At the Ghost Hour Part 1

At the Ghost Hour.

by Paul Heyse.

THE HOUSE OF THE UNBELIEVING THOMAS

In a provincial town of northern Germany there is a street in which the ancient, high-gabled houses bear, inscribed in Gothic letters, upon the lintels of their doors or upon little sandstone tablets, such honorable or fanciful names as "The Good Shepherd," "Noah's Dove," "The Palms of Peace," "The Rose of Sharon," and underneath, the date of their erection.

In former days this street had been one of the main arteries of the city, whose staid, orthodox inhabitants coveted inward spiritual illumination rather than the light and air which penetrate from without. Since then new generations had arisen, fired with the spirit of aggressive enlightenment, and the importance of these old families, content with the stray sunbeams that made their way over the tall roofs, had declined perceptibly. One by one, they had died off behind their "Palms of Peace" and their "Roses of Sharon," and had made way for the bustling children of the new era, whose light and cheerful dwellings sprang up around the dingy old street.

From one of the houses, which had grown almost black under the storms of three centuries, the street had received its name. Upon a block of stone above the wide entrance there were cut, in letters so weather-worn as to be scarcely legible, these words: "The Unbelieving Thomas, 1534." From this, the street had been christened Thomas Lane--a t.i.tle which it still bears, though, only in official doc.u.ments and on the map of the city. In common parlance it had been known for more than fifty years as "Ghosts' Lane"--again because of that same ancient building which was responsible for its correct name. For every one knew that the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas" was haunted; and even the most cold-blooded free-thinkers of the town could not escape a slight shiver when business forced them to tread the neglected pavement of this street.

Why this old three-storied structure, so firm despite its great age, had been inhabited all these years only by poor unabsolved souls, no one could tell. With one man who had had the hardihood to purchase the house, things had turned out badly enough. A Jew, to whom the great, empty rooms seemed suitable for a warehouse, had been established there less than two years, when one morning he was found with a bit of silk stuff twisted about his neck, hanging from the crosspiece of a window in the largest room. And it subsequently became evident that Fortune had turned her back upon this man, once prosperous and well-to-do, and there was nothing for him but to steal out of the world and leave his acc.u.mulation of debts behind him.

Nothing save the house itself and its dusty furnishings remained to the creditors; and as no purchaser appeared, they were forced to vent their chagrin in fierce glances at the gray, weather-beaten sign over the door, upon which, in huge black lettering, was the name of the firm: "Commission and Dispatch House of Moritz Feigenbaum."

Now, although the whole house was so securely bolted and barred that it would have been impossible for a thief to carry anything out of it, the court deemed it necessary to provide for some oversight of the place, so that no lovers of darkness, counterfeiters or bands of dynamiters should take refuge there. Fortunately, there happened to be a poor cobbler, whose little house had been destroyed by a flood, and who declared himself willing to undertake the duties of janitor. This valiant person--Wenzel Kospoth by name, an emigrant from Bohemia--took possession of the porter's room by the entrance without further delay, regarding this free shelter as a sufficient recompense for his services, which were simple enough. He had to open the great, black, outer door each morning, and to close it again at night; and now and then he took a survey of the three stories to see that no bulging wall threatened the downfall of the whole. The entire day he was free to devote to his small custom, which remained true to him, even in the haunted house; although certain anxious good wives had scruples about venturing across the threshold to get a pair of defective boots mended in this unwholesome atmosphere.

For, in fact, honest Wenzel Kospoth, with his bony, grizzled face and small, black eyes, deep-set under their bushy brows, did not seem quite canny to his new neighbors, hardened though they were to the traditions of the street.

As he took but little sleep, they could often see him, through the window of the ground floor, squatted on his low stool, his lank arms, in their shirt-sleeves, braced upon his knees, and lying open on his leather ap.r.o.n a large, old-time book, in which he would read industriously until long after midnight, by the light of his little lamp. It was only an old Bohemian Bible, which he could now understand with difficulty, for he had crossed the German border when only a lad.

Those who spied upon him, however, regarded the copper-bound volume as a book of magic, and believed nothing less than that this singular stranger with the foreign name had taken the post of janitor in the haunted house that he might conduct there, undisturbed, his magical intercourse with evil spirits.

Wenzel Kospoth, when told of this report, laughed in his gray beard, and muttered something in Bohemian, which might have meant either yes or no. In his inmost soul he had a contempt for the stupid Germans, and fancied that this very Bible reading made him greatly their superior; so that, far from dispelling their superst.i.tions, he seized upon an accidental opportunity to strengthen them.

An old acquaintance of his whom he had met in his Sunday walks to a neighboring village had come to want through no fault of her own. She was a little woman of about forty, who, though brought up in town, had, when quite young, married a peasant's son--a drunkard, as it proved. He had squandered all her small savings, and dying suddenly, had left her with a six-year-old child. As she was clever at sewing, the young widow earned many a pretty groschen as village tailoress. But, unfortunately, her good heart led her to apply her skill not only to the needs of the outer, but to those of the inner man as well, and to dispose of her little store of recipes for all possible ailments in return for a trifling compensation. In this way she soon gained considerable patronage and, at the same time, with several of the more narrow-minded villagers, the reputation of being mistress of the black art. And when her little daughter had blossomed into a trim young maiden, with sparkling black eyes and waving yellow braids, who turned the heads of the village lads as she walked with her mother to church, on Sundays and feast days, the two came to be looked upon as a pair of unmistakable witches by the spiteful old women of the village, and by the younger ones whose sweethearts had become a trifle less devoted.

The two innocent souls endured all this patiently until one day an influential peasant in whose stalls several cows had suddenly died, at the instigation of his wicked wife, burst into Frau Cordula's house, and hurling a volley of reproaches upon her as the author of his misfortune, delivered her such a heavy blow with his fist that from that day she was a cripple and could only move about with difficulty upon tottering feet.

The base miscreant departed triumphant; but his deed was the beginning of a series of tribulations--the fruit of woman's hate and envy--until the poor woman realized that she must seek safety behind the walls of a town if she would not endanger her own life and that of her child among these superst.i.tious people.

She had only one acquaintance in the town, Wenzel Kospoth; and to him she sent letter asking whether he knew of some small lodging where she and her daughter could find a refuge and earn their bite of bread hidden from curious eyes.

Now, behind the haunted house was a gloomy little court in which stood a low stable, unused since the horses of Moritz Feigenbaum were sold.

Above the stable the coachman and errand boy had lived in two large, low rooms, with a windowless loft adjoining, where hay and oats had been stored. A coach-house shut in the remainder of the court, in the centre of which a chestnut-tree, long dead, lifted its dark, leafless branches, where a flock of tumultuous sparrows bustled noisily all the day long.

These quarters were not calculated to allure tenants who were partial to light and air; and even the poor and unhoused would not risk an encounter with the ghost of the last inmate. So the mice held their revels undisturbed and feasted royally upon the oats in the granary.

But the cobbler when he had received Frau Cordula's message thought at once how excellently these lodgings were adapted for his friend. His request to the authorities that two shelterless women, for whose character he could vouch, be allowed to occupy the lodgings in the court at a trifling rental was granted; and one morning he set out for the village to a.s.sist the mother and daughter in their removal.

The two poor persecuted souls were glad to avail themselves of the refuge under Wenzel Kospoth's roof, despite its unsavory reputation. A wagon was loaded with their bedding and furniture. Upon a chest sat Frau Cordula, Gundula hovered near her, while the dark-looking Bohemian, who drove the horses himself, cracked his whip so vigorously that the a.s.sembled village population, which would have accompanied the exodus of the witch by caterwaulings, dared give rent to no more disrespectful noises than a few whistles.

Their entry into Thomas Lane was made quietly, though the report had spread in the neighborhood that a witch from the country was about to move into the haunted house. A crowd had a.s.sembled before the closed entrance; but a look somewhat like disappointment pa.s.sed over their gaping faces when the young girl sprang down from the wagon and the older woman, with Kospoth's help, descended carefully from her high seat. They fancied the witch would have been older and more gruesome; and Gundelchen, with her laughing eyes and yellow braids, under the peasant's head-dress, excited almost a feeling of regret that the peaceful sleep of these two women was to be disturbed by nocturnal apparitions.

The girl's smile faded when she mounted the narrow stairs and cast her first look around. Their cottage had been no fairy bower, it is true; but the sunlight had shone into it, and green gardens and fields lay all about it. When, however, she saw her little mother sink down with a heavy sigh upon the dusty floor, she quickly recovered herself, threw her arms about the poor woman and carried her to a bench near the window where she could watch the sparrows in the top of the chestnut-tree. Then she began to talk so cheerfully that the mother took heart at last and only sighed softly now and then, as with tender eyes she watched the child busied in arranging the furniture in their new home.

By the next day the two rooms looked quite habitable. The young girl had gone early to the market and bought two cheap pots of flowers; she had brushed away the dust, had scrubbed the floors, and hung fresh curtains at the square windows before it was time to make the soup upon the little stove in the corner. When Wenzel Kospoth came in at noon to ask how it fared with his fellow-tenants, his eyes opened wide with astonishment to find everything so neat and comfortable. He must needs stop for dinner, and found the frugal meal far more toothsome than the food which a neighbor had been wont to serve him in his shop. So it came about that the cobbler dined with them regularly, and the small sum which he paid helped them with the rent.

That she could not hope for much custom in her new home, the sensible woman knew well enough. She understood only peasant fashions; and for her medicinal skill there was no demand. In her despondency, she almost regretted that she had availed herself of Master Kospoth's offer. But here Gundula came to her mother's rescue. She had inherited her cleverness in womanly handiwork; and she soon apprenticed herself to a dressmaker, under whom she took great pains to learn the city fashions.

She showed herself so quick and skillful that after a few months she was employed in the houses of well-to-do families.

In time, many a piece of work was entrusted to her to finish. These she took home to her mother, who became once more cheerful, now that her hands were no longer idle; and when, at the end of the year, she could count a pretty little sum laid by in her stocking, she forgave the stupid peasants whose persecutions had made her life so wretched.

Yet even here, in the city, the reputation of holding converse with evil spirits clung to her; and inquisitive school-boys, who had once, goaded by insatiable curiosity, ventured through the doorway as far as the entrance to the court, pointed to the four small windows above the stable, with childish awe, and whispered in each other's ears all manner of goblin-tales of the Blockenberg and the Devil's dances. The most impudent among them finally took courage, called with a loud, but trembling voice: "Old witch! Old witch!" in the quiet court, and threw a stone against the stable-door; whereupon the whole troop scattered in a hasty flight, while even the sparrows, terrified by the unwonted clamor, flew out from the dry branches of the chestnut with shrill cries.

That the witch remained invisible, added not a little to the superst.i.tious dread in which she was held. Her child, however, was regarded by the neighbors with mingled sympathy and admiration. They could not understand how she kept her red cheeks and laughing eyes amid such depressing surroundings; they must say, that any one who had at his baptism renounced the devil and all his works, could hardly bring himself to marry a girl out of this haunted house. Yet they watched the graceful little figure as long as they could see her hat-ribbon wave in the wind, and her short skirt blow about her trim ankles.

So far, all seemed orderly and natural in the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas," and the report of ghostly rendezvous there seemed ill-founded.

But the narrator of this true story is now, at last, forced to the confession that, in the closest proximity to these two innocent beings, there was installed a ghost, pure and simple, of whose presence neither the occupants of the house nor the dwellers in that street had the slightest intimation.

It is averred that the souls of the dead, when they leave their bodies, do not pa.s.s directly to heaven or h.e.l.l; but, according to the Romish belief, into purgatory, there to await the day of judgment and the resurrection of the body; or, according to the Protestant confession, into an intermediate state, where they bide in a condition of uncertain expectancy, like that of earthly travelers in a way station. In this supernal region there prevails a certain monotony of existence unrelieved even by the arrival of newly-released souls who, for the most part, bear upon their pallid features the sorrowful trace of a reluctant parting.

It is true that spirits of the higher order, those who while yet upon earth were raised above the sordid misery of life, and who viewed all occurrences in the light of eternity, soon find their way about in the gray twilight of this aerial realm, and enjoy meeting a kindred soul now and then among the noiseless throng of disembodied spirits, and holding converse with those whom they had come to revere for their virtuous deeds during their earthly life. So that here, where perfect equality and universal brotherhood are generally supposed to hold sway, there is a line of distinction between the great and small, to which no one offers the least objection. For, as no outward advantage is attached to the greater prestige which the n.o.bler souls enjoy, no one finds cause for envy in the exalted intercourse with which, their hours are filled; while the great majority long ardently for the coa.r.s.er pleasures of their past life.

In this painless intermediate state, the more worthy or distinguished souls are pursued by only one annoyance, namely, the ever-increasing curiosity of those yet living upon earth, who delight to summon the spirits of great kings, sages and artists to compulsory interviews.

This disgraceful amus.e.m.e.nt has been the fashion at intervals from time immemorial, as when, for example, the Witch of Endor summoned the spirit of the high priest Samuel to appear before Saul. But, in our own day, the inquisitive practice of drawing the veil from the mysteries of the other world has spread through a very wide circle, and no name, sounded down from past centuries, is too venerable for its owner to be a.s.sailed with questions through the medium of some tipping-table or hysterical young woman; or even to be constrained to appear personally in the transparent guise of his so-called astral body.

The aristocracy of the intermediate kingdom, after they had borne with this presumption for some time, at last bethought themselves of an innocent expedient which would secure them from further intrusion. They made inquiry among the ghostly ma.s.ses whether there were any who would be willing to serve as their representatives in case of such demands, and to answer impertinent questions as seemed to them proper.

Now, as many of those who in life had known only selfish pleasures were already so wearied of this spiritual existence that they were ready to jump out of their skin (if they had had a skin), nothing could be more welcome than this proposition to mingle once more in mundane affairs, and to amuse themselves for a few hours with the fashionable play of question and answer.

That they had scant knowledge of the affairs of their famous a.s.sociates disturbed them as little as it did those whom they were to represent.

For it soon became evident that the questioners at tapping-tables and dark seances were in nowise offended by foolish answers, and received the most palpable nonsense which was whispered to them in the communications of spirits as profound, superhuman wisdom, which they interpreted according to their wishes. It is easy to pipe for him who loves to dance; and he who is determined to hold converse with Julius Caesar, Plato or Beethoven, will hear, in the stammering utterances of some cartman with whom he has in some mysterious way put himself _en rapport_, words of the sublimest import.

Several years ago, the town in which the scene of this story is laid was attacked with the fever of spiritualism. At first, people were content to move tables and produce rappings, but by degrees they grew ambitious for a more exalted mode of spiritual intercourse; and two mediums, with their hypnotic subjects, made their entry into town, so that hardly a night pa.s.sed without some ghostly doings--and that, too, in the homes of the best and most cultured families.

To satisfy the increasing demand, it was decided to establish two of the more robust spirits permanently in town, that they might be ready at the lightest summons. Two candidates offered themselves at once for the post--one, the spirit of a traveling wine-seller, the other, the soul of a house-servant, who, it chanced, had been employed by the burgomaster of the town, and thus was especially conversant with the affairs of the inhabitants.

This somewhat dissimilar pair seemed qualified to meet all requirements, and one fine evening they sallied forth. Johann Gruber, the servant, proposed that they take up their quarters in the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas;" for even spirits of coa.r.s.er mould, becoming accustomed to the stillness of the other world, avoid noisy districts in this.

No more quiet sleeping-place for two sensitive shadows could be found than the lofty, dark coach-house adjoining the stable. The door opening on the court was always ajar, but the dusty floor was never trodden by human foot. An ancient calash stood in the farthest corner, its leathern portions so gnawed away by the rats that it had wasted into the mere skeleton of a carriage.

As soon as Heinrich Muller, the quondam mercantile traveler, beheld this ruin, he declared his wish to become its exclusive possessor. With a soft sigh, evoked by the recollection of his former merry journeyings, he stretched his ethereal form comfortably upon the cushions, from which the leather covering and horsehair had been eaten away, leaving the quills of the feathers sticking through--a circ.u.mstance which, unpleasant as it might have proved to an occupant with flesh and bones, in nowise impaired the comfort of this spiritual essence.

Johann Gruber, who in his lifetime had traveled much with his master, found a large chest in another corner, the like of those he had so often packed, and made himself comfortable therein; for upon this first night no seance was in progress.

They soon found that their post was far from easy. Each had his hands full of work. Here, he had to slip into some table and answer the oddest questions; there, he must respond to some crafty or self-deceived medium, or if it were desired, materialize--as the technical term is--and personate this or that well-known individual to gratify the pious curiosity of his surviving friends.

These nightly labors were so fatiguing to both that when they returned to their quarters, and without waiting even to exchange "good-night,"

slipped into their corners to sleep, they wished themselves back in the state they had left. Indeed, they would probably have renounced the service after a few weeks, had not the arrival of Frau Cordula and her daughter altered the condition of affairs.

From the first, the wine-seller conceived so violent an attachment for the fair, slender girl, that the thought of leaving her for the loveless world of spirit was not to be tolerated. In his lifetime he had been known as a ladies' man; and although he had exchanged his carnal nature for a spiritual existence, he, like all poor souls who hover over the spot where in life they have buried their treasure, could not leave this child of earth, unresponsive though she must ever be to his affection.

It happened, too, that Johann Gruber, pa.s.sing one day by accident through a retired street, met an old flame, in the person of the cook who had served in the house of his master. As comely as ever, she formed a new bond to connect him with this earthly sphere. From that day he ceased to chaff his infatuated colleague. Instead of ridicule, a fine ear could now have heard for many a night a duet of tender sighs resounding from the walls of the dark coach-house, and accompanied by the rustling and scrambling of the little mice.

This state of affairs had continued for nearly a year when, one moonlight night, the spirit of Johann Gruber turned homeward from a tiresome day's work. Sleepy though he was, he took a roundabout way, past a certain house, on the ground floor of which his early love had opened a tap-room. Possibly he was further attracted by the winey fragrance which had, in his lifetime exerted a powerful influence over him. He raised himself to a level with the window, the upper sash of which was open, and perching himself upon the crosspiece, took a survey of the room. A stout woman sat behind the bar, and nodded over her knitting, from which she occasionally drew a needle and scratched her frowsy head, yawning the while and rubbing her small, watery eyes.

A little girl was sleeping upon a stool by the stove. Several workmen in their shirt-sleeves sat at a table playing cards. When any of them trumped an ace, they rapped with their knuckles and the little one sighed in her sleep.