Knight's Quarterly Magazine/Series 1/Volume 1/The Black Chamber

by Johann August Apel

THE BLACK CHAMBER.

AN ANECDOTE FROM THE GERMAN.

In the small town of D——, in which I resided for some years, we had established an amusing periodical work, of which the physician of the town, (Dr. Augustus Barmann,) the magistrate, (Mr. Wermuth,) and myself, were the conductors. Mr. Wermuth furnished the learned articles, Barmann the elegant, and I those which were neither the one nor the other, or both, as occasion warranted. In the evenings we met to arrange the choicest subjects for our own publication, and to discuss and dispute the comparative merits of others;—one of these, (the Universal Advertiser,) had just fallen under my censure for publishing an absurd ghost story; and one evening, as the Doctor and myself were alone, expecting Wermuth to join us, I employed the idle time in condemning the stupid Advertiser, and its more stupid editor, not only for the trash which he had forced upon us, but the insult offered to our understandings by the solemn and dogmatical tone in which he had told the story. I was not much surprised, though considerably amused, to observe that Barmann took up the cudgels for the editor, and condemned the over-wise (as he called the unbelievers) for pretending to know so much more than their betters; “You think,” added he warmly, “that you only are qualified to look upon nature’s fingers, and ascertain exactly how much she can do with them. You chatter, and chatter on, till you weary your hearers to death; and truly, the less you understand of a thing, the more you have to say about it.”

“But, in the name of common sense,” demanded I, “who can patiently listen to such bare-faced stuff as this about walking skeletons, or grant any ghostly dignity to the spiritual Gertrude, who walks about, lights candles, and allows herself to be touched as freely as any corporeal chamber-maid!”

“I repeat to you again,” said Barmann, “that we know so little of what nature can do, that”————“I am almost inclined to believe,” said I, “that you are a bit of a ghost seer yourself. Did you ever, at any time, really stumble upon a spectre?”

“Although I do not intend to be posted for a visionary, Frederick,” replied Barmann, “yet I will acknowledge to you that a circumstance somewhat similar to this of the Grey Chamber actually happened to me some time ago, and singular enough it appears, that the room in which it occurred was called the Black Chamber.”————“But I must hear the circumstance,” observed I. Barmann hesitated for some time, but at length consented to gratify my curiosity, which he did in the following words:—

“Some time ago, while I was still studying medicine under Dr. Wenderborn, it was his practice to reserve the town patients to himself; and as I was esteemed a good and fearless horseman, to send me to those who resided at a distance in the country. On one occasion, (the illness of a daughter who had a violent nervous fever,) I was despatched some miles in the country to Colonel de Silverstein’s, where, although very little could be done for the patient, I was obliged to remain during the night, in order to satisfy the anxiety of the parents. A chamber was accordingly prepared for me, and as my patient was perfectly tranquil, I bade good night at an earlier hour than usual to the family, and retired to rest. The whole mansion had a most dreary aspect, and my chamber was by no means the most inviting apartment in it. The clumsy old-fashioned doors were painted black; so was the ceiling, and the grotesque carved wood-work which ornamented the windows and walls. In short, nothing pleased me but the bed, which, with a fine white coverlid upon it, stood majestically against the wall, behind the rich and massy folds of ponderous green silk curtains.

“I had determined to write down a circumstantial account of the progress of the young lady’s disorder for my master’s inspection, and had actually sat down to my task, though yawning heavily at every period, when something suddenly knocked at my door. I started at first, but soon recovering my composure, told the visitor in as big a tone as I could assume, to ‘come in;’ he did so, and for this time at least there was nothing very frightful; it was merely the Colonel’s game-keeper, a handsome young man, who came to inquire if I had any further commands before I retired to rest. I mention all these trifling circumstances just as they occurred; for, in order to insure belief, it is necessary to be particular in these relations, even to pedantry. The game-keeper was a pleasant sort of fellow, and we conversed very cheerfully upon several different subjects. Among other civilities, he asked me whether I should not find it very dull in this dreary apartment, and offered at the same time, if I wished it, to remain with me all night. I could not forbear laughing at this sacrifice, for I observed that he was himself most horribly frightened at the dismal prospect of passing the night in the chamber, and that he often started, and looked round anxiously and repeatedly at the very slightest noise. At length he informed me that the apartment was called the Black Chamber, and that many strange stories were reported of it, none of which they dared to repeat to their master, lest it should give him some disgust against the mansion. He then related to me several of these ghostly stories, and finding that I was an attentive auditor, offered again either to remain with me all night, or divide his own sleeping-room with me, which he assured me was a much pleasanter one. I would not, however, accept either of these proposals, since I foresaw such acceptance might probably bring my reputation for courage into question; and finding that I was firm in my determination, he very gladly retired, once more giving me a caution against incredulity and fool-hardiness, which he averred had brought many a hardened unbeliever to destruction.

“Well! I was now alone in the evil-famed Black Chamber. At that period I thought very lightly respecting ghosts and goblins. I was aware that several enlightened men had gained everlasting laurels by detecting impostures, and tearing the mask from supposed spectres, and I awaited with pleasure the same opportunity in the approach of the midnight hour; but first I made a strict: scrutiny of my chamber; I locked both the doors, and bolted them with bolts which were entirely separate from the lock; I barricadoed the windows in the same manner; and, to complete all my preparations, I poked with my travelling sword repeatedly under the bed, the tables, and into the closets; and then, when I had thoroughly convinced myself that it was quite impossible for either man or beast to pay me a visit, I undressed myself, and prepared to go to bed; the night-light I placed in the stove, so that my chamber was in reality enveloped in darkness, for I found that the light only increased my terror, instead of diminishing it.

“After these preparations I laid myself quietly down, and, fatigue overpowering me, went to sleep much sooner than I had anticipated. I was still in my first doze, when I fancied that I heard my own name pronounced very softly; I started up and listened—and again plainly heard a soft voice call “Augustus.” The sound seemed to proceed from behind the curtains of my bed. I stretched my eyes as wide open as possible, but could see nothing around me but the thick darkness. Terror had now thrown me into a cold shivering fit—I shut my eyes closely, slipped under the bed-clothes, and endeavoured to steep my senses in forgetfulness. All at once I was aroused by a rustling of the curtains, and the repetition of my name breathed more plainly, and still nearer to me; I again opened my eyes—the chamber had undergone a strange transformation—a wonderful light glimmered through it, and enabled me to discover that near the bed by my side stood a ghastly, pale apparition, wrapt in a shroud, which stretched its cold hand towards me!—The impulse of my first terror made me cry aloud and start back; when, at that moment, I heard something like the report of a violent blow. The apparition vanished, and I saw nothing around me but the usual gloomy darkness. I drew the counterpane over my head, and shivered with horror as I heard the turret clock strike; I counted it—it was the dismal hour of midnight.

“After a little time, however, I regained my courage, and I instantly jumped out of bed in order to convince myself that I had not been deceived by a dream. I lighted two candles, and again narrowly examined the apartment; every thing was as I had left it—not a single bolt withdrawn, neither at the doors nor windows. I was already inclined to ascribe the apparition, plain as it appeared, to a dream, or at least to the excitement of my own imagination, which had been heated by the game-keeper’s stories; when, in order to leave nothing undone, I held the candle to look into my bed—to my utter confusion, there was a beautiful long lock of dark hair lying upon my pillow—this certainly could not have got there in a dream, nor through a delusion of my mind. I took it up, resolving to preserve it carefully, and was just going to write down the whole occurrence of the night, when a distant noise attracted my attention.

“I soon distinguished an alarming confusion, and an opening and shutting of doors; at length it approached my room, and a hasty and loud knocking was made at my door. “Who is there,” I demanded. “Rise directly, Mr. Barmann,” was the answer; “the young lady is dying.” I threw on my clothes as quickly as possible, and hastened to the sick chamber—it was too late—the young girl lay dead before me. Shortly before midnight, they said, she awoke from a deep slumber, and after a few quick gasps instantly expired. Her parents were inconsolable—they themselves now required my professional assistance, particularly the mother, who would absolutely not leave the body, so that they were obliged to employ force to separate her from it. At length she listened to their entreaties, but I was obliged to allow her to cut off a lock of hair of her deceased daughter, as a relic of this beloved child. I was present, and imagine my horror when I observed in the long dark curls, which fell from the head of the corps, the very semblance of my midnight present. The following day I became dangerously ill; and, singular as it may appear, of the very same fever of which my patient had died! Now, Frederick, what have you to say to this matter of fact relation, the truth of which I can attest with my most solemn oath?”

“It is unquestionably very extraordinary,” answered I, “and if it were not that you speak so seriously, and if you had not declared that you had searched the whole apartment so carefully, I should be almost inclined to think it was a trick.”—“As I have told you,” interrupted Barmann, “deception was impossible; I saw and heard in my waking senses, and surely the lock of hair must remove all doubt upon the subject.”—“Nevertheless, I must confess to you,” replied I, “that it is this very lock of hair that is the stumbling-block to my faith; if your apparition was not a deception, it must have arisen from a spiritual cause, or whatever else you choose to call it, but this is rendered suspicious by the intervention of a corporeal lock of hair; a spectre which leaves corporeal articles behind becomes very suspicious, and makes the same disagreeable impression upon me that an actor would, who departs from the dignity of his character, and falls into the vulgar and ungraceful.”

“Glory be to self-conceit!” exclaimed Barmann, impatiently. “First of all, you have no belief whatever in the existence of ghosts; and, secondly, you have at your fingers’ ends a theory of their characters; and, according to that, you criticise all apparitions.”

At this instant Mr. Wermuth entered, wiping his brows. “From the theatre, doubtless,” we both exclaimed at once, and held the money-box for fines towards him.

“It is very easy talking,” answered he; “only put yourselves in my place, and take the examinations of rogues, vagabonds, and such vermin, the whole day from morning till night. Yesterday they brought me in a precious pair of vagrants, who have cost no small exertion of my lungs to-day.”

“For God’s sake!” exclaimed Barmann, “let us have none of your rogue and vagabond stories to-night; we have been disputing for the last hour, and there lie the Advertiser and The Liberal still unread.”

“I will only give you the counterpart to the Grey Chamber,” interrupted Wermuth, “and you may send it to The Liberal, if you choose, under the imposing title of the Black Chamber.”——“The Black Chamber!” exclaimed both Barmann and myself, though each in a very different tone of voice. “Just so,” replied Wermuth; “pray listen, ’tis a most instructive history of ghosts and vagabonds. You are both acquainted with the Lawyer Schroeder, the little buffoon, who is always capering after the women. Well, he had some business lately at Rabenau, in the jurisdiction of Silverstein, which detained him so long that evening approached before he could get away. By nature, you know, he is none of the most courageous; and at present, the many stories of robbers, and cutters out of tongues, have made him so fearful, that all the inducements in the world would not tempt him out upon the road at night. The Silversteins are good sort of people; and, as they observed his terror, they offered him a bed in the mansion. Schroeder accepted it with the greatest joy, and retired, after making an apology for being obliged to disturb them early in the morning, as he would be compelled to depart at day-break—but the next morning there was no Schroeder to be seen or heard of. Hour after hour passed by, and yet he did not make his appearance. They knocked at his door, they called, they made the most outrageous noises, but nobody answered. At length the affair became so serious, that the door was, by Silverstein’s order, broken open. They soon discovered poor Schroeder, pale and senseless in his bed; and looking as if just about to breathe his last. With much difficulty they revived him, and he immediately began to relate the most frightful story of what he affirmed had happened to him during the night. He had retired to bed at an early hour, in order that he might be enabled to depart betimes in the morning. He was still in his first sleep when a knocking at his door awoke him. Poor Schroeder, whose brain was immediately filled with all the horrible tales he had ever heard, squeezed himself as close as he could to the wall, and pulled the bed-clothes tight over his head. He had hardly, however, began again to slumber, ere he was a second time alarmed by a hollow rustling noise close to his bed; and, on looking up, perceived a figure in white standing before a closet, which, till that moment, he had not even observed in the apartment, and in which there was a glitter as if it was full of gold, silver, and jewels. The spectre counted its riches, rattled the money, and, after locking the closet, gravely approached the bed. Schroeder then observed the small, pale face of a corpse, with an old-fashioned head-band bound round her black hair. He felt the air become ice-cold about him. Terrified to death, he turned himself round, shut his eyes as close as he could, and moved as far away from its vicinity as possible. At this moment it uttered a tremendous scream, and something fell down violently close to him, which finally deprived him of his senses. In this state he had remained until the morning, when, as I have already informed you, he was found half dead in his bed.

“You may easily imagine what an amazing disturbance this affair made in the house. The Silversteins, who, without this, were already complete visionaries, and were continually conjuring up goblins, began to talk of an old aunt, whose apparition had been seen gadding about in former times, and of some concealed treasures which a rod-diviner had proved to their satisfaction a former possessor of the estate must have concealed there. Schroeder also vouched for the truth of every word of his story, and declared that he was ready to seal his affirmation with a thousand oaths: he actually did make a deposition of his adventure, but the magistrate before whom he deposed it, and who belonged to the unbelievers, insisted upon a local examination of the chamber where Schroeder had slept. Old Silverstein could hardly be prevailed upon to consent to it; he declared that he did not like to affront a spirit in his own house, who honoured him with its company; that he could do very well without the black chamber, and would be perfectly satisfied to have it shut up, and leave it to the service of the spectre, provided it would be moderate enough to content itself with the use of that one, and not go rambling about the rest of the mansion. But the magistrate, still insisting, carried his point, in opposition to the proprietor of the estate. The black chamber, therefore, was opened. Schroeder found it difficult to point out the place where the closet with the treasure was said to have stood, for opposite to the bed there were windows, and not a spot was to be found where a closet could have stood, visible or invisible: the whole of the chamber was carefully examined, but not the slightest trace of any thing suspicious could be discovered. The magistrate, therefore, and all present, asserted that if the thing had really happened as stated, it could not have been through any human agency. Schroeder begged to have an authenticated copy of the protocol, and of his deposition, in order to substantiate himself in all the newspapers, and to all inquirers as a true and sincere visionary, provided with the judicial attestation of his abilities:—but it suddenly entered the magistrate’s head to examine the bed in which the visionary had slept; he shook it, pushed it, turned it round, examined it, and hammered about it, till all at once, while striking hard upon the wainscotting, against which the side of the bed had stood, it moved up like a slide, and a communication was discovered with the second bed on the other side of the wainscot, and through the curtains of it a peep into a neat pretty little room.”—

“Zounds!” interrupted Barmann, with considerable vexation, and giving himself a smart slap on the forehead; but Wermuth, who had no conception of the true meaning of his exclamation, quietly continued his story.—“With no less astonishment, my dear Barmann, did Schroeder cry out at the unexpected prospect which appeared before him. All the company passed over both the beds into the adjoining room; there Schroeder immediately recognised the closet of his spectre, and the master and mistress of the house the bed-room of the lady’s maid. The closet was opened, which contained, not exactly what Schroeder pretended to have seen, jewels, gold, and silver, but still several pretty articles of plate, some ornaments, and a few rolls of money. It was now advised to call the pretty inhabitant of the room to an account, both concerning the treasure and the apparitions; but it was soon discovered that both she and the colonel’s game-keeper, had, during the bustle, quietly retreated together.”

“The game-keeper!” repeated poor Barmann, quite thunderstruck, “the game-keeper did you say?”—“Yes, the game-keeper of the manor, Augustus Leisegang,” insisted Wermuth.—“Was the rogue’s name really Augustus?” again interrupted Barmann very earnestly, “are you certain of that?”

“To be sure I am,” answered Wermuth pettishly, “have I not just examined him and his fair one? why does the name strike you as singular?”—“Oh not at all, not in the least singular,” muttered Barmann peevishly, jerking up his cravat, “he is only my namesake, that’s all—but pray go on with your story.”—“Well, the rest you may easily guess,” continued Wermuth; “the moving wainscot, which might in ancient times have been of service to the lords of the mansion, had been forgotten, and was lately discovered by the loving couple. Schroeder, in his sleep must have pressed against the spring, and the slide opening, made the noise which awoke him; the damsel, when instead of the game-keeper she found a stranger in the bed, screamed out and let the slide suddenly drop, and this was the fall which Schroeder had so distinctly heard: thus every thing was explained naturally enough. A description of the pair was sent about the country, and yesterday they were brought in by our police officers, and I have passed this whole morning in attending to their examination. But the highest sport was, that Schroeder came in by accident, and was ready to cut his throat when he saw the pretty, rosy-cheeked, black-eyed girl, against whose beauties he had shut his eyes in the night, believing her to be the ghastly corps of the miser: ‘It shall not happen again to me, however,’ said he, and he endeavoured to make up for one of the kisses which he had lost; but the little black-eyed rogue turned herself about so quickly, that Schroeder’s lips exactly fixed themselves upon the red nose of the magistrate’s clerk. ‘Take care,’ sir, said she, ‘the first of April comes back every year, and always has its due.’”

“The little rogue,” said Barmann, laughing, and who now good-naturedly gave his adventure, for the further amusement of the party—“but,” continued he, when he had finished, and we had ceased our mirth, “if I have given up my black chamber to you, there still remains the ghost of the grey—you cannot dispute all marvels out of the world. And now for our task.”—

He took up The Liberal and began to read “The Grey Chamber,” but before he had got through half a dozen sentences, he dashed the paper violently upon the table; for it contained an explanation, as clear as the sun, of the celebrated goblin of the grey chamber!—

“Alack-a-day,” said he despondingly, “we live in villanous times; every thing venerable is going to decay,—not even a respectable ghost can remain undisturbed in his own territories, but somebody will arise to disprove and displace him. Let nobody come to me again with a story of a spectre.”

“And why not,” replied Wermuth, “it is not till the period when ghosts are banished, that men begin to tell their histories; but through all those stories that appear wanting in probability, the reader, if he be either lucky or witty, will readily discover the truth.”

A. F.

 

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