manner with which he had left him, convinced Schroll that he and Werl must be two different persons. Just at this moment a thought struck him, like a blast of lightning, of the black book which had perished in the fire and its ominous contents. A lucky cast of the dice! Ay; that then was the shape in which the tempter had presented himself; and heartily glad he felt that he had not availed himself of his suggestions.

  But this temper of mind was speedily changed by his young bride, who hurried in soon after, sobbing, and flung her arms about his neck. He told her of the proposal which had been made to him; and she was shocked that he had not immediately accepted it.

  With a bleeding heart, Rudolph objected that so charming and lovely a creature could not miss of a happy fate, even if he should be forced to quit her. But she protested vehemently that he or nobody should enjoy her love.

  The clergyman, who visited the prisoner immediately after her departure, restored some composure to his mind, which had been altogether banished by the presence of his bride. ‘Blessed are they who die in the Lord!’ said the gray-haired divine; and with so much earnestness and devotion, that this single speech had the happiest effect upon the prisoner’s mind.

  On the morning after this night of agitation, the morning of the fatal day, the three criminals saw each other for the first time since their arrest. Community of fate, and long separation from each other, contributed to draw still closer the bond of friendship that had been first knit on the field of battle. Each of the three testified a lively abhorrence for the wretched necessity of throwing death to some one of his comrades, by any cast of the dice which should bring life to himself. Dear as their several friends were to all, yet at this moment the brotherly league, which had been tried and proved in the furnace of battle, was triumphant over all opposing considerations. Each would have preferred death himself, rather than escape it at the expense of his comrade.

  The worthy clergyman, who possessed their entire confidence, found them loudly giving utterance to this heroic determination. Shaking his head, he pointed their attention to those who had claims upon them whilst living, and for whom it was their duty to wish to live as long as possible. ‘Place your trust in God!’ said he: ‘resign yourselves to him! He it is that will bring about the decision through your hands; and think not of ascribing that power to yourselves, or to his lifeless instruments – the dice. He, without whose permission no sparrow falls to the ground, and who has numbered every hair upon your head – He it is that knows best what is good for you; and He only.’

  The prisoners assented by squeezing his hand, embraced each other, and received the sacrament in the best disposition of mind. After this ceremony they breakfasted together, in as resigned, nay, almost in as joyous a mood as if the gloomy and bloody morning which lay before them were ushering in some gladsome festival.

  When, however, the procession was marshalled from the outer gate, and their beloved friends were admitted to utter their last farewells, then again the sternness of their courage sank beneath the burden of their melancholy fate. ‘Rudolph!’ whispered amongst the rest his despairing bride, ‘Rudolph! why did you reject the help that was offered to you?’ He adjured her not to add to the bitterness of parting; and she in turn adjured him, a little before the word of command was given to march, – which robbed her of all consciousness, – to make a sign to the stranger who had volunteered his offer of deliverance, provided he should anywhere observe him in the crowd.

  The streets and the windows were lined with spectators. Vainly did each of the criminals seek, by accompanying the clergyman in his prayers, to shelter himself from the thought, that all return, perhaps, was cut off from him. The large house of his bride’s father reminded Schroll of a happiness that was now lost to him forever, if any faith were to be put in the words of his yesterday’s monitor; and a very remarkable faintness came over him. The clergyman, who was acquainted with the circumstances of his case, and therefore guessed the occasion of his sudden agitation, laid hold of his arm, and said, with a powerful voice, that he who trusted in God would assuredly see all his righteous hopes accomplished – in this world, if it were God
’s pleasure; but, if not, in a better.

  These were words of comfort: but their effect lasted only for a few moments. Outside the city gate his eyes were met by the sand-hill already thrown up; a spectacle which renewed his earthly hopes and fears. He threw a hurried glance about him: but nowhere could he see his last night’s visitor.

  Every moment the decision came nearer and nearer. It has begun. One of the three has already shaken the box: the die is cast; he has thrown a six. This throw was now registered amidst the solemn silence of the crowd. The by-standers regarded him with solemn congratulations in their eyes; for this man and Rudolph were the two special objects of the general compassion: this man, as the husband and father; Rudolph, as the youngest and handsomest, and because some report had gone abroad of his superior education and attainments.

  Rudolph was youngest in a double sense; youngest in years, and youngest in the service: for both reasons he was to throw last. It may be supposed, therefore, how much all present trembled for the poor delinquent, when the second of his comrades likewise flung a six.

  Prostrated in spirit, Rudolph stared at the unpropitious die. Then a second time he threw a horrid glance around him, and that so full of despair, that from horrid sympathy a violent shuddering ran through the by-standers. ‘Here is no deliverer,’ thought Rudolph; ‘none to see me or to hear me! And if there were, it is now too late; for no change of the die is any longer possible.’ So saying, he seized the fatal die, convulsively his hand clutches it, and before the throw is made he feels that the die is broken in two.

  During the universal thrill of astonishment which succeeded to this strange accident, he looked round again. A sudden shock and a sudden joy fled through his countenance. Not far from him, in the dress of a pedler, stands Theiler without a wound, the comrade whose head had been carried off on the field of battle by a cannon-ball. Rudolph made an under-sign to him with his eye; for clear as it now was to his mind with whom he was dealing, yet the dreadful trial of the moment overpowered his better resolutions.