BUBBLES! ^ '-^f ^^NORDAU THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF California State Library W. F. rURNEI.L Soap Bubbles BY MAX NORDAU Author of " Degeneration,^' " Comedj> of Senti- ment" " The T^ight to Love," " How IVomen Love" Etc. % TRANSLATED BY MARY J. 8AFF0RD F. TENNYSON NEELY publisher 114 Fifth Avenue, New York 1896 71 Copyright, 1896 By F. Tennvson Neely 1019 < 5 vr 'V^ ■V INDEX TO STORIES. PAGE CANT AND HUMBUG. A story of Eng- lish selfishness and American thriftiness. 5 WIFE VERSUS NATIVE LAND. This story shows how a man may quit smok- ing for spite, but not for love. - - 38 ALI HADJI EFFENDI. The adventures of a wandering fanatic of Islam. - 59 THE CROSS AT THE CORNER. A story of the religious devotion of an aged Hungarian. 80 THE ALTAR PAINTING. The love trag- edy of an Italian artist. ... 100 A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. A pathetic incident of suffering in the Franco- Prussian War, during the siege of Paris. - - - . - - 120 832715 iv INDEX TO STORIES. PAGE THE STEPMOTHER. Au ingenious dis- cussion of that much-abused matron. - 139 PAS DE CHANCE (No Chance). The story of a girl found in a morgue, - 158 HOW THE FOX HUNTER FARED IN ENGLAND. A tragic and humorous denouement, turning upon the English- man's code of fox hunting. - - 186 WITHIN AN INCH OF ETERNITY. This relates how a prison physician's hair turned white in a night, from horror in- flicted on him by two escaped prisoners. 213 CANT AND'HUMBUG. Our train had pulled out of Ostend a few minutes before. The carriage in which I had my seat contained its regular comple- ment of six passengers, all of whom, with the exception of my- self, belonged to the Anglo-Saxon race. We had scarcely left the station when tongues were loosed, and an animated general conver- sation began, which enabled me to recognize my companions by their shrill, loud tones and some- 6 SOAP BUBBLES. what nasal accents, as Americans. The only person who took no share in the talk was a portly gentleman dressed in a traveling suit of conspicuous style, who had placed his numerous articles of baggage in the net with small regard for the effects of his fel- low mortals, then settled himself comfortably in a corner by the window and, after a swift, search- ing glance at the other inmates of the railway carriage, began to scan the somewhat monotonous landscape. Remarks which were indirectly addressed to him were so utterly ignored that it would have been supposed he did not understand English, had he not said — when one of the Ameri- cans v/as preparing to light a CANT AND HUMBUG. 7 cigar — in unmistakable English and very emphatically : "I object to your smoking, sir; I am not aware that this is a smoking carriage." The Englishman's bluntness and reserve evidently did not suit the taste of the Americans, for they began to exchange pointed re- marks about the inhospitable so- cial customs of the " Britishers," their awkwardness in their inter- course with others, and their punctilious formality in social, political and religious matters, of which, however, the Englishman took no more notice than he had formerly done of the indirect attempts to draw him into the conversation. " I heard a story in London 8 SOAP BUBBLES. which describes the Britisher bet- ter than a whole Hbrary could do," exclaimed one of the Yan- kees who had been among the loudest talkers. "Out with it! Hear! Hear!" cried the others in chorus, cast- ing scornful glances at the En- glishman. The latter did not ap- pear to notice it, he was gazing very intently at a windmill, whose bizarre outline was relieved against the horizon. " I must premise that the story is true, and that I met one of the heroes only yesterday evening in London — my friend, Mr. Brown, from whom I had it. This Mr. Brown was obliged, two years ago, to take a business journey to Chili. He secured passage on CANT AND HUMBUG. 9 one of the boats of the Pacific Steam Navigation Co., and ar- rived without incident at Monte- video, where several more passen- gers came on board. Beyond Punta Arenas a terrible storm suddenly burst upon them, which first broke the helm, then swept the smokestack from the deck, and finally shattered the screw. The vessel was now a total wreck, the sport of the wind and waves, and, after drifting aim- lessly in the storm for sev^eral hours, it was at last flung upon a reef, where it stuck fast. The captain, who had not lost his calmness and presence of mind for a moment, ordered the life- boats to be lowered, and re- mained on board until the last lo SOAP BUBBLES. passenger and the last sailor had left the ship. The boats vainly endeavored to make their way through the surges thundering upon the reef. One after another was caught beneath the combing surf and overturned, a cry of de- spair was heard above the howl- ing of the tempest, then the boat, keel uppermost, drifted in one direction, while in another faces distorted by fear and hands clenched convulsively appeared above the foam-flecked water only to vanish speedily. The boat Mr. Brown entered shared the fate of the rest, but when it upset my friend and another passenger clung to the edge and, with tre- mendous effort, climbed up so that they sat astride of the sharp CANT AND HUMBUG. ii keel. In this horrible situation, one behind the other, they re- mained for several hours till the waves, whose violence had now somewhat subsided, at last flung them on the flat, sandy shore of a small island. The immediate peril of death was now over, but Mr. Brown considered his situa- tion a very melancholy one. He had no taste for literary renown, and did not find the slightest consolation for the financial loss which he must inevitably meet if he did not reach Valparaiso at a certain time, in the thought that he would eventually be celebrated as another Robinson Crusoe. However, he tried to accommo- date himself to the situation as well as he could. After resting 12 SOAP BUBBLES. a short time and drying his clothes in the sun, he went on an investigating tour through the island, which was not more than a league in circumference. He discovered without difficulty that it was uninhabited, but contained a sufficient quantity of fruit trees, birds' nests, shells, springs and caves to sustain the life of a ship- wrecked person. So he immedi- ately prepared a sort of nest for himself of moss and leaves at the foot of a large tree, and calmly accommodated himself to the necessity of living here until some lucky accident should de- liver him from his unpleasant position. His companion in mis- fortune had pursued precisely the same course as Mr. Brown. He, CANT AND HUMBUG. 13 too, after a tour of investigation had found a tolerably habitable grotto, in which he made himself at home." " But it would have been far more natural for them to live to- gether," remarked one of the lis- teners. " It's evident, Brother Josh, that you have lived in Europe only a week and don't understand En- glish customs. How could Mr. Brown speak to the other ship- wrecked passenger, associate with him, or live in the same cave, when they had not been intro- duced to each other ? " The Americans laughed, while the Englishman appeared to be more than ever absorbed in gazing at the landscape. 14 SOAP BUBBLES. " Several weeks," the speaker continued, " elapsed in cheerless monotony. Every morning the two shipwrecked men left their beds of moss and washed at the only large spring in the island, during which they looked coldly at each other, then they went in search of a few eggs, shells and roots for breakfast, after which, of course, without taking the slightest notice of each other, they met on the narrow top of a high rock which projected into the sea and sat there silently for hours, scan- ning the horizon with anxious eyes, always hoping to discover a dis- tant sail. For a long time this hope was unfulfilled. At last, after they had spent nearly two months and a half on the island, Mr. CANT AND HUMBUG. 15 Brown had scarcely stationed him- self at his usual post of observa- tion when he thought he saw, at the farthest verge of the horizon, a dark, moving spot. Starting up, as if he had received an electric shock, he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed until he could no longer doubt that what he beheld was the trail of smoke from a steamer. His companion, whose attention had been attracted by Mr. Brown's vehement move- ments, followed the direction of his eyes, and a faint ' Oh ! ' which he suddenly uttered revealed that he, too, had discovered the ship. Both now transformed all their garments, coats, vests, shirts, flan- nel jackets, into flags, which they waved frantically with both hands. 1 6 SOAP BUBBLES. But it needed no special exertions to bring the steamer which was in sight to the island. As they learned afterward, some of the men shipwrecked on their own vessel had succeeded in righting one of the overturned boats, get- ting into it, and, after unspeaka- ble hardships, reaching the main- land, where they brought tidings of the catastrophe. A ship was sent to the scene of the disaster as quickly as possible to search for any survivors of the wreck, and it was this vessel which Mr. Brown and his companion had discovered on the morning de- scribed. After two hours of ex- citement and anxiety, the rescuing steamer came so near that a boat put off for the two involuntary CANT AND HUMBUG. 17 islanders. The}" rushed down to the flat, sand)" tongue of land where the boat had touched, and a few minutes later, comfortably seated in it, were on their way to the steamer. The captain stood near the man -rope, waiting for them, greeted them with a silent bow and a clasp of the hand, and requested them to accompany him to his cabin. Here he placed a register before them and asked them to write their names and residences. The stranQ^er who had been Mr. Brown's companion on the island was the first to comply with the request, as he happened to be standing nearer to the table. After making the desired entries he yielded the pen to my friend Brown, who, before beginning to l8 SOAP BUBBLES. write himself, glanced mechanically at the lines which had just been in- scribed in the book. Scarcely had he read them when a strange emo- tion suddenly overpowered him. ' Mr. William Lloyd Jones, Val- paraiso ! ' he exclaimed aloud in a tremulous voice, then, turning to the gentleman who stood beside him, he added : ' Are you Mr. W. L. Jones?' 'Yes,' replied the other curtly, looking at him with surprise and disapproval. ' Oh, in that case,' — and Mr. Brown thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his coat, whence he drew out a letter, — ' in that case I have a let- ter of introduction to you from our mutual friend, Mr. Smith, in London.' While speaking, Mr. Brown handed Mr. Jones his ' in- CANT AA'D HUMBUG. 19 troduction,' whose address, it is true, was somewhat effaced by the sea-water, but was still perfectly legible. Mr. Jones methodically unfolded the paper, read it through attentively, and when he had reached his friend Smith's signa- ture his hitherto stern face sud- denly brightened, he turned to Brown with overwhelming cordial- ity, shook him vigorously by both hands, and exclaimed again and again : * Very happy to make your acquaintance, really very happy ! ' Brown struck himself on the fore- head : 'To think that I could not give you my introduction on the island!' 'It is a pity, certainly,' observed Jones; 'we might have spent some very pleasant hours together.' The captain — also an 20 SOAP BUBBLES. Englishman — who had listened all the time in silence, guessed the connection of affairs without diffi- culty, and, after this little scene, was perfectly convinced that he was dealing with thorough gen- tlemen. Brown and Jones became the best possible friends, and even now, though one is living in Lon- don and the other in Valparaiso, maintain a very active correspond- ence." During the last few sentences of the story the American listen- ers gave way to noisy mirth, which lasted several minutes after the speaker stopped. When the outburst of hilarity was at last followed by silence, we saw the Englishman — who until then had sat in his corner with an expres- CANT AND HUMBUG. 21 sion of the utmost indifference on his immovable face — suddenly smile and bow slightly to the narrator of the anecdote. " Sir," he said, "you have told a very interesting story, and I congratu- late you upon your acquaintance with the admirable Mr. Brown. But perhaps you will now permit me also to relate an anecdote which, though less entertaining, is also true, and whose scene is the United States." Another "Hear! Hear!" even more eager than the former one, echoed from all sides, and the Englishman began : "The French captain of cuiras- siers. Monsieur Durand, one of my most intimate friends in Paris, was sent to America by 2 2 SOAP BUBBLES. his government during the last war between France and Ger- many, to buy horses for the army. Late in October in the year 1870 he found himself in a little town in Texas, which was famed only for a roughly built, very spacious circus, where, shortly before, Mexican bull-fighters had given several performances. Mon- sieur Durand, who had arrived in the afternoon and gone to the only hotel in the place, was sit- ting in the drawing-room that evening before an open fire which was extremely comfortable, and had beside him a little table hold- ing a bottle of claret and a glass. As he stretched out his limbs, wearied by the long railway jour- ney, and gazed thoughtfully into CANT AND HUMBUG. 23 the fire, the door opened and a second guest entered the room. This was Mr. Jonathan Oilking, one of the most prominent per- sonages in the place, a man wiio had the reputation of possessing great wealth and rare urbanity. Oilking, without a word of greet- ing, or even touching his soft, broad-brimmed felt hat, went straight to the fireside, pushed the chair occupied by the captain a little aside, and, leaning against the mantelpiece with his back to the fire, directly opposite to Du- rand, stared him directly in the face. "The Frenchman was strongly tempted to spring at the new- comer's throat, but tliought, 'cus- tom of the country,' and con- 24 SOAP BUBBLES. tented himself with shrugging his shoulders and gazing at the ceil- mt help yielding, seized ui)()n me. I liv^ed near; o{)ening tiie door, I rushed hither through the dark- ness and did as I had always done. Wee})ing, I embraced the cross and prayed: 'Dear Jesus, I beseech Thee, save mv child!' I returned home greatly relieved — MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 99 the child was still asleep, it slept until the morning, grew better, and in a fortnight was well. " I have already detained you a long time with my talk — to be brief, I was destined to survive my parents, my husband, my only son, all my relatives and friends ; the single remaining friend of my childhood was the cross at the corner, and now that, too, is gone ^" I understood the old woman's feelings, and, deeply moved, bowed and silently left her. MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. III. THE ALTAR PAINTING. Who among my readers has ever heard the name of Peteri? Very few, certainly, and it is no wonder, for one may be a good geographer without knowing that Peteri is a pleasant little village, four miles from Pesth, secluded from all intercourse with the world, in the midst of a charm- ing plain, still untrodden by the iron steed which imposes upon MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. lol the earth, wherever he directs his victorious course, fetters which are very willingly endured. This quiet hamlet was the goal of an excursion, which I took with a small party the first of October in the year 1867. We had started early and were rollinof over the boundless Rakos plain. The landscape presented a marvelously beautiful aspect. In the background rose the Ofner Mountains, covered with a gray hood of mist ; here and there a single peak was illumined by the rising sun, displaying a peculiar blending of shades of purple and violet, which produced the most magnificent effect. The course of the Danube was marked by a broad mass of vapor, hovering I02 SOAP BUBBLES. over the stream, as if the spirits of the ancient Ister, shrouded in clouds, were floating above their watery domain. Before us the sun was just rising, revealing the his- toric plain of Rakos, with its un- dulating sand-hills, meadows, and stubble fields, sparsely scattered with solitary, straw-thatched houses, a few groups of trees, and clat- tering mills. On both sides of the dusty high road cows were grazing, which stared at us with scarcely less curiosity than the little barefooted boy who tramped after them. The tinkling of the cow-bells blended musically with the notes of the matin-bells, borne in low, subdued tones by the keen morning air. Our horses moved so swiftly MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 103 that the tall clumps of straw, and the still taller poles of the wells in the pastures flitted past us like ghosts, and after a drive of barely an hour we reached Keresstur, where we breakfasted in a tavern which, considering its proximity to the capital, was in- credibly primitive. The hamlet -has no remarkable sights except an old castle where the Emperor Joseph II. once spent the night, and a little tavern-keeper with an enormous beard. After a short rest we set out on our journey again. If the road had formerly been uncomfortable, it now began to be actually bad. The sur- rounding country still retained the monotonous character of a plain, but the road supplied a tolerable I04 SOAP BUBBLES. alternation of mountain and val- ley ; cliffs and lakes, owing to the limited space, were represented by huge stones and deep puddles, between which obstacles the driver zig-zagged with marvelous skill. It was about nine o'clock when we saw, in the distance, the little houses and slender, beautiful church-spire of Peteri. Peteri, the goal of our excur- sion, is a very small village, in- habited by Slovaks, which consists of two parallel streets and a few dozen insignificant peasant houses, all built with the gable in front. A stranger must be a very rare spectacle in its streets, for great was the excitement which we awakened among the inhabitants. Accompanied by the barking of MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 105 dogs and the cries of children, we drove slowly on between the straw-thatched huts, and stopped before the house of the Protes- tant pastor, whom we found en- gaged in the patriarchal occupa- tion of wiiipping a large, shaggy black dog, which had been ac- cused by his wife of the crime of killing chickens. When the man of God saw us, he let the dog go, and, cast- ing an embarrassed glance at his coat, which bore numerous traces of rural labor, he conducted us into his room, which was desti- tute of a floor. After exchanging a few civil speeches, we told him that we had come to see the vil- lage church, which, we had heard, was the handsomest in the neigh- io6 SOAP BUBBLES. borhood. The pastor looked as- tonished, but at once expressed his readiness to open the sacred edifice, if we were really inter- ested in it. Clanking several huge keys, he led the way and we followed. A large open square, with a fountain in the center, surrounded by several majestic oaks, occupied the space in front of it. Several steps led to the entrance of this house of God, which, judging from the exterior, was tolerably plain. The upper one afforded a view of the entire length of the two streets of which Peteri consists. The doors creaked on their hinges. We entered, walked di- rectly to the communion table, which was totally devoid of orna- MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 107 ment, and at tlie first glance we were irresistibly attracted by a picture hung- above the pulpit between two pillars. The brill- iant coloring of the painting con- trasted strangely with the bare, austere appearance of the spacious interior, which threw it into still stronger relief. The picture represented the Sermon on tiie Mount. Christ, attired in flowing robes, with an ample mantle draped over them, stands upon a boulder, his inde- scribably beautiful face illumined by divine enthusiasm, his radiant eyes most expressively proclaim to us tiie words of love and divine wisdom which are flowing- from his half-parted lips. Around him, extending to the distant back- io8 SOAP BUBBLES. ground, we see a throng of people in picturesque groups, evidently hanging on the Saviour's lips ; but only a few figures, immediately surrounding the rock, are executed in detail. Behind the divine preacher we behold an ascetic, clad in a garment of skins, his brows contracted in a gloomy frown, and his bearded chin propped on his hand, evidently pondering over the words he has heard. Beside him stands a youth, with his arms folded across his breast, uplifting his clear brow and dark eyes to Christ WMth fervent devotion, un- heeding the words of a third fig- ure, a doubter, wlio stands by his side, and, with the mocking ex- pression of a Mephistopheles, ap- pears to be whispering something MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 109 into his ear, while his hand se- cretly points to the Saviour. In the foreground two female figures rivet our attention ; one, a large, voluptuous woman, is lying at the feet of the divine preacher, her face, drenched with tears, expresses infinite suffering and the deepest contrition ; the other, a most won- derful contrast, possessing super- natural beauty, as with divine calmness she raises her beaming eyes and, with clasped hands, her whole fio;-ure breathinsf anijelic in- nocence, listens to the sermon of the Son of God. The picture is completed by two lovely naked children, who, with their little round faces turned toward the spectator, are carelessly playing with a shell which they have no SOAP BUBBLES. found. It is the most magnificent and yet the most charming scene imaginable. The divine, glorified form of the inspired preacher ; the gloomy ascetic, examining ere he believes ; the devout youth, who hears revelations in every word ; the doubter, who has come to listen and to scoff ; the sinful woman, whose heart is shaken and crushed to its depths by every word of mercy and heavenly love ; the chaste, pure angel, with the gloriously beautiful face, to whom Christ speaks a kindred language — and, in contrast with all this, the unsuspecting, ignorant children who, unconcerned about the great events, the mighty pas- sions and overmastering emotions astir around tiiem. })lay (juielly MEMORIES OF HUA'GARY. m with their shell — the impression which this poetic composition, glowing with the vivid colors of a Titian, produced upon us is not easily described. We stood a long time before the painting, un- able to express in words our ad- miration of the masterpiece. At last I asked the pastor, who had remained modestly at the back of the church, busying him- self with various trifles, if he could not tell us the name of the artist who had created this beauti- ful work. " I really cannot give you his name. I know only that he was a young Italian. But I see that the painting has deeply impressed you, so you will probably be interested in hearing some partic- 112 SOAP BUBBLES. ulars of its origin." Accepting the kind clergyman's invitation, we went back with him to his house, and, over a glass of wine, he related the following story : " Peteri formerly belonged to an old count, the last scion of an ancient noble family, who died, childless, about thirty years ago. His estates went to a distant relative and, in this way, our village passed into the possession of a young married couple, who came here soon after the death of the old lord, to make it their permanent residence. Herr von F., our new lord, had been an officer for several years, but after his marriage had retired to private life. His wife was young, bright, gracious, and possessed beauty un- MEMORIES OF HUXGARY. 113 rivaled far or near. They had scarcely mov^ed here before Frau von F. noticed the dilapidated condition of the little church, and determined to have a new and handsome building erected at her own expense. The fact that she was a Catholic, while the parish was Protestant, did not disturb her in the least. " It happened about this time that a carriage passing through the village was overturned, and the traveler within had his foot severely injured. Herr von P., who had heard of the accident, went himself to the injured man and invited him to be his ijuest until he was able to continue his journey. The offer was gratefully accepted, and the gentleman was 114 SOAP BUBBLES. carried to the castle. Fie intro- duced himself to his hostess as an ItaUan artist, on the way to visit his friend, the owner of an estate a few miles away, hut who had been prevented from carrying out his plan by the up- settinc^ of his carriao-e and the wounds received. The artist prob- ably found his stay here very pleasant, for, though at the end of a few days he could walk without assistance, he made no preparations for departure. Under the pretext that he wished to ex- press his gratitude in this way, he beo'o'ed his charming; hostess to allow him to paint her; he wished to leave the portrait in the castle as a memento. After some little reluctance, the pro- MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 115 posal was accepted, and the young artist now had an opportunity to gaze into the lov^ely woman's eyes an hour a day. She was, as has been said, a rare beauty, he was young and ardent — what marvel that he became passion- ately in love with her? " The farther he progressed toward recovery, the more his depression increased ; this, and the numerous sittings, aroused Herr von F.'s suspicions and one day he entered unexpectedly when the artist and his wife were alone together. He saw the youth on his knees before her, weeping bitterly, while she, bending over him, was trying to comfort him. The scene whicli followed was brief but terrible. n6 SOAP BUBBLES. F. rushed upon the Italian and dealt him a blow in the face. The insulted youth seized a rapier hanging on the wall, pressed furiously upon his host, and would have killed him if the unhappy wife had not thrown herself between them. At the noise servants rushed in, who seized the raging artist, thrust him into the traveling carriage into which the horses had been hastily harnessed, and advised his coachman to drive to his desti- nation, wherever that might be. "The affair caused great excite- ment at the time ; Herr von F. refused to accept a challenge sent to him from Pesth, and his wife, for a long period, sought refuge on a secluded estate. MEMORIES OF HUNGARY, 117 "About five months after the scene just described, a box arrived containing the altar painting and a letter, in which the artist en- treated Frau von F. to think often of him as an unfortunate man, who had seen the sun of his life rise once for a moment only to lose it forever. He also asked that the picture might be placed in the newly-built church, which, after much opposition from the owner of the estate, was done. The beautiful woman whom you saw in the foreground of the pict- ure is Frau von F., the youth with the folded arms is the artist himself. " Heaven knows that the young couple did not have a single happy hour afterward. A dark Ii8 SOAP BUBBLES. suspicion, though a wholly ground- less one, rested on the husband's heart, and this, with the gossip of the people, made the poor, beauti- ful wife utterly wretched. When, after a few years, she became a widow — I came here just at that time — I often saw her, when the church w^as empty, kneel before the picture for hours, shedding burning tears. She did not re- main here long, but withdrew to her lonely estate, whence she often comes to the village, and never neglects to visit the church. " Nothing more was heard from the artist himself, who disappeared witliout leaving a trace, only some of the owners of the neighl)oring estates, who knew him, said that MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. 119 he had gone to Africa as a mis- sionary and vanished there." We thanked the pastor for his story and set out on our way home. END. im A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. It was Christmas Eve of the year 1874. We were slowly pressed forward by the human tide constantly surging to and fro upon the broad pavement of the Boulevard des Italiens. Often it was scarcely possible to pause a moment in front of the brilliantly- lighted show windows of a shop, to admire, here the diamonds, yonder the bronzxs and ivory carvings displayed within. But one exhibit attracted us too strongly to pass it with a hasty A CHRIS TMA S EVE IN PA RIS. 1 2 1 glance. We checked our steps, which produced the same effect as when a drifting log suddenly pfrounds across a stream. First there was a violent shock, then an angry murmur, an excitea chattering, and the stream gradu- ally turns aside and flows in a sliofht bend around the obstacle which cannot be swept away. The articles in this show win- dow, which belonged to a fashion- able confectioner, were far too tempting. A Christmas Fair, a veritable paradise for children : miniature Hussar boots, cradles, tiny champagne bottles, bomb- shells, burning logs, a poodle dressed as a waiter, with a napkin at his neck, all made of sugar and executed witii Parisian dainti- 122 SOAP BUBBLES. ness, and in the midst of this French fiddle-faddle stood the sturdy, simple German pine tree. " Is the Christmas tree much used in French families ? " I asked my companion, Monsieur G., a Paris architect, who has re- cently won much renown. " I think not," he replied, " but I have always had my arbre de kocl in my own iiouse, and it is the central point of one of my most sorrowful memories." A mournful expression shadowed his mobile features as he spoke", and a heavy sigh esca{)ed his lips. We went on and, a few steps beyond, turned into the " Rue du 4 Septembre. "' I did not wish to interru[)t my friend's dee}) reverie by obtrusive, cuiious questions, so A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. 123 for a short time we walked si- lently side by side. It was he who interrupted this pause by vol- untarily tellino^ his sad story. "Four years," he began, "have passed since that terrible winter, but everything is still as vividly impressed upon my mind as though it had happened only yesterday. The Prussians had forged their iron ring around the city, and we breathed more and more iieavily. The whole world knows the epic of that siege, from its commence- ment to its close. In the begin- ning ' useless mouths ' were ban- ished, and the assurance was given that those who remained need have no anxiety about suffering want ; first we ate pork, then horse-flesh, and at the end of six 124 SOAP BUBBLES. weeks the most incredible things supplied us with food. In addi- tion, the winter was one of those severe seasons which we do not have once in a decade. The Seine froze, and loaded carts could cross the lake in the Bois de Boulogne. Our foes were warmly esconced in our country-houses, they cut down our groves and the trees in our parks to keep the flames on the hearths burning, and fed their camp-fires with our grand pianos and carved furni- ture. We had no woods to fell, and naturally were less ready to use our pianos for fire-wood than our enemies. The lack of fuel was really less keenly felt than the lack of food. All the wood and coal remaining in Paris was A CHRISTMAS EVE EV PARIS. 125 purchased by the rich at fabulous prices, and the poor, nay, even the well-to-do classes had to shift for themselves. The proletarians succeeded in doing so without much difficulty. Our stock of ab- sinthe was inexhaustible, unfortu- nately it was the only thing with which we were supplied for months or years ; ' Une goutte ' will fully compensate the Paris workman for the fire on the hearth or the warmth of the stove — but what was to become of our women, our children, who do not drink absinthe ? "It was comparatively easy for us men. We were all soldiers, we were daily occupied either in drilling within the city or in dig- ging and building at the out- 126 SOAP BUBBLES. works ; and that keeps one toler- ably warm, I ean assure you. But when we eame home in the even- ing, we found a room cold and dismal as a vault, a black, fireless hearth, the children huddled un- der the bed-clothes, the wife muf- fled in cloak and shawls. We clasped cold hands and kissed cold lips, which had forgotten how to smile. " So the Ciiristmas festival ap- proached. Did I say festival ? Sufferino^ and want had reached their height, and our eyes con- stantly saw too much blood flow to have the red hue in the cal- endar attract our attention. The poor cliihlrcn ! The siege cut off even their pure, innocent pleas- ures ; there was no Christmas for A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. 127 them that year. The first week in December my little Louise asked me if the naughty Prus- sians would let St. Nicholas into the city, and a few days before Christmas she anxiously asked the same question about the Christ child. Both times I answered that I was afraid this year neither St, Nicholas nor the little Christ - child could get through to the children who ex- pected them, but next year they would doubtless make ample amends for it. Louise looked very sorrowful and was not easily comforted ; it was so long since the last Christmas festival, and the next one would probably come no- earlier than usual ! But I could not help her ; neither I 128 SOAP BUBBLES. nor my wife were in the mood to prepare Christmas pleasures for the poor child. " Nor was Louise in a condition to enjoy such pleasures. She had been ailing all the Winter and on Christmas Eve the illness broke out with alarming violence. She was tortured by attacks of con- vulsive coughing and in a high fever. We put the child to bed and sent at once for our physi- cian. My wife was greatly alarmed, and I, too, awaited the doctor's verdict with much anx- iety. He came ; we silently ex- changed greetings, and he ap- proached the little one's sick bed. My wife and I in trembling sus- pense watched every line of his face, every expression of his eyes; A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. 129 we scarcely dared to breathe. The doctor was an old and dear friend, and Louise was very fond of playing with him ; this time, howev^er, she did not recoof- nize him. and thrust him back with her little hand as he stroked the hair away from her flushed face and felt her throb- bing pulse. " 'It is a long time since I have been here but, as you know, the numerous wounded men, the crowded hospitals,' he said apolo- getically, as he watched the little sufferer. " ' Of course, of course, but what do you think of our Louise?' " The doctor forced a smile. " ' It would not be difficult to give good advice,' he said in a [JO SOAP BUBBLES. tone whose lightness was evi- dently assumed. ' Louise has grown excessively thin since I last saw her ; she must be better nourished. Under different cir- cumstances I should say : give her chicken broth, eggs, do not let her go out of a moderately warm room, but now ' — ^his eyes rested on a piece of bread which lay on the table, the bread fur- nished by the government, of which a clumsy wit said that it contained every possible in- gredient, among others even grain. ' However,' he added after a pain- ful ])ause, ' there will be time enough to nourish her better after the siege, which cannot last forever. What is immedi- ately necessary is a cup of hot A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. 131 tea, which must be repeated in two hours.' " My wife cast a despairing glance at me, whispering with quivering Hps, ' I have neither wood nor coal in the house.' A deathlike stillness pervaded the room, interrupted only by the gasping breath and an attack of coughing from the child. I can- not describe now what I felt at that moment, I only know that I would infinitely rather have been dead than alive. The doctor was the first to break the silence. He looked very grave as he said : * The hot tea is indispensable ; if you have no wood, no coal — not even any alcohol?' My wife shook her head mournfully. ' Has not some neighbor — ?' (The 132 SOAP BUBBLES. same answer.) 'Well, then you must sacrifice some piece of fur- niture at once, for much depends upon this tea.' " I instantly rushed into the kitchen, which no longer con- tained anything combustible, seized the ax, and was on the point of dealing a blow on the piano, my wife's favorite instru- ment, but the only large article in the room, excent an armoire, which contained little wood. During the last fortnight we had been obliged to use our furniture to supply the fuel for cooking, there was no attempt at heating ! 1 was already lifting the ax, when my wife suddenly uttered a faint cry, seized my arm, and directly after rushed out of the A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. 133 room, exclaiming : * I have some- thing ! ' "Was any neighbor fortunate enough to have some wood ? Did she expect to find a coal dealer's shop open at this hour and procure fuel there ? I was not to remain in uncertainty long. Five minutes after, the door opened and my wife, her face radiant with joy, while tears of gratitude sparkled in her eyes, entered, carrying with both hands — last year's huge Christ- mas tree which, since the festi- val, had remained unnoticed in a corner of the attic. "The whole terrible contrast between the present and the past suddenly rose before me as if sharply illumined by a. flash of 134 SOAP BUBBLES. lightning. There was the slender, beautiful pine, which twelve short months ago, so brief a span of time, a mere moment, looking back upon it, had formed the center of a lovely picture of fam- ily happiness ! It was in that very room, a bright tire was blaz- ing on the hearth, merry children were dancing and bounding around the table, a happy father and mother were smiling at the delight of the little ones ; there was Louise, looking like an angel in her white dress, with a blue ribbon in her fair curls, her arms round, her cheeks plump, her dark eyes sparkling with joy, and^ with her, two little playmates whom she had invited to the fes- tival. They laughed and shouted A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. 135 as if fifty invisible angels were laughing and clapping their hands with the children to fill the room to the utmost with mirth and childish glee. On the table had stood the magnificent Christmas tree, with tiny candles, gilded fruits, and tin soldiers glittering among its green boughs, soldiers in French, English, and Prussian uniforms. We jested and played and made merry until after mid- night, till the children fell asleep from sheer happiness with dolls and soldiers from the Christmas tree clasped in both hands. "Now, here was the same Christ- mas tree, withered, dry and dusty, its needles yellow, many of its boughj broken and drooping, oth- ers, instead of golden apples and 136 SOAP BUBBLES. bonbons, bearing long trailing cob- webs, the room was cold, the fire dead, and Louise lay on her bed, her little arms emaciated, her lit- tle face thin and flushed by- fever, racked by that torturing cough. "Her mother's entrance had at- tracted her attention, and she partially recovered her conscious- ness. Noticing the Christmas tree, she clapped her little hands joyfully. ' Oh, the Christmas tree, the pretty Christmas tree ! ' she exclaimed in a faint voice. Then, in touching words, she begged her manniia to light the pretty candles and hang the gold apples and the soldiers, only no Prussian ones, and to send for Mimi and Lolotte, they had been A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PAH'IS. 137 good, and she, too, would be good in future, very good. " I was on the point of doing a cowardly act ; I longed to go out into the darkness, into the streets, the outposts, in order not to be obliged to witness this sorrowful scene ; I wished that a shell might enter the house and put an end to everything. But, no, shells were not fired on the night when the foe was also celebrating the Christmas festival. I regained my composure with difficulty, and while my wife sat on the edge of the bed, with one arm round the child, softly singing songs, stroking and sooth- ing her, I chopped the Christ- mas tree with trembling hands and lighted a fire. 138 SOAP BUBBLES. "The dry needles crackled and snapped, blazing high aloft, a sweet, heavy aroma of resin per- vaded the room, and the water in the pot began to sing and boil. The doctor had o-one out, mv wife was still whispering loving words and promises to the sick child, and while watching the flames, and preparing the. tea, I thought : ' I thank thee, I thank thee, thou blessed tree, which once made my child happy, and will now make her well ! ' " The Christmas tree did not make Louise well. And since that time I hav^e not needed one — she was my only child." THE STEPMOTHER. AN OPEN LETTER TO FKAU I. H. There are ideas which affect the mind, as the touch of a spider feels on the finger. They a.vaken horror, loathing, lasting discomfort. I fear that the con- ception "stepmother" is one of them. The word is uttered in our presence, and awakes in our souls a series of images, some painful, some repulsive ; on the one hand is the poor motherless child in the care of strangers, 140 SOAP BUBBLES. meanly clad, ill-fed, scolded, beaten, burdened with impossible tasks, who secretly steals out on Winter nights to its mother's grave, and there, with heart-rend- ing sobs, calls to the snow-clad mound the reproachful question why she did not take her child with her, why she had left it alone in the world ; on the other hand is the wicked woman, tooth- less, blear-eyed, with hooked chin and nose, which almost meet, fin- gers as bony as a skeleton's, who is happy only when she has de- vised some new torture, some new humiliation for her foster-child. How have these images entered our sphere of thought ? Perhaps from fairy tales, perhaps from poems and stories, I don't know THE STEPMOTHER. 141 myself. Not from experience, that is certain. Most of us have probably no knowledge of step- mothers, and those with whom we are acquainted do not bear the re- motest resemblance to the idea which dwells in our minds. Yet the contradiction between precon- ceived opinions and the reality does not impress us, and we do not think of correcting the for- mer by the latter. The letter which you, madame, addressed to me a few days ago, for a definite purpose and in which, with noble excitement, you demanded justice for the step- mother, first led me to reflect, and I have now become aware of my prejudices^ my cruel in- justice toward one of the most 142 SOAP BUBBLES. meritorious classes of the human race. You are right, the step- mother is a martyr. She is a sufferer, but no one pities her, a martyr who never receives the re- ward of canonization, a tragic heroine who never finds her poet. She has married a widower and enters her new home, where she meets a beautiful, sorrowful or- phaned child. Her heart is over- flowing with the noblest feelings. She will be a loving mother to the poor orphan, will kiss away the shadow of premature grief from the young brow ! Fate was less kind to her than to her com- panions, who, during the first months after marriage, saw only the bright side of wedded life ; pleasant wedding journeys, inex- THE STEPMOTHER. 143 haustible proofs of tenderness, endless love tokens. She is obliged to learn, with the pleas- ant side of married life, its hard- est duties, for which nature has given to others of her sex long months of preparation ; she has become at the same time wife and mother. But what of that? With the enthusiasm of a 3^oung soul, in whom love for the child and the pleasure of acting a mother's part are a heritage of the female sex, she assumes her sublime task ; she surrounds the child with solicitude and tenderness; she kisses it awake in the morning and sings it to sleep at night ; she talks to it, plays with it, never loses sight of it. Under this warmth of af- fection the child instantly begins 144 SOAP BUBBLES. to flourish, as the earth responds to the heat of the sun. It has the coquettish beauty of a wax- doll, its cheeks grow rosy, its eyes bright, its little arms round and plump, but no love beams in the eyes, the arms do not learn to clasp the neck of the stepmother, and the little mouth does not smile. The stepmother is puzzled, and begins to reflect. Before her mind rises the scene when her husband first brought her to their future home and intro- duced her to the child with the words : " Baby, here is your new mamma ; be good and obedient, and she will love you very, very dearly. There, now, give mamma a pretty kiss ! " She had bent THE STEPMOTHER. 145 over the child, and while press- ing it warmly to her heart a tear fell on its little fair head. The child had stood motionless, with its eyes fixed on its toes; it had submitted to everything, but without a word of affection or even a kiss in response. This had chilled the young mother like an icy breath ; the husband noticed or felt it, and said : " You know how children are ; the poor thing is shy, she is so unaccustomed to see strange faces. But she will soon love you as you deserve." This had satisfied her, and she believed it. But now a year, two years had passed ; the child must hav^e be- come accustomed to the " strang-e face," it must have felt long 146 SOAF BUBBLES. ago that the "new mamma" loved it very, very dearly ! Yet it is as cold, as distant, as re- served, as on the first day. The stepmother looks tenderly at it, it lowers its eyes ; she kisses it, it obediently offers its lips, hut they are motionless ; she speaks pleasantly to it, it maintains a sullen silence The stepmother goes out with the child, every- body turns, admires its beauty, envies the woman who has such a treasure. Alas, this angel has a joyous glance for all except the stepmother, a gay, childlike laugh for every one save her. The beautiful child is only lively in the street, out of the house ; at home it is sulky. Every act of kindness from a stranger is THE STEPMOTHER. 147 eagerly and enthusiastically ac- knowledged, but the loving words of the foster-mother find no echo ; they die away with no more effect than if they had been flung into the sea. The stepmother, with deep sor- row, asks herself the cause of all this, and can find no answer. Poor woman ! Busily, untiringly you weave your web of love around the heart of the child confided to you, and do not know that behind your back an evil Penelo{)e sits, raveling at night what you have done during the day ! First, there are the first wife's relatives ; from devo- tion to the dead they are wicked to the living ; whenever the child visits them it hears itself pitied ; 148 SOAP BUBBLES. it is told of its mamma, not the new one, for she is not its mother, but the old one, how differently she would have loved it, how differently she would have treated it ; it is questioned about the stranger's acts, and whether she treats it kindly. Then there are servants, governesses, foolish strangers, who, partly to win the child's affection, partly from wretched sentimentality, which considers it noble and kindhearted to roll up the eyes and express pity where there is no cause for compassion — sing the same song to the little one from morning till night. It never hears itself called anything but " poor child ! poor orphan ! " It learns that it tells an uutiuth whenever it calls THE STEPMOTHER. 149 its Stepmother " mamma " ; it is taught to play the spy, to sus- pect, to dissimulate ; it is robbed of the frankness and guilelessness of childhood and accustomed to seek beneath its stepmother's words different thoughts, beneath her acts hostile motives. Poor child, in whose mind distrust is roused ere the judgment is formed ! The mother denies it an apple because it has already eaten too many, and it feels sure that it is her malice which prompts her to refuse it the most innocent pleas- ure ; the mother will not permit it to visit a friend because it has taken cold, and the weather is stormy, and it no longer doubts the enmity of this woman, of whom everybody tells it so much 150 SOAP BUBBLES. evil. And now come Christmas gifts of fairy tales, which describe the wicked stepmother whcT thrice poisoned Snow-White, and the other one who killed her stepson and served him to the father on the dinner table, and if the child has previously doubted, it is now confident, for the book, printed, bound, and filled with pictures, cannot deceive ! So it learns to hate at an age when it is our fairest privilege to love, and to doubt at a time whose happiness is implicit faith. Can this criminal poisoning of the child's soul remain without influence upon the stepmother ? I deny it. What can you expect ? Even the noblest woman is mortal, and she has a still keener sensi- THE STEPMOTHER. 151 tiveness to the return, or the fail- ure to return her feelings than the rest o^ us. Categorical necessity was not created for women, it is hard enough for men. To fill a bottomless cask was rightfully con- sidered by the subtle Greek the most terrible punishment which could be devised for women. In the bitter conflict with constant ingratitude, even the strongest sense of duty, the most self-sacri- ficing nobilit3% must finally suc- cumb. We can giv^e love only when, in some degree, we receive love in return. One-sidedness here leads finally to impoverishment, and at last the stepmother really feels for the child indifference, possibly aversion, or even hate. When we have once reached 152 SOAP BUBBLES. this point what a tragic picture unrolls before our eyes ! When the stepmother married she made herself the priestess, who was to erect a new statue in a deserted temple, kindle a fresh flame amid the dead embers of a cold altar ; she set herself the noble task of becoming a mother to the orphan, creating a pleasant home for a lonely man, bringing happiness and joy into a sorrowful family circle. And now, after years of humble, but heroic labor and ex- ertion, amid which the bloom of her life has withered, here is the result ; a cold-hearted child, whose soul is filled with hate and who is unspeakably poor and pitiable be- cause she lacks the treasure of sunny memories of childhood, on THE STEPMOTHER. 153 which we happier mortals can draw during a long life ; a hus- band, whose home is distasteful because he cannot endure the silent, reproach in the sad eyes of his child, and she herself, the wife, tortured by the most painful sting, bitter grief for a marred life, an object of aversion to her husband, her foster-child, the whole careless world ! Who is to blame for such mournful results ? The mother ? The child ? The father ? Neither of the three. It is the fault of the senselessness and malice of prejudiced people. This is the way in which the stepmother's life presented itself to me, and I wish that the whole world could see it with my eyes. Only how' is the evil, when recog- 154 SOAP BUBBLES. nized, to be remedied? You, madame, would fain see the books of fairy tales, with their Snow- Whites and wicked stepmothers abolished, or rather you would like to have these stories omitted from the volume. That would be desirable and useful, but I fear it is impracticable, Man is weak and irrational, and I confess that, notwithstanding its baneful tenden- cies, which I admit, I would not for the world see Snow-White torn from my own childish memories. I am afraid that it will not do to throw - away, for the sake of stepchildren, some of the most precious pearls in the treasury of fairy tales. The wisdom and tact of the father, and the absolute sincerity of the step- mother can do more for the child. THE STEPMOTHER. 155 One thing is especially neces- sary : the woman who resolves to undertake the thankless office of a stepmother must fully realize the magnitude of the task and the measure of strength which she can bring to the fulfillment of her arduous duty. She is to con- quer a child's heart, which is de- fended by a strong garrison of hostile insinuations, and by con- stant watchfulness ffuard it aorainst continual attacks ; she must daily wage a fierce warfare against the stupid, the thoughtless and the wicked people, in which she will continually receive aching wounds ; she must struggle and bleed for years, alone and unaided, but at last victory will l)e hers, for in the battle against evil ami injus- 156 SOAP BUBBLES. tice love always triumphs be- cause it is the strongest of the three. If the future wife feels that her powers will not be equal to this conflict, then let her remain away from the house where children await a foster- mother; she would render it a hell for them and for herself. But if the goal seems to her attainable and the road not too rough, let her confidently take up the cross, for her rew^ard will be rich and enviable. She will work miracles such as can be wrought by love alone. The children will gradually see the living image of the stepmother merge into the fading one of the dead mother, and will no longer be able to separate the THE STEPMOTHER. 157 one from the other. They will always hold the stepmother in grateful remembrance as the an- gel whom God sent to the lan- guishing Ishmael, when poor Hagar could no longer obtain water for her child. Perhaps, in later years, when the second mother has followed the first, foolish people will speak in the customary way of stepmothers, in the presence of the children, whose heads already have the snow of years. Then they will — and, judging from your letter, madame, I think you, too, would do the same — then they will look upward with tearful eyes to the portrait of the dead stepmother, whispering : " Forgive them, for they know not what they do ! " "PAS DE CHANCE!" The dissecting room in the old Hotel Dieu, in Paris, wiiicii was torn down in the year 1877, was a strange and gruesome place. To reach it, one was obliged to go upstairs and down, past the wards occupied hy the sick, through spacious, lofty vestibules, echoing corridors ])aved with tiles, turning now to the right, now to the left, and across cov^ered wooden bridges, spanning the lit- tle arm of the Seine which flowed between the two buildings "PAS DE CHANCE!"' 159 of the hospital, and, after a walk of many minutes, finally descend into the spacious subterranean chambers, which were the most ancient portion of a structure erected many centuries ago, and dating from the early part of the Middle Ages. On reaching the foot of the worn stone steps leading to the dissecting room, one found one's self in a narrow, unpaved outer cellar, lighted by a grated window above, and con- taining at one end a low, rusty iron door as broad as it was high. A person familiar with the place opened this door by turning a rude handle in the center, which moved a heavy, creaking double- bolt inside, and entered a low vaulted chamber about fifteen l6o SOAP BUBBLES. paces long and ten wide, which was very insufficiently lighted by two square grated windows, which pierced the thick wall directly under the vaulted ceiling, and which could be opened only when the Seine was low. The cellars of the Hotel Dieu were below the surface of the river, from which it was separated by its strong walls, overgrown with moss and blackened by age, and when it rose ever so little, one could look from the lower por- tions of the windows of the dis- secting-room several inches into the turbid waves of the river. Usually several gaslights burned here, filling the place with a bright glare, in which human be- ings and all objects assumed un- "PAS DE CHANCE!'' i6l pleasantly sharp outlines and a livid, disagreeable color, while dark shadows, like silhouettes, were thrown upon the floor and walls. But it was a fitting illumination of the place and its contents. The blackish-gray walls were al- ways covered with a clammy moisture, which, on the side fac- ing the river, gathered here and there into thick drops, that slowly, gradually trickled down on the slippery, dirty marble floor, and suggested, even to the observer least susceptible to sentimental fancies, the sorrowful impres- sion of tears, held back by a strong will, yet slowly oozing forth. On the windowless side of the room was a wash basin set in the wall, supplied with a faucet t62 soaf bubbles. and waste j^ipc. Several pieces of soap lay on it, and, upon a nail at the side, hung towels of doul)t- ful cleanliness, and a dilapidated yellow tablet which contained, in faded letters, the rules of the dis- secting room. On the opposite side six tables were ranged in a row, al)ove each of which a gas jet descended from the ceiling ; the first, of the usual shape, held a pair of scales and a number of rusty weights. The brass bal- ances, soiled with horrii)le fat and l)lood stainS; showed the pur})Ose for which they were used— the weighing of diseased portions of the human body. The ft)rm of the other five was peculiar. The top was long, narrow, slightly concave, like a trough *" covered "PAS DE CHANCE!" 163 with tin, a little inclined, wider at the upper end than at the lower, where it was perforated by a hole leading into a metal pipe, which discharged its contents into a tin pail standing under the narrow end of the table. These were the dissecting tables, " Morgagni's tables," as we used to call them in our technical jargon. Upon them, surrounded by knives, scis- sors, chisels and hammers of sin- gular form, lay cold, rigid human forms, in which the disciples of science searched with sacred curi- osity to surprise, in the myste- rious depths of the organs, the secret of life. On the wall at the head of each table hung a little blackboard, on which was fastened a label bearing the name, age, and 164 SOAP BUBBLES. date of death of the body beneath. At the back of the dissecting room was a ghiss door, opening into an adjoining chamber, much smaller and lighted only by a sin- gle window. Two laths, |)ainted black, formed a cross extending from the floor to the ceiling on the side wall, and several roughly- made coflins stood on the floor, which was thickly covered with aromatic pine shavings. This was the death chamber. After dis- section the bodies were brought here, wrapped in a linen sheet supplied l)y the hospital, and laid in the coffin to await burial. If within the next twelve hours rela- tives came to claim the body, it was delivered to them ; if not, it was conveyed the following morn- "PAS DE CHANCE!" 165 ing- in the hearse to the overseer of the poor, and buried in the paupers' ground in the cemetery of Pere la Chaise. The only living creature in these uncanny rooms, durinof the time when no dissections were being made, was a beautiful white cat, which sprang gaily to meet every one who en- tered and, mewing and purring, pressed and twisted around him, and the master of the affectionate creature, a little, thin, one-eyed old man. who coughed continually and had lived here thirty years, yet in the midst of the scene of constant sorrow and destruction, in which he worked, maintained so cheerful a spirit that he was always humming a gay little song while preparing the bodies for dis- 1 66 SOAP BUBBLES. section, or washing, sewing them up, and wrapping them in sheets after it. He assumed a serious, nay, even melancholy mien, only when the relatives of any corpse came to carry away their dead, for during the many years of his sor- rowful occupation, the worthy man had retained sufficient cour- tesy and consideration not to wound the feelings of the mourn- ers by displaying a face of busi- ness-like indifference or of cheer- fulness. Most of the physicians and students who visited the Hotel Dieu were in the habit, at the close cf the morning call, of going down to the dissecting room to see " what there was new.'* In the same way the ha- ''PAS DE CHANCE!" 167 bitue of the theater, after witness- ing the performance, goes on the stage to cast a glance behind the scenes. One morning in May, 1877, following this custom, I entered the subterranean chamber just described. The cat was sit- ting in the corner, washing her fur, old Jean was busy with some empty coffins in the death cham- ber, one of the dissecting tables was emj)t3s while on the other four lay subjects. Around the first body, that of a strong old man, who had died of a brain dis- ease, stood a group of young peo- ple, some with white aprons and blood-stained hands, others with hats on their heads, gloved hands, and cigars in their mouths, eagerly discussing the ravages whicii the 1 68 SOAP BUBBLES. knife had just disclosed, and the phenomena caused during the progress of the iUness. At the second and third tables the work was already done. A hasty glance at the cruelly emaciated bodies and the organs on the table suf- ficed to reveal the cause of death. " Consumption ! " It is so com- mon a disease, the ravages it pro- duces in the organism are so often seen, that people do not linger over it. So I passed on without delay to the fifth table, the last in the row, and perceived that it contained a corpse still undisturbed, the sight of which instantly filled me with sym- pathy. It was the body of a wo- man, very young, and of remark- able beautv, whom death must '•PAS DE CHANCE!"' 169 have snatched away in the midst of health. No long sickness could have preceded it, for the outlines of the form were full, round, almost sensuous ; illness had had no time to caricature the noble lines of the figure by the ugly angles of emaciation. The skin, in spite of the horrible chill which it sent through the whole frame to the heart at the lightest touch of the finger-tips, was as smooth and fine as velvet, and the hue so daz- zlingly white that it had the iri- descent tints of mother-of-pearl. The features of the oval face had assumed, in the last agony, an expression of suffering which death had stereotyped. The lips were slightly parted, revealing teeth which resembled transparent I70 SOAP BUBBLES. white enamel. The dark eyes were wide open, and the dull, glassy pupils gazed at me with the leaden stare of a corpse. The shining black hair was gath- ered at the back of the head into a knot held by several pins, wiiich were half slipping out, and a few waving locks still rested lightly on the smooth brow, as an unsuspecting little child plays happily around its dead mother. The shadows of death shrouding the beautiful form had not wholly effaced the bloom of youth. As it lay in its chaste, pure, classic loveliness, one might believe that he had before him a Greek statue carved from Parian marble. To examine the body on all sides I walked "FAS DE CHANCE!-'' 171 around the table and, in doing so, made a discovery which in- creased the interest ah'eady awak- ened by the mute, rigid form. The right arm of the corpse bore on the upper surface several tat- tooed inscriptions. I read in one line: "Marie Balok," below the date " 1876," and below this, in a third line, tlie words : " Pas de chance!'' (No chance.) ''Pas de chance!''' It seemed as if these words contained the sorrowful index of the hapless human life, which a few hours before had found its pitiful end in a hospital bed. The label at the head of the table informed me that "Marie Balok" had been the name of the body and that she was not more than seventeen. 172 SOAP BUBBLES. Old Jean, in reply to my ques- tions, could tell me that the beau- tiful Marie had been brought to the hospital the night before and had died a few minutes after. She was at a dancing hall in the outer boulevards, and, from jeal- ousy, made a furious scene with a young man ; in the midst of the outburst of her rage she suddenly sank fainting ; when they were unable to revive her by dashing cold water on her and using scent bottles, two of her women friends put her into a carriage and brought her to the hospital, where they gave the physician on duty the explanation Jean repeated. The girl had died without recover- ing her consciousness, and early in the morning she had been "PAS DE CHANCE!" 173 brought down to the dissecting, room. This much the label and old Jean could tell me. But far more than either was revealed by the words tattooed on the girl's arm : ''Pas de chancer' I had before me the title of a biographical romance, and, with little difficulty, read in the dim eyes, on the pale lips and snow-white form of the corpse the romance itself from the first to the last chapter. Marie Balok, her name proved it, was the child of foreigners, who had come to Paris as ten thousand other foreigners do every year to seek a more favorable place for the battle of life. Her father was a workman in Belleville, or on the slopes of Montmartre. Marie 174 SOAP BUBBLES. had grown up in dirt and pov- erty, played during the day in the dust and the gutters of the streets of the suburb, and at night went home to find a crust of bread and a pallet in the corner of the room with her parents. She was ten or eleven years old when the insurrection of the Commune oc- curred. Her father put on the uniform of the insurgents, her mother followed the battalion as a vivandiere or a nurse. Eight or nine weeks passed like a whirl- wind, and ended with her mother's leaning against a wall one beauti- ful May morning and being sliot as a petroleuse. and her father's first being driven to Versailles with blows from the butt ends of muskets, and then sent to New Caledonia. "PAS DE CHANCE!" 175 Marie was left alone in the world, without relatives or ac- quaintances, like a young swallow thrust from the nest, which must perish miserably in the dust unless Heaven works a miracle in its be- half. The beginning of this mir- acle was apparently wrested from iron-hearted fate. Marie neither starved to death in summer, nor froze durinor the following" winter. A family of work people, poor and wretched themselves, received the still j^oorer and more wretched child, and gave it a seat at the scantily spread table and a place on the floor of the bare room. It learned to do something, sew- ing, embroidery, or flower-making, and soon earned so much that it was no longer compelled to ac- 176 SOAP BUBBLES. cept the favors of the kind- hearted neighbors as ahiis. Thus Marie spent several years until she had become a blooming, beau- tiful girl of fifteen. People can- not be beautiful, young, and poor in Paris, unpunished. A tempta- tion sprang from every stone in the pavement, and the finger of evil beckoned to her at every street corner. Soon she no longer went to her work alone, nor returned home without a com- panion. She found it inconven- ient to live with her benefactors, and one day left them to go to a garret room in a shabby house in Montmartre, with a lover in blouse and silk cap. Now, scarcely beyond childhood, she began to lead the life of a soli- "PAS DE CHAhCE!" ijy taiy Parisian working girl. Toil during the day, in the evening a ball, the cancan till midnight, blows from the friend, hunger, rags, misery, singing and merri- ment, and withal, total forgetful- ness of the past and the future. If a friend carried palpable jeal- ousy too far, she dismissed him unceremoniously with a scornful shrug of the shoulders, and sought another, with whom she remained until tiie vague, burning longing for happiness and contentment, which filled her heart, urged her once more into new and un- known paths. It was in the summer of the year 1876 when, one Sunday, she went on an excursion to St. Ger- main with the friend whom she lyS SOAP BUBBLES. was making; happy by her affec- tion. These summer Sunday ex- cursions to the charming places near the city are the object of longing to all Parisian work- women, who go fairly crazy with joy when they have the prospect of skipping about on the grass during a whole warm, sunny day, gathering flowers, catching butter- flies, and singing sentimental songs in the arbor of a country tavern over a bottle of wine. Marie had been gay to the verge of recklessness all day long, had laughed and chattered and sung till she was hoarse and thirsty ; in the evening she found herself, with her friend, in a restaurant of St. Germain ; they were alone in the tavern, and emptied one glass "PAS DE CHANCE!'' 179 after another of the eheap wine of the neighborhood. The friend, who had taken off his eoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves to cool himself, was tattooed on the arm like most Paris workmen. There, in various colors, was a flaming heart, two hearts transfixed by a huge arrow as if on a spit, and several names, dates, and inscrip- tions, such a§ " Ever Thine ! " or " Faithful unto Death ! " Marie saw these signs and figures, and a reckless thought darted through her mind. " Tattoo my arm, too ! " she cried, and the work- man, bursting into a loud laugh, asked what he should tattoo. " First, my name ; so that I can try whether it hurts." No sooner said than done. l8o SOAP BUBBLES. Some indigo was quickly ob- tained, Marie had a needle, and the workman went to work at once. At every prick Marie ut- tered a faint cry and shrank away a little, but in the pauses she laughed and drank, and the work- man did not stop until in large, distinct letters appeared the name: "Marie Balok." "Shall I tattoo anything else?" "Yes, the date." Five minutes after the date, " 1876," was inscribed beneath the name. While the workman was rubbing indigo into the little wounds, from each of which a tiny drop of blood was oozing, the landlord brought in a fresh bottle of wine, and Marie soothed the slight pain of ihe operation "PAS DE CHANCE!'' i8i with another drink. The man eyed his work approvingly, and then asked : "Are you satisfied?" "Yes, my dear fellow." " Don't you want to add some- thing to it ? A name and a date — that's silly. We'll make it more amusing. Shall I draw an em- blem ? " " No." " Or a motto?" " Stop, you're right. A motto — that's it. But what shall it be ? Let me think." The workman proposed some of the usual amorous phrases, but Marie would not accept them. The usual relapse had followed the exuberant mirthfulness of the day, 9nd she now sank into a melan. l82 SOAP BUBBLES. choly reverie. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she looked back upon her past and found it miserable beyond measure. A wicked fairy seemed to have sat beside her cradle. Every phase of her existence appeared to be under the influence of a curse. Born in poverty, orphaned, grow- ing up in penury, living in shame, vegetating without a future, with- out a purpose, without pleasure, — this was her past, her present, her future destiny, and her eyes invol- untarily filled with tears, as she ex- amined this dark, hideous picture, destitute of light and beauty. And when iier friend roused her from her sorrowful reverie with the exclamation: "Then find a motto yourself, if you don't like ''PAS DE CHANCE!" 183 mine!" She condensed the sub- stance of her Hfe, as it presented itself to her mental vision, into a phrase which, in this application, lost its triviality, and charged itself with profound desolation as if with electricity, as with a sorrow- ful smile she said to the work- man : " Tattoo Pas de chance ! That is the real motto of my life." No chance ! It was not only the motto of her life, it was also a prophecy. Poor Marie was to have no happiness to the end. Barely seventeen, in the dawn of her young life, only a few months after she had had the sorrowful, resigned motto inscribed upon her arm, she died in a hospital bed. This was the story of beautiful Marie, as, standing beside her life- 1 84 so A P B UBBLES. less body, I imagined it. Was it really her history ? I cannot war- rant it, but it is probable. But it is certain that the lovely young girl lay dead before me on the table, and that on the pearly skin of her plump, nobly-moulded arm, as if written in blue, phosphores- cent characters by the finger of a malicious demon, were the words : ^''Pas de chance I " The dissection showed that Marie had suffered from a defect in the valvular action of the heart. This explained her sudden death in a moment of passionate excitement. I waited until all was over, the other physicians had left the room, and old Jean came forward with his big needle and coarse woolen thread to at- " PAS DE CHANCE ! " 185 tend to the body. Now I closed the beautiful Marie's open eyes, still staring: at me with a stranije, vacant glance, and slowly with- drew. As I closed the heavy iron door of the dissecting room be- hind me, it seemed as if, from the last table at the end of the hall, a faint, ghostly voice whispered in my ears: ''Pas de chanced m^s ^ HOW THE FOX HUNTER FARED IN ENGLAND. Baron K. is one of the pleas- antest young fellows I ever met. In fact, he possesses the rarest combination of all the qualities which cannot fail to make a man the favorite of every circle. He captivates women by his twenty- five years, a handsome, slender figure, expressive dark eyes, and a coquettish little moustache ; men he wins by the chivalrous frankness of liis nature, and his heartfelt and therefore contagious FOX HUNTER IN E.\ GLAND. 187 cheerfulness. He speaks several languages with great fluency, is an admirable conversationalist, who would appear to advantage in any Parisian drawing-room ; he dances admirably, sings well in a fine baritone voice, plays excel- lently on the piano, and does not easily find a rival as a horseman, fencer or shot. Aristocratic l)irth and a fortune which, according to Continental ideas, is considerable, placed him from early youth in a position which enabled him to develop his social talents and put his light into a suitable candle- stick. I made his acquaintance in London, in the spring of the year 1874. He had apparently given himself up completely to i88 SOJP BUBBLES. the swelling flood-tide of the "season," and let it bear him un- resistingly away. His days and nights were spent at the clubs, in Hyde Park, at dinners, theaters, and evening parties. He was rarely in any costume except a dress suit and a white cravat, and if any one wished to be sure of finding him in his elegant lodg- ings in Bruton street, he was obliged to go there between five and eleven o'clock in the morning and feel no hesitation about rous- ing him from his sleep. An in- troduction from his ambassador, Count B., secured him admittance to the best circles, and there were few of the most prominent fami- lies where he could not be found at least once a fortnight, singing FOX HUNTER I.V ENGLAND . 189 Hungarian folk songs, playing the czardas, and awakening uni- versal enthusiasm. The " nice Huno^arian " often formed the subject of very animated conver- sations between young and older ladies, and once, when contrary to English custom, he appeared in the drawing-room of Alderman Sir Frederick Fr. in the rich, orold-embroidered uniform of a Honved Hussar lieutenant, he created the greatest sensation, and even a young Tamil prince who was present, attired in a gay silk caftan, with a girdle of gold brocade and a cachemire shawl turban, in which blazed a mag- nificent ruby, could not divert the attention of the company from our baron Thuuirh the favorite J90 SOAP BUBBLES, of SO many circles, received everywhere with open arms, and loaded with half a dozen ■ invi- tations for every evening, Baron K. showed a very marked pref- eience for the home of Mr. George F. The master of the house, a member of Parliament for one of the central counties of England, is one of the most eminent sportsmen in the countrj^ ; he has broken all his limbs, and once very nearly his neck, in fox-hu/?v- ing, won the Queen's cup at Wimbledon, was one of the champions of his county versus the neighboring one, at cricket, fifteen years ago, and if he did not conquer, it was onl)^ because he had the misfortune of being FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 191 pitted against the champion of the United Kingdom ; but to succumb with honor to such an antacronist is more g-lorious than to conquer a Mr. Nobody. Mr. F.'s library contains all the num- bers of the Field bound in handsome volumes ; he has a copy of the first edition of Isaak Walton's superb book on angling, obtained at an auction of Christfe, Mason & Co.'s for 115 guineas, and in his private reception room, besides a fine collection of dog and horse whips and pretty models of saddles of every form, the eyes are specially attracted by a large number of fox brushes tastefully arranged, the most pre- cious trophies of as many hunt- mg seasons, in wliich he took 192 SOAP BUBBLES. part as one of the most esteemed sportsmen. It is apparent that Mr. George F. is a sufficiently interesting per- son for it to be perfectly natural that Baron K. should prefer him to many others, but I do not be- lieve that it was the master of the house who attracted our friend so often to the elegant residence on Albion street. Mr. F. has a daughter, a charming creature of nineteen, slender and pliant as a reed, with the roseate complexion which Nature bestows on English women in their cradles as an enviable gift and a national inheritance, and sparkling blue eyes, into which one cannot look without instantly feeling the most intense poetic sentiments. FOX HUNTER JN ENGLAND. 193 There are satisfactory reasons for the assertion that Miss Bridget, not her papa, was the great mag- net of the F. household for our friend. The relation between Baron K. and the F. family soon became one of great intimacy. The young Hungarian and the beautiful Bridget F. rode together alone in Hyde Park ; in Drury Lane, and at Her Majesty's The- ater they were always in the same box, in ofoinir to Ascot Baron K. did not fail to accompany the F. family ; in short, no one could doubt that their intercourse meant something more than the mere acquaintanceship of fashionable so- ciety. In fact. Baron K. had already made Bridget a formal declaration of love; she had asked 194 SOAP BUBBLES. him. in the usual wnv, to speak to mamina, at tlie same time as- suring; him, with a lovely blush, that she would not fail to sup- port his wishes, and papa had alreadv taken one step : he had closely questioned certain persons, to whom Baron K. introduced him, about his famil)- and his position at home. Fortune played no part in the affair, for Miss Bridget, accordinc; to the state- ments of well-informed jieojile, was "worth 18,000 a year" — ten times as much as the baron pos- sessed. The ha{)pv suitor now withdrew more and more from general so- ciety, in order to devote himself exclusively to Bridget, he could already venture to say his Bridget. FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 195 He spent all his evenings with her, and went to entertainments only when he knew that she would be present also. One evening, as had so often happened of late, he was taking tea with the F, family. No one was in the drawing-room except the father, mother, and daughter, and our friend. The conversation turned upon sporting matters, and Mr. F. asked if there was any fox- hunting in Hungary. " I should think so ! " exclaimed Baron K. eagerly. " Foxes are as numerous in some parts' of our country as hares are here ! I my- self shot five specimens of Mr. Charley in a single day." "What?" cried Mr. and Mrs. F. in the same breath, the former 1^6 SOAP BUBBLES. Starting from his rocking chair, the hitter dropping her tea-cup, while Bridget could not repress a low cry of terror. Baron K. was silenced by be- wilderment, and a brief, painful pause followed. He could not imagine what there had been in his words to produce so startling an effect upon his hearers, and hit upon the luckless idea that they perhaps suspected him of ex- ag^g^eration. So, after a few min- utes, he added somewhat timidly : "You may believe me, T have shot five foxes in a day and, in a battue, even more ! " "Oh!" said Mr. F., and made no farther comment. Bridget cast imploring glances at the speaker, which caused him stdl greater FOX HUNTER lAT ENGLAND. 197 embarrassment, because he did not understand in the least, and Mrs. F. rang for the servant to remove the fragments of the cup. Poor Baron K. did not know what to think. He ventured to ask Mrs. F. what had startled her so, but received only the reply, accompanied by an icy orlance. " Oli, nothing^, a little nervousness, but it's over now." Mr. F. suddenly remembered that he must read the long parlia- mentary report which had been sent to him that day, and even Bridget remarked that she had a headache. It was impossible not to understand. So Baron K. bade them good evening, and retired, but was not a little per- plexed when he saw that Mr. 198 ^OAP BUBBLES. F. did not shake hands with him, and the lady of the house did not, as usual, invite him to come again soon. The young man set out on his walk home with a heavy heart and a whirling" brain. He was in no mood to seek other society, though it was only eleven o'clock. So he strolled about the park for an hour, pon- dering with the utmost earnest- ness, with all his penetration, over the incidents of the evening, yet without being able to obtain the least clue to the mystery. It was barely midnigiit wiien he sought his couch, but he tossed about in his spacious bed, which was almost as large as a bedroom of moderate size on the Con- FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 199 tincnt, until morning dawned, without finding sleep. The next day he reached a decision. He would go to Mr. F. and ask openly, frankly, and without circumlocution, for an explanation of the scene of the prev'ious evening. He waited in feverish impatience until one o'clock, and the hour had scarcely struck when, though not without hesitation, he let the "knocker" fall on the metal plate of the well-known door in Albion street. The footman opened it. His face wore a pe- culiar expression as he said that — no one was at home. " Not Mrs. F.?" "No one." "Nor Miss F.?" "No one, sir. I've already said so twice." "And 200 SOAP BUBBLES. when will they return?" "Oh, that's hard to tell Not to-day, nor to-morrow. Who knows." Baron K. cast a contemptuous glance at the lackey, and went away. But he could not help feeling the bang with which the footman closed the door as an in- sult. What was to be done now? He must have a clear understand- ing at any cost Entering a sta- tioner's shop at the corner of Oxford street and Park lane, he wrote a few hasty lines to Mr. F. The London mail is prompt and punctual. An hour and a lialf after, the postman's familiar dou- ble knock echoed on Baron K.'s door ; the housekeeper brought in a letter^ which he snatched from her hand in the utmost excite- FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 20 1 ment, only to drop it the next moment, fairly stupefied. It was his own note, on whose back Mr. F. himself had written : " Not ac- cepted. Return to Baron K." An hour after the poor young fellow was seated in the elegant reading room of the Army and Navy Club, into which a friend had introduced him as a guest for several weeks ; he held in his hand the last number of the Echo, but, instead of reading, he was gazing into vacancy. His frank countenance showed mental agita- tion which even a dull eye could not fail to notice. At this hour he was almost alone in the spa- cious apartments of the aristo- cratic club, and, consequently, al- most unobserved. But he did 202 SOAP BUBBLES. not remain solitary long. One of his most intimate friends, Captain W., entered, looked around in seareh of acquaintances, and as soon as he saw Baron K. came up to him, shook hands, and ex- claimed loudly : " What brings you here at so unusual an hour, old fellow?" But, glancing keenly at him, he instantly added in an altered tone: "How you look ! Are you ill ? Is anything wrong ? " The other burst into a peal of angry laughter as he replied : "Not ill, but crazy. If, perhaps, I am not already, I soon shall be ! But Heaven sends you to me ; j)erhaps you can give me some explanation. Listen. Yes- terday evening I was at Mr, F.'s." FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 203 " I know," interrupted the cap- tain, with a significant smile. "Well, I was at Mr. F.'s. We were talking together in the pleasantest manner about various matters ; I told him that, in Hun- gary, I had shot five foxes and even more in a single day — " " What ? " exclaimed the cap- tain, sharply. "You mean killed!" "Why yes, killed, shot dead." " Oh ! I see," answered the cap- tain, in a voice whose chill fairly froze the marrow in K.'s bones, and, without another syllable, he turned on his heel, went to the next table, took up a magazine, and walked slowly to an arm- chair. K. looked after him a mo- ment with dilated eyes and open 204 SOAP BUBBLES. mouth, then, reaching his side at a single bound, he grasped his shoulder with a trembling hand and fairly roared into, his ears : " You too ! This is an actual conspiracy ! But you must give me an explanation, you shall not escape." The captain looked at the ex- cited young man before him with the cold apathy of the English- man, shrugged his shoulders, and answered very calmly : " I don't wish to have anything to do with you, sir." The two or three men who were in the room began to turn their heads toward the pair and, wdien K. continued to demand explanations from Captain W. in vehement tones, the latter quietly FOX HUNTER W ENGLAND. 205 left the apartment, while the poor baron remained a prey to the most conflicting emotions. He let himself drop into an armchair, buried his face in his hands, and thought of nothing at all. But he was not to retain this position long undisturbed. Scarcely ten minutes had passed ere a servant entered, stopped before K., and, with a courteous bow, offered him a note on a silv^er tray. Baron K. opened it ; it con- tained only the following words, very hurriedly w^ritten : " Upon an oral report made by Captain W., the secretary of the Army and Navy Club begs to inform Baron K. that he shall not be considered any longer the guest of our club." 2o6 SOAP BUBBLES. Baron K. did not utter a word, but convulsively crushed the note, thrust it into his pocket and left the room. He went directly to the em- bassy, where he found a young friend, whom he entreated to aid him in an affair of honor. But the other, shrugging his shoulders, said that he could not serve if the person to be challenged was an Englishman. Besides, he must be on his guard, for the author- ities here understood i o jesting in these matters. Baron K. went out with his wratli unappeased ; he had only one thought — vengeance. Cap- tain W. was an officer and a meml)er of the Horse Guards, he could not avoid giving him satis- FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 207 faction. Without troublinof him- self any farther al)out seconds, he went home and wrote a letter, in which he challenged him to meet him with arms in his hands un- less he desired to he declared a miserable coward and chastised in the public streets. The letter was posted, and Baron K, felt some- what calmer. He spent this evening at home, for he had a secret hope that Captain W. would answer at once. But half- past nine o'clock came, the last double knocks echoed and died away in the street, but this time none sounded at his door. The next morning also the expected reply did not arrive, but, late in the afternoon, he received an official document, summoning him 2o8 SOAP BUBBLES. to appear the next morning at eleven o'clock before the West- minster Police Court, on pain of legal penalties, etc., etc. Baron K. went from one state of astonishment to another ; he no lonofer knew what to think of himself, the English, the world, and began to feel really ill. Under such circumstances the hours passed slowly enough, he naturally felt no inclination for society, and it seemed as if, in the last two days, he had lived ten years, when, punctually at eleven o'clock the next morn- ing, he appeared before the alder- man who acted as judge in the Westminster Police Court. He had not long to wait. First a cabman was condemned to pay FOX HUXTER IN ENGLAND. 209 four shillings and sixpence he- cause he had charged a passen- ger three pence too much, then Baron K. heard liis own name called. Advancing to the judge, he asked what was wanted. The judge showed him the letter which he had written to Captain W, and asked if he knew the epistle. K assented. Did he acknowledge that he was its au- thor? Another affirmative answer. Was it a jest, or had he been serious in the challenge and threats which the letter con- tained ? Very serious, K. an- swered. The judge then raised his voice, saying impressively : " I ought to condemn you, for disturbance of the peace and dan- 2IO SOAP BUBBLES. gerous threats, to three months imprisonment with hard labor, but in consideration of the fact that you are a young, ignorant, foolish foreigner, unfamiliar with the laws of the country, you need only pay a fine of fifty pounds sterling. You must, however, find two per- sons who will give bail that you will keep the peace for six months, and you must also keep in mind that if you utter even the slightest threat you will be sen- tenced to hard labor ! " A few days after the incidents related, I chanced to meet Baron K. in the Zoological Gardens, where, with a friend — an author who had traveled extensively and possessed much experience of the world — I was inspecting some ani- FOX HUNTER IN ENGLAND. 2\-\ mals which had just arrived. I thought that K. was greatly al- tered and told him so. He laughed bitterly, and answered : ' Pray don't ask me to tell you the reason, otherwise the same thing might happen which has already befallen me twice." But as I urged him, he at last resolved to gratify my wishes. When I had heard the story as I have just related it, I stood still and stared at him in astonish- ment, as much bewildered as Baron K. himself. The Eng^Hsh author who was in our company smiled in amusement and, after looking at the luckless young fel- low a while, he said : "Then you do not know that to shoot a fox, or to kill it in 212 SOAP BUBBLES. any way except with a pack of hounds, horses, etc., is a far baser crime, in the eyes of the majority of my countrymen, than to steal a purse ? You do not know that there is scarcely a gentleman in England who would give his hand to a man who had killed a fox with a bullet ? " We certainly had not known it, but it was true. Baron K. was now a wiser, but a sadder man. He left England soon after, and I shall not be surprised to hear that he does not express the kindest opinions of the island kingdom and its inhabitants. WITHIN AN INCH OF ETERNITY. The windows of the restaurant were open, and the cool, fragrant air of the spring night was strug- gling with the smoke-laden at- mosphere of the room. A glance out of doors showed the azure sky and the brilliant full moon, whose glimmermg bluish rays shone through the young leafage of the blossoming trees, which swayed gently to and fro before the windows in the light breeze. But nothing was more remote 214 SOAP BUBBLES. from the minds of our circle, which met every evening at a certain table for social intercourse, than poetical ideas. The club, of which I was one, consisted prin- cipally of worthy citizens, who had a far greater liking for bright gaslight than for dim moonlight, and who appreciated the charms of a good supper much more than the spell of the loveliest spring night. The topic of our conversation was prosaic town gossip, which, as usual, gradually merged into foolish talk about politics or discussions concerning the Government, the theater, high taxes, and similar subjects. By a connection of ideas which I do not now recall, the question had arisen whether it was credible WITHIN AN INCH 01 ETERNITY. 215 that a persons hair could sud- denly turn gray from violent mental excitement. Part of the company received the anecdotes current about such cases with slight doubts, while others most pitilessly derided persons who were simple enough to believe such nursery tales. Just as the conversation became most animated, a man of unusual height and herculean frame, whom he had not previously noticed, rose from a side table and ap- proached us. His intelligent feat- ures, which bore the stamp of resolution, seemed spiritualized by the large, kindly blue eyes. But the most striking peculiarity in his appearance was the snow white hair and the gray beard framing 2i6 SOAP BUBBLES. his face, which, at the utmost, in- dicated an age of only thirty- fiv^e years. " Pardon me if I enter into your conversation," he said, bow- ing courteously. " You are speak- ing of a subject which greatly interests me. I myself am a liv- ing proof that terrible mental agi- tation really does exert the physi- cal influence which you all doubt." His words awakened the utmost interest. We made room for him at our table, and, after he had taken his seat, unanimously urged him to tell us what had caused the whiteness of his hair. The stranger feigned no undue modesty, but yielded to our en- treaties and related the following story ; WI THIN A N INCH OF E TERNl TV. 217 "If you have ever paid any attention to American affairs, the name of Auburn cannot be un- familiar ; it has about the same significance in the United States as Spielberg has in Austria. You must not imagine Auburn as an immense gloomy prison, a single large building, but rather a whole colony of criminals, a metropolis of the miserable outcasts of society. Inclosed by enormous walls, which rise menacingly to a considerable height above the plain, are a great number of sin- gle structures, houses which con- tain the cells of the prisoners, the residences of the wardens, bar- racks, hospitals, and workshops, all desolate and dreary, with here and there a bit of turf, a row of 2i8 so A I' BUBBLES. trees, a bed of flowers, like an innocent memory of childhood among the evil thoughts of a criminal. " Circumstances which I will not 'weary you by recounting had led me, after completing my edu- cation in my native city, Ham- burg, to America, and after a brief time in New York I found myself prison surgeon in Auburn, which, as perhaps you know, is in the State of New York. " I had charge of a part of the prison which contained the worst criminals, men, or, rather, human hyenas, to whom blood had ceased to be a very special liquid, as Mephistopheles terms it. Two, who were condemned to lifelong imprisonment in the institution, ^F/ THIN A N INCH OF E TERN IT Y. 219 and were distinguished among the others by great bodily strength, craftiness, and intelligence, had, in consequence of repeated l)old and cunning attempts to escape, been placed under more rigid oversight than the rest. I had incurred their special hate because I had once caused the discov^ery of sev- eral iron tools, which — heaven knows how obtained — they had concealed under their clothing, and on another occasion discov- ered that they were shamming when, on the plea of illness, they desired to be placed in the hos- pital, probably because they hoped to find the conditions there more favorable for their plans of escape. The scoundrels ^\'ere separated and heavily chained, but nevertheless 2 20 SOAP BUBBLES. one morning one and, a few days later, the other vanished, chains and all, without leaving a trace. About a fortnight afterward I went to Cayuga Bridge on some private business. " It was noon when I reached the end of my ride, and I gazed with delight at the sunlit land- scape before my eyes. Cayuga Lake, one of those which, with Lake Erie, form the network of inland lakes, lay before me in its peculiar loveliness. Be- tween rugged, rocky shores, con- fronting each other like sullen foes, the long, narrow sheet of silver extended its clear surface as if striving to reconcile the two enemies who had stared defiantly at each other for centuries. Across WITH I A' AN INCH OF E TERNITY. 2 2 I the lake, which is about forty miles long, and, at this point, a mile wide, the railway trains run on an immense wooden bridge, a marvel of American enterprise, which has a station at Cayuga Bridge, an insignificant village. "My business was soon com- pleted, and toward evening I set out on my way home. Are you familiar with the pleasure of a ride on a summer evening? Cayuga Bridge is surrounded by extensive oak forests, through which I had to ride a considerable distance. The huge, lofty trunks cast long shadows, and the tops rustled so softly that one rather felt than heard them. As I passed beneath these woodland giants, sweet 2 22 SOAP BUBBLES. memories of my far-off home stole into my heart. Absorbed in thought, I loosened the bridle of my horse, which trotted slowly for- ward. I admired the bewitching blending of colors produced by the rays of the setting sun, as they shone through the dense, dark green foliage and seemed to kindle the edges of the leaves. Suddenly I was roused from my dreams by a rustling in the un- derbrush on both sides of the road. I seized my pistol and turned quickly, but at the same moment received a terrible blow, which deprived me of my senses. True, I opened my eyes once more and fancied I saw indis- tinctly, as if in a dream, one of the escaped criminals bending WI THIN A N INCH OF E TERNIT K. 2 2 3 over me, then darkness shrouded my mind. " It must have been late at night when consciousness returned. I opened my eyes and saw above me in the deep blue sky a radiant full moon. A dull, heavy sensa- tion in the back of my head made me try to put my hand on the aching spot, but I discovered that I was bound hand and foot. Gradually I collected my thoughts, remembered the attack by high- waymen, and a terrible forebod- ing, which made my heart stop beating, darted through my brain. I felt that I was laid across two sharp parallel projections, which pressed against me most painfully and, listening intently, I heard, far below me, a faint splashing noise. 224 SOAF BUBBLES. There was no doubt — I was lying across the rails of the Cayuga Bridge, bound, unable to move, with the terribly certain prospect of being cut into three pieces by the next train. " I almost lost consciousness again. But I soon recovered my composure. Then I tugged des- perately at my bonds till they almost cut my muscles, shrieked, and at last wept like a child. I tried to roll myself into a differ- ent position, and remembered that an incautious movement would hurl me into the silent waves of the Cayuga — bound hand and foot, motionless as a stone. " I shuddered and lay still. But not long. The light of the large, to me, fearfully brilliant moon. WITHIiVA.y INCH OF ETERNITY. 225 the plashing of the water below, the wind blowing softly, then the deathlike silence again, rarely in- terrupted even by the distant note of a bird — all became un- endurable and inspired me with unspeakable terror. And the rails ! The rails ! My senses tort- ured me. I could not escape them. The wooden beams of the bridge trembled almost imper- ceptibly from the washing of the water. I imagined I felt the ap- proach of the train and my hair bristled ; the wind sighed a little louder, I fancied I heard the dull panting of the engine and my heart stood still, only to throb the next instant with such dread- ful speed that the pulsations were almost audible. 2 26 SOAP BUBBLES. *' There are some things, gen- tlemen, which are totally incom- prehensible to me ; one of them is how I survived that night. One thought stood distinctly before my mind. I must endeavor to work myself into another position — if possible, get into the space be- tween the rails — if I was not, per- haps the next moment, to become the victim of the most agonizing death. "And I succeeded! I strained every muscle, every sinew to the point of breaking. I writhed, I twisted, I panted, my head seemed bursting, and, after tremendous exertion, which appeared to me to last an eternity, though perhaps it was only moments, I found myself in the hollow between the rails. WITHIN A N INCH OF E TERNITY. 227 " Was I safe ? I had not time to consider or rejoice in my new hope, for all my vital powers were concentrated in the single sense of hearing. In the far distance I distinguished, at first vaguely, then more and more dis- tinctly, the regular, monotonous, dull noise which is produced by the engine of a moving locomo- tive. The awful silence of the night merged minute by minute into the still more awful, confused jarring sounds, the rattling and groaning, rumbling and panting of a locomotive, which was rush- ing forward at the mad speed of American trains. A thousand feet more, five hundred — all the ter- rors of the infernal regions as- sailed me, but not a muscle 2^8 SOAF BUBBLES. moved ; I lay as if turned to stone. I tried to shriek, but did not even hear my own voice; how should it reach those on the train ? " Now, for an infinitely brief space of time, I fancied that I saw a bright light, a blast of hot air fanned me, then suddenly darkness shrouded me, 1 heard a thundering roar as though the very heavens were falling. " Close, very close, barely an inch above, the monster dashed over me — I was safe. Still half unconscious, I heard a deafening rumbling and clattering, and saw shadowy masses flit by ; there was another moment of mortal dread — the hook of a chain which hung lower than the rest caught WITHIN AN INCH OF ETERNITY. 229 me, dragged me along a few feet and finally tore a large piece from the breast of my coat, releasing me — then every object danced around me, the moon, the bridge, and the high bank whirled in a giddy maze above and below me, and my senses failed. " When I regained my con- sciousness I found myself in my bed, with familiar faces around me. To make the story short, I had been picked up the morning after that terrible night by a sig- nal man, recognized, and taken to Auburn. A violent fever kept me for a fortnight within the shadow of death, but my strong constitution conquered. When, after my recovery, I looked in the glass for the first time, I saw 230 SOAP BUBBLES. what traces those moments had left upon me." The physician paused. His pal- lid face, the expression of horror in his eyes, the perspiration which stood in large drops upon his brow, showed how vivid must be his remembrances of the scene, and how greatly the narration had exhausted him. Gradually the breathless anxiety with which we had listened to the story related with such graphic power passed away, and cheerful- ness returned. Then we paced to and fro for a long time in the moonlight, in the garden behind the tavern, listening to the doctor's talcs of less harrow- ing experiences in the young land of liberty, wonders, and adventure. ^ flrrs''^^; ^^ «raB LIBRART -^ 4 EHIVERSITY OF CAUTORNa 3 1158 00656 5831 REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIUTY AA 000 943 190 9 Univers Sout] Lib]