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