Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  The remembrance of what I had seen drove me out of the cursed place, and endowed me with renewed strength to fly the hideous mystery....

  Oh! I did not take another look through the grating.

  Shivering with cold and with chattering teeth, I carried away with me forever the apocalyptic vision which had appeared in the tenth of a second: the time sufficient for the photographer to take his flashlight picture.

  In what cycle of the infernal regions had I fallen to be present at such a scene?... What were these people about in the depths of the waters? Alas, it was a business which they had perhaps learned from their victims themselves.

  But let me get away... away from the dark room of the Photographer of Death!

  CHAPTER IX

  EVENING PRAYER

  I HASTENED, FAR from the fatal grille, like some strange animal, for I was still attired in my flags. As soon as possible, the sooner the better, I intended to confront the man who was the evil genius of such horrors.

  First, I would tell him what I thought of him; proclaim that his work, which he did well to hide in the depths of the sea lest it offend the light of heaven, was an accursed work. Whatever may have been the sins of others, he lost the right to invoke the conscience of humanity and the principles of eternal justice the day on which he became more inhuman than the executioners. Next I would insist on being put ashore as soon as might he.

  I was a neutral. It was not for me to interpose in the sanguinary quarrels of the world. I could have nothing to do with the iniquitous acts of revenge which were being perpetrated here. The people in this vessel had nothing to expect from me....

  And I pulled myself up, crushed by a terrible thought.

  What about Amalia.... Amalia, the wife of Vice-Admiral Heinrich von Treischke?

  Can it be... can it be that, failing to strike the man who had established so firm a reign of terror in Flanders and on the coast, these executioners would dare to attack a woman?

  No: it was impossible. Amalia was innocent. Amalia was gentleness itself. After all, she did not belong to the guilty race. She was neutral by birth. She was a Luxemburgian.

  Perhaps they did not know that. Then they would have to be told... at once... at once.... But how frightful to think that they might drag my gentle Amalia to that awful room.

  I knocked my head against the bulkheads, fell to the bottom of a companion, and remained crouching in the shadow of a door which led into a large room, crowded with men on their knees, whence came the murmur of voices in unison.

  Fully two hundred men were praying. I recognised, above them, the Man with the lifeless eyes who was presiding over this strange assembly, this terrible evening prayer.

  It was he who gave the word to repeat certain verses from Revelations which came back to my memory as soon as I heard a few sentences. And my cup of terror would have been filled if it had not been full already, for it was as though St. John had, in his vision, foreseen the present times and become in the name of the Lord, the Messenger of those who had determined to avenge human right set at naught, and human nature violated by a monster whom it ill becomes me in my quality of neutral to name.

  Between each verse, recited in chorus, one of the men rose to his feet, delivered his own dreadful personal testimony, said “I swear it,” made the sign of the cross, and fell on his knees again.

  Thus a grey-bearded old man rose and speaking in French said:

  “I swear that I had a daughter and grandchildren. Lord, thou gavest them to me; but they, the monsters, took them away. After their departure I was able to return to my village, which was burnt down, while my house was in ruins. I found the bodies of my daughter and four grandchildren in the cellar lying in a pool of blood. My daughter had her bosom and arm cut off, my granddaughter had a foot slashed, my grandsons had their throats cut. Their father was killed in battle. Lord, I only remain to be revenged on those who are making Thy name hated on earth. Amen.”

  And he knelt down again.

  And all repeated “Amen.”

  Then on a sign from the Man with the lifeless eyes they said:

  “If any man shall kill with the sword, with the sword must he be killed. Such is the will of God who instituted the law of retaliation so as to deliver the world from the Dragon who seeks whom he may devour.”

  Then I recognised the verses from chapters xiii and xiv of the Revelation of St. John:

  “And there was given unto the Beast a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies, and there was given to him authority to make war for forty and two months.... He also shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his anger, and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb. Amen.”

  Another old man rose and said:

  “Lord, I had a son. I gave him to Thee. Thou knowest that he was a priest at Buken. They came and before me whom they had bound, they cut off his nose and ears; then they tortured him for twenty-five minutes and shot him.... Thou knowest.... O Lord give me courage to revenge Thee by putting them to death after cutting off their nose and ears. Amen.”

  And all repeated “Amen.”

  And they said together another verse of Revelation:

  “And the smoke of their torment goeth up for ever and ever; and they have no rest day and night; they that worship the Beast and his image, and whoso receiveth the mark of his name. Amen.”

  Now came the turn of young Englishmen whose fiancées or wives had been killed by bombs in air raids in the eastern counties. Next, an Englishman related, in his testimony, how he had lost his wife and children in the City while they were in a bus, on their way home from a music-hall. He was cheerfully whistling “Tipperary” when a bomb fell upon them and blew nearly everybody to pieces. He was the only person who remained unhurt, and he had no doubt that the Lord had performed this miracle in order that the survivor might avenge the slain.

  And all repeated “Amen.”

  And they continued to recite verses with new vigour and in tones that became more and more menacing:

  “And I heard the angel of the waters say, Thou art righteous, O Lord, which art, and wast, and shalt be, because Thou hast judged thus.... For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and Thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.” Two other men stood up to testify that with their own eyes they had seen their wives and children perish in the waves which engulfed the Lusitania, without being able to assist them, while the butchers of the sea laughed and jeered and beat back into the depths those who attempted to cling to their assassins’ vessel.

  Then the Man with the lifeless eyes asked:

  “Brethren, who are ye?”

  And all replied:

  “We are the angels of the waters and we strike in the name of the Lord.”

  And the Man raised his hand and said:

  “Lord, give me strength to drive out Terror by Terror.”

  And all said:

  “And deliver the world from evil. Amen.”

  CHAPTER X

  SOMEONE PLAYS THE ORGAN

  THESE LAST WORDS were uttered with such violence and the entire service was conducted in a tone of such gloomy fanaticism, that I fled from these people, less reassured than ever on the fate in store for me and those whom I wanted to rescue.

  After what I had witnessed in the railed recess, I called them all, in my heart, executioners.

  I have always held that evil must not be returned for evil whatever may have been the first cause, and that, notwithstanding the predictions of revenge in the Apocalypse, it is a great fallacy to believe that the righteous will triumph with the same weapons as the wicked.

  I know quite well that my opinion is not shared by everybody, neither is it given to everybody to reason with the comparative calmness of mind of a neutral. I say comparative, for certainly at the moment that I was escaping from the last echoes of the terrible evening prayer, I was excited by a thou
sand feelings calculated to disturb the serenity of my philosophy.

  The most agonising of these feelings was the fear that in spite of my undoubted neutrality, the audacity with which I had set foot in this vessel, and the curiosity which I had shown in what was going on around me, might induce these “angels of the waters” to treat me as their worst enemy.... And yet I could not hope to hide myself from them much longer, and in my failing strength, the moment would come when I should inevitably be discovered, and there would have to be an explanation.

  I therefore left that part of the vessel which seemed to be reserved for the crew. After wandering about at random I found myself again in the alley-way through which I had already passed, and which led to the immense dining-room that had called forth my admiration on account of its luxury of marble and precious stones.

  I found the pantry and in it the remains of a magnificent repast. I hastily took advantage of the absence of the servants, who had perhaps gone off to attend the evening service, and literally devoured everything that was on the dishes.

  A decanter of golden wine completed the work of bringing me back to life again, and when I opened the door of the dining-room, I had so far recovered my moral equilibrium as to be able to look the future in the face without trembling like a child.

  At that moment I heard wonderful sounds proceeding, as it seemed, from heaven. I looked up and perceived a large organ which I had not before noticed. It was above the gallery which ran round the immense room.... Previously I had only made the tour of this gallery. The organ stood at the opposite end. I stopped transfixed by the flood of harmony that burst from it.

  I did not recognise the music. It belonged to no school. I never heard anything like it before. An angel mourning over the misery of the world could not have been more despairingly sweet nor more exquisitely sad, nor yet more wistful and more full of anguish.... It was I who wept.

  I have always been sensitive to sounds. And it will be easily understood that in my nervous state, I could not restrain my tears.

  Who was playing in this way?... He must be a great artist and, above all, some one who had greatly suffered. At all events the sorrow and lamentation so magnificently expressed did not cry aloud for vengeance like the frightful prayers to which I had listened a little while before.

  And the change from all the horrors that I had encountered since I began my wanderings in the maze of this mysterious vessel was such that, after my first surprise, I did not hesitate to confront this suffering. I fancied that I had nothing to fear from a being who could thus idealise pain, and weeping still, but breathing an illimitable hope, I mounted the steps that led to the gallery.

  I crept silently towards the organ in order not to interrupt so wonderful a symphony, and also not to miss seeing and speaking to him whom I expected to be my refuge.

  But suddenly after a last wail which seemed to come and die away as it reached me, the voice of the organ was silent.

  Then I hastened towards it.... I went around the organ. No one was there.

  The huge instrument was still trembling from its last sigh; the keyboard was still open. But the man who had played it — who had suffered on it — was gone.

  CHAPTER XI

  DOLORES AND GABRIEL

  I LOOKED ABOUT me endeavouring to discover the way by which he had disappeared, and my eyes caught the entrance to a small spiral staircase which led to another room.

  I went down a dozen steps and found myself in a sort of smoking-room, decorated in the Eastern fashion, but, it seemed to me, of quite small proportions compared with the famous dining-room.

  I stretched my head over the baluster of the staircase to see if I could distinguish my man.... Two handsome young persons were there so fully engrossed in themselves that I at once concluded that neither of them could by any chance be the organist.

  Gracefully reclining on a divan, her beautiful dark head resting among brilliantly coloured silk cushions, was a woman who I at once concluded must be my young Gipsy of the morning.... Moreover, she spoke Spanish, and the young man who was lying on the carpet at her feet and lovingly holding and stroking her hands, answered her in the same language.

  From his voice and accent, however, I felt sure that I had before me the Frenchman from Gascony, or the Western Pyrenees, whom I had heard taking such a keen interest in the health of the Gipsy.

  “Yes. The Captain’s music was very sweet this evening,” the Gipsy said; “I prefer to hear him play like that. Sometimes his music frightens me more than anything else.... But this is one of his good days. When I complained to him at table, this evening, that they wouldn’t let me go ashore even for an hour or half an hour... or a few minutes... and what a shame it was... I nearly cried... he took my hand, raised it to his lips, and said: ‘Have patience for, a little longer, Dolores, and your troubles will be over. You will soon land and be as happy as you please.’”

  “Did he really say that?”

  “Yes. I swear he did. I am not telling you a story to keep you quiet, my dearest... those were his very words.”

  “But you can never tell with the Captain.”

  “Don’t say a word against Captain Hyx. He’s a kind-hearted man. I’m sure of it.”

  I, Carolus Herbert of Renich, who write these lines, and who heard those phrases, put down here the proper spelling of the Captain’s name! Hyx. These three letters are pronounced X, like the unknown quantity in mathematics: these three letters which I had seen repeated frequently on the bulkheads, and in the furniture, in the course of my wanderings in this vessel, formed the name of the unknown man who was in command of her... Captain Hyx.

  It was from Captain Hyx, then, that we had just heard those sad, sweet, sublime emotions on the organ.... He had a pretty talent as a virtuoso.... But let me listen to Dolores.... Oh... with complete attention... let me listen to Dolores and who knows if I may not learn something important....

  But now she is silent. She passes her hands through the young man’s hair and devotes herself to her lover.

  Occasionally both of them turn their faces towards a door as though they are expecting some one, and when they have assured themselves that the door is still closed, they kiss each other with abandon. He calls her Dolores.

  .. She calls him Gabriel..;. Heavens I what a handsome couple they are.

  “I know what I owe to Captain Hyx,” said Gabriel.

  “Everything,” she broke in. “You owe everything to him... don’t forget.”

  “I owe him your life. Consequently I owe him my own. How could I forget it? It was hardly necessary for you to interrupt me to tell me so.”

  “I do as I please,” retorted Dolores quickly, “ and I shall interrupt you as often as I please. You will only speak when I want you to speak, and you will hold your tongue if the sound of your voice annoys me. Eh, Gabriel?”

  “Yes, Dolores, your word is law. May I say that Captain Hyx...?”

  “No!”

  Gabriel clenched his fists.

  “Oh, if he would only let me go back to Saint Jean. What will they think of me?”

  “They will think you are dead.... What does it matter to you, seeing you have no relations?”

  “They will think I’ve deserted.... That’s what they will think. Did you tell him that the idea of it was driving me mad?”

  “Yes, and he advised me to reassure you, and when I persisted, he added: ‘ This boy is becoming a bore. He hasn’t the least idea that he has never done better war service!’... So don’t worry.”

  Gabriel had risen to his feet.

  “He is laughing at me. To begin with, I don’t know who he is. No one here knows who he is. How do I know that he has the right to talk like that?... What can I say if I go back to France empty-handed... after such an absence.... I shall be looked upon as a traitor.... We don’t want him to meddle any more in our affairs.... If he saved you that’s no reason why we should both be lost! We are not asking him much. Let him land us both at Saint Jean, and we will s
wear not to trouble about him or any one else. Did you tell him that if he sent us ashore, we wouldn’t do anything to offend him?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t believe it. And I think it’s quite useless to insist....”

  “Didn’t he say how much longer we shall have to stay here?” exclaimed Gabriel furiously. “When I came here, because you sent for me, I was to leave with you that very evening. And we have been prisoners at sea inside this devil’s cauldron ever since.... Besides, look here, I don’t like this man’s method of working.

  .. Oh no....”

  “Hush!... hush!... Some one might hear you.”

  “I want to work above water... above water. To fight the Huns in the broad light of day... like the soldier I am and not like the executioner he is.... When will this man let me return to work in the broad light of day?”

  “Ssh! Do be quiet! Some one is coming. Be careful... it’s the Irishman.”

  The sound of footsteps could be heard.

  Gabriel listened and said:

  “No, it isn’t. I recognise the doctor’s step.”

  The door was opened and a man with a grizzled beard came in. He was apparently about sixty. He wore a sort of naval officer’s uniform with small V’s in gold on the collar of his frock-coat. He at once made for the young lovers with outstretched hands, smiling kindly but sadly.

  “Well,” said Dolores, making room for him to sit down by her side. “Well, Doctor, is there anything new?”

  “I believe there is something new,” replied the Doctor, “but I cannot tell you exactly what it is. Still, the fact remains that the Captain seems to be in a perfectly charming humour.”

  “There, what did I tell you, Gabriel.”

  “I’ve been speaking to him about you.”

  “Oh, really. What did you say?”

  “I spoke to him about myself as well. Like you, I can’t stand it any longer. It is absolutely too much for me.... I relied too greatly on my... courage, if you like.... Well, I said to him: ‘I must get away from here.’... I went to him as soon as I heard they had brought that awful Chinaman on board.”