Reviews of Old and New Stories. Mostly Old

Review of “The Signalman” by Charles Dickens: Halloween Countdown

Getty images and tip o’ the hat to Tracy

Plot:

Our hero visits a signalman in a railroad tunnel where he works, signaling trains that come through and passing messages along. He announces his presence by shouting from atop the hill, “Halloa! Below there!”

Much to his surprise, the man walks away as if he hasn’t heard him. After some more screaming, the narrator gets directions down the hill to where he might speak with the signalman. The internal passage is damp and unpleasant, but our hero makes the trek and finds his way down to the floor.

The signalman invites him into his cabin.

The narrator offers the following assessment:

“In the discharge of his duties, I observed him to be remarkably exact and vigilant, breaking off his discourse at a syllable, and remaining silent until what he had to do was done.

“In a word, I should have set this man down as one of the safest of men to be employed in that capacity, but for the circumstance that while he was speaking to me he twice broke off with a fallen colour, turned his face towards the little bell when it did NOT ring, opened the door of the hut (which was kept shut to exclude the unhealthy damp), and looked out towards the red light near the mouth of the tunnel.”

The signalman seems to be content—a job that requires attention, but no hard physical labor. He admits something is troubling him, however, and will describe it if our hero visits him again.

Notably, he asks if the narrator visits him again, not to call out. A specter once called out to him, just as the visitor had, and six hours later, a terrible accident occurred on that line. A second incident occurred. The specter has been back; false alarms ring; what is its warning? How can he prevent another tragedy?

Thoughts:

This is a poignant tale of a haunted man who witnesses tragedy but is powerless to prevent it. Adding insult to injury, no one takes him seriously. Our hero, the narrator, assumes he’s mentally ill, even while he admires his attention to his job. The signalman insists he recognizes the difference between a real alarm and a supernatural one, yet he didn’t see the narrator as real at first.

While the story revolves around the signalman, I have to ask, why did the narrator visit the signalman in the first place? He doesn’t know him. Is he curious about the train and the setup there? Had he been walking around and decided that day to let his curiosity get the better of him?

Overall, it is a tightly written little piece with a sense of forboding throughout.

Bio: Charles Dickens (1812-1870) was a UK author, novelist, actor, and editor. Among his most famous works are the often imitated/parodied “A Christmas Carol” (1843), “David Copperfield” (1850), “A Tale of Two Cities” (1859), and “Great Expectations” (1860). He achieved great popularity during his lifetime, though it was not until after his death that it became known that he had known poverty. As a child, he’d left school and been forced to work to support his widowed mother after his father’s early death. At his death, he left the novel The Mystery of Edwin Drood unfinished. Others have attempted to adapt it for the screen or complete it.

This story can be read and listened to here:(42:17)

Title: “The Signalman”
Author: Charles Dickens (1812-1870)
First published: All the Year Round, Christmas Number, 1866
Length: short story

Review of “The Shadow” by Edith Nesbit: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

A girl faints during a dance at a country house over Christmas in Victorian-era Great Britain. She is sent to recover in a dressing room. Other girls sleep in a bedroom attached to the dressing room. Of course, they don’t sleep but sit up, telling each other ghost stories. While they’re scaring themselves, a knock comes at their door. It’s Miss Eastwich, the “housekeeper, companion, and general stand-by” of the narrator’s aunt. She noticed the light and thought the girls were up late. She doesn’t say much, but she’s concerned about the girl who fainted.

“She’s fast asleep,” the narrator assures her.

The youngest girl invites her in and offers her cocoa. The narrator confesses irritation toward the youngest, referring to her as “young, crude, ill-balanced, subject to blind, calf-like impulses.” The youngest explains to Miss Eastwich that they were telling ghost stories, but they don’t believe in ghosts—not one bit. She asks Miss Eastwich if she knows any ghost stories.

The narrator bristles. Prim and proper Miss Eastwich? Tell a ghost story?

She does. Twenty years earlier, her two best friends married. The implication is that she was in love with the guy. After a year or two, the guy invited her to stay with them while the wife was “ill,” delicately saying she was in the middle of a difficult pregnancy.

Miss Eastwich goes. She finds the wife “weak and excitable,” but the husband looking worse. Thinking he may be in debt or something of that sort, she doesn’t ask but waits for him to speak. He tells her of something wrong with the house, something he almost sees, almost hears…

Thoughts:

While Miss Eastwich describes her story as “hardly worth telling,” it becomes clear that there is more below the surface of this low-key ghost story. Dread, fear, and an unknown horror, barely perceived, haunt the new “warm and welcoming” house. Couple that with a difficult pregnancy and the very real danger of death in childbirth at the time,

This sad little tale may (according to some commenters) reflect something of Nesbit’s own living situation. The narrator respects Miss Eastwich, understanding her reserve almost to the point of not wishing to speak to her in order to avoid disturbing her. The youngest girl, whom the narrator despises, may speak of the pretty young things Nesbit’s philandering husband always seemed to be chasing. Miss Eastwich’s dear friends echo a situation closer to home. A close friend of Nesbit’s lived with her and her husband, only to be impregnated by him twice.

Few points in the story are scary. Dread and sorrow are most prevalent. What is it that Miss Eastwich’s friend almost sees? Why is she concerned about the present? Why does she agree to tell her story now? The youngest girl, whose misunderstandings might be funny in other contexts, are merely uncomfortable.

Much of the action takes place between the lines, in the context. The story takes a little patience. A quick, superficial read will disappoint.

Bio: British author Edith Nesbit Bland (1835-1915) is now best known for her several children’s book series: the Bastable series, the Psammead series, and the House of Arden series, among other children’s books. She wrote children’s tales of adventure, fantasy, and magic, as well as more realistic stories. Her best-known works include The Story of the Treasure Seekers (1899), The Wouldbegoods (1901), The Revolt of the Toys, What Comes of Quarreling (1902), and The Railway Children (1906).

Additionally, she wrote fiction for adults and poetry.

She and her husband, Hubert Bland, were among the founders of the Fabian Society, a democratic socialist organization that still exists. It attracted people such as George Bernard Shaw, a friend of the Blands. Its goal is to slowly bring about lasting social change rather than through sudden radical change or revolution. Nesbit and her husband edited the Society’s journal, Today, and entertained friends and colleagues at their home.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (49:28)

Title: “The Shadow”
Author: Edith Nesbit (1858-1924)
First published: as “Portent of the Shadow” in the London magazine Black and White, December 23, 1905
Length: short story

Review of “The Shadow in the Corner” by Mary Elizabeth Braddon: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Wildheath Grange sits back from the road, the last remnants of a once-vast estate of the Bascom family. The house has a bad reputation among the locals in the nearby village of Holcroft, but it suits the current owner, Michael Bascom, a middle-aged bachelor who spends his days among his books in scientific reading. The only other occupants of the house are his two servants, Daniel Skegg and his wife.

One day, Skegg approaches the master and asks that he hire “a girl” to help his wife, who is getting on in years. Distracted, Bascom agrees but wants her kept out of his way. Skegg explains they’ll have to find someone outside the area because the villagers believe the Grange is haunted.

Bascom reacts with annoyance, but the reader learns that an ancestor of his lost most of the estate and then “destroyed himself” in the Grange.

What luck! Mrs. Skegg finds a girl who has just lost her father and is now homeless. She’ll whip her into shape. Skegg assigns her an attic room to sleep in. It’s the only one up there where the roof doesn’t leak, and it also happens to be where old Anthony Bascom destroyed himself. But what does that matter?

Sometime later, Bascom comes across the girl, Maria, and finds her visibly disturbed. He asks what is wrong. After some hesitation, she tells him she can’t sleep. Her room terrifies her.

He dismisses her; it’s all in her pretty little head.

…but the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders.

Thoughts:

This is a poignant tale, one that deals more with the most vulnerable of Victorian society than with ghosts. The common Victorian trope of a death by suicide leading to a restless spirit appears, but is not dwelt on. At the center of the story is the plight of the orphan girl, Maria. Through no fault of her own, she is cast into the world without friend or protector. She grieves for her father but never shows self-pity. Nor does she complain about the hard work that is now her lot in life. On the contrary, she expresses gratitude for being able to work.

Maria cannot defend herself. She is dependent on the goodwill of those around her and has no appeal should they choose to oppress her. If she makes too much of a nuisance of herself, those in authority could toss her out on her rear end. Her recourse lies in the workhouse, the world’s oldest profession, or starvation.

As science fiction would a century later, “ghost” stories sometimes addressed social issues in the late 19^thcentury. After all, the story isn’t advocating women’s rights or anything. It’s a ghost story, isn’t it?

While it’s sometimes a bit slow for 21st-century readers and can be a bit on the nose, I enjoyed this poignant tale.

Bio: Mary Elizabeth Braddon (1835-1915) was associated with “sensation” fiction, a melodramatic genre from the latter half of the nineteenth century that often incorporated elements of crime and drama while drawing on Gothic and romantic traditions. Her most popular work is the novel, Lady Audley’s Secret (1862), which was loosely based on a real-life event and involved unintentional bigamy and (presumably intentional) murder.

Braddon founded the monthly magazine Belgravia in 1866 and edited it until 1876. Concentrating on sensation fiction, Belgravia featured poems, short stories, and serialized novels.

After others purchased the magazine, Braddon was removed from the editorship, and Belgravia went on to bigger things, publishing works by Mark Twain, Thomas Hardy, and Arthur Conan Doyle. It folded in 1899.

Braddon and the married publisher John Maxwell lived together without scandal while his wife was confined to an asylum. They married when the wife died. One of their six children, William Babington Maxwell, became a novelist. He also served in World War I.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (37:47)

Title: “The Shadow in the Corner”
Author: Mary Elizabeth Braddon (1835-1915)
First published: All the Year Round, 1879
Length: short story

Review of “Scoured Silk” by Marjorie Bowen: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Some twenty years earlier, Mr. Humphrey Orford moved to Covent Garden with his young wife. The understanding is that his family was from Suffolk, where he had considerable estates that he never visited. Only a few weeks after they arrived, his wife, Flora, fell ill and passed away. He erected a small plaque: Flora, wife of Humphrey Orford, Esq. of this Parish, died November 1713, Aged 27 Years.

Mr. Orford settled into a scholar’s life until he decided he wished to marry again and chose Miss Elisa Minden, the daughter of his friend Dr. Minden. The narrator tells the reader there was nothing remarkable about the match; Mr. Orford was “not much above forty-five or so, an elegant, well-looking man, wealthy, with no vices and a calm, equable temper.” Miss Elisa, “though pretty and well-mannered, had an insufficient dowry, [and] no mother to fend for her.”

Mr. Orford even talked of giving up his bookish ways for his intended and taking a trip to Italy. He’d always wanted to see Italy.

Shortly before they were to be married, he brought Miss Minden to the church to see where the first Mrs. Orford lay buried.

Not creepy at all.

“That is to her memory,” he told her. “And you see, there is nothing said as to her virtues.”

Well, that’s ambiguous. And the creepy vibe just shot to eleven.

“She’s buried under your feet,” Mr. Orford continues. “Quite close to where you are standing. Why, think of that, Lizzie, if she could stand up and put out her hand, she could catch hold of your dress.”

Oh, but don’t worry, he tells her when she starts to tremble. Flora is dead.

Do you think Lizzie can get her deposit back from wherever they’re holding the reception? *SHUDDER*

Thoughts:

It really is the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

The story starts slowly. Several pages in, the narrator says, “And [this] is really the beginning of the story.” Yet, the author creates such an atmosphere of dread in what had been ordinary—if not dull—circumstances that the slow boil is not only forgivable but also useful.

Elisa seems a little slow on the uptake, but our heroine is merely crossing her t’s and dotting her i’s. Because she’s been paying attention, she solves a mystery that baffles everyone else. Never fear; the bad guy gets his comeuppance in spades.

I would hesitate to call this great literature, but this was fun in a Sunday matinee sort of way. I enjoyed it, even if I guessed what was going on.

Bio: Marjorie Bowen (legal name Gabrielle Margaret Vere Campbell Long) (1885-1952) was a prolific British author of horror, historical fiction, mystery, and crime fiction under various pseudonyms. Her alcoholic father left the family and was later found dead in the street. She turned to writing to help support her mother and sister (the Encyclopedia of Fantasy refers to them as “extravagant.”) and later her own children.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (53:39)

Title: “Scoured Silk”
Author: Marjorie Bowen (legal name Gabrielle Margaret Vere Campbell Long) (1885-1952)
First published: All-Story Weekly, June 8, 1918
Length: novelette

Review of “The Open Window” by Saki

Plot:

Mr. Nuttel’s doctors have recommended that he get rest for his nerves. With letters of introduction from his sister, he visits people she knows better than he does. He stops one day at the Sappleton residence. Mrs. Sappleton is late in meeting him, so her “very self-possessed” fifteen-year-old niece speaks to him, letting him know the window is open in observance of the anniversary of a tragedy.

Thoughts:

In this short-short, the reader’s perspective shifts 180 degrees in just a few lines. It is cute, but the tale is more like a joke than a story. Nevertheless, it is effective. The change that is supposed to come to the characters comes to the reader and is one of understanding rather than insight or a shift in worldview.

Nevertheless, this is cute. It involves people talking past each other, and people yanking other people’s chains with a straight face.

Bio: H. H. Munro (1870-1916), better known by his pen name “Saki,” was a British author and journalist now best remembered for his epigrammatic short stories, often satirizing British society’s upper crust. Many of his stories dealt with talking animals, and few of them ended happily. Munro was gay at a time when same-sex relations were considered a crime. Though he was overage, he enlisted for service in WWI and died in 1916 at the Battle of Ancre. According to the story, his last words were, “Put that bloody cigarette out!”

This story can be read and listened to here: (1:08)

Title: “The Open Window”
Author: Saki (legal name Hector Hugh Munro) (1870-1916)
First published: The Westminster Gazette, November 18, 1911
Length: short short

Review of “Negotium Perambulans” by E. F. Benson: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

The narrator describes an isolated fishing village he was sent to when he was ten, “a small boy, weak and sickly and threatened with pulmonary trouble.” He slept not in the house but in a “shelter” in the backyard of his uncle, the local vicar, and spent his days wandering. His uncle taught him about the local fauna and flora. His aunt and uncle lived in a grand house. They let the vicarage out to an artist, John Evans, whom the narrator recalls fondly.

Of course, it wasn’t all wandering around at will and chatting with the kids of the local fisherfolk. Attendance at Sunday services was mandatory. The narrator’s uncle scares the bejesus out of the local kids. One of his tools is the carved panels of the altar rails, salvaged from an earlier church. Among these depictions were the Angel of the Annunciation and the Angel of the Resurrection. A singular one was of a robed priest standing outside the local church holding up a crucifix to what looked like some giant slug-beast, which his uncle referred to as “negotium perambulans in tenebris,” from the Ninety-First Psalm, or the pestilence that walks in the dark. Uncle assured the congregation they could avoid it only by sticking to the straight and narrow. Stories were told of the impious meeting bad ends at the old church—now used as a house.

Thoughts:

The beginning of the story, which recalls an idyllic childhood, is nostalgic and dreamy, though there is an uneasy undercurrent. The fire-and-brimstone sermons of Uncle, meant to put the fear of God in the narrator, the children of town, and their parents, might be viewed with the benefit of years passed with some indulgence. The narrator recalls only being terrified as a boy.

The panel of the slug-like thing is so out of place that it calls out for attention. Later, when the narrator has made his way in life, he returns to the little fishing village. His uncle has passed away. He and his aunt discuss the slug panel. “It made an impression on you, I suppose,” she casually says.

But it’s only part of some local lore, right? One is no more likely to run across the giant slug than to run across, say, the Angel of the Annunciation, right? No one in town would think of blaspheming, anyway. It just wasn’t done.

…but what if…?

This is an odd little tale, combining nostalgia with the terror of scary religion and then a terror of something far stranger. Though a bit wordy and slow in the beginning, it is a nice atmospheric read.

Bio: E. F. (Edward Frederick) Benson (1867-1940) was a British author best known in his lifetime for his 1893 novel Dodo, satirizing British suffragist Ethel Smyth, and his Mapp and Lucia series, which poked fun at the British upper middle class. These have been adapted for TV. In the 80s, British author Tom Holt wrote a couple of sequels. Benson is probably best known today for his short supernatural fiction.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (38:41)

Title: “Negotium Perambulans”
Author: E. F. Benson (1867-1940)
First published: Hutchinson’s Magazine, November 1922
Length: short story

Review of “The Moonlit Road” by Ambrose Bierce: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

The following things happened: Joel Hetman returned from a trip at an unexpected time and used the back door without disturbing anyone. He chased what appeared to be a prowler into the woods, who got away. His wife, Julia, was strangled to death in her bedroom. He summoned his nineteen-year-old son, Joel, Jr., home from his studies at Yale. The son decided to stay and help his father.

A few months later, Joel Sr. and Joel Jr. walked down the road in the moonlight by their house. There was no light in the house. As they approached the gate, the father drew the son’s attention to something he saw. The son saw nothing; the father’s gaze remained fixed. He even took a few steps back. A servant lit a light upstairs. When the son looked for his father, he was nowhere to be found. He never learned what happened to him.

Some twenty years later, a man named Caspar Grattan wrote a statement the night before he was to be hanged. He recalls an earlier prosperous life with a wife and a successful son.

Lastly, a statement is offered through a medium; the other side is very much like this one.

Thoughts:

The story is presented through the statements of three different people at three distinct times. Each offers an honest, if incomplete, account of the story’s events. It’s not difficult for a reader to piece together what happened, of course. It’s not intended to be a mystery, but (as far as I can make out) a comment on how far things can go wrong when people don’t talk to each other.

Each has a unique view of events that the others lack. The three people involved in the story are intimate and love each other, belonging to the same family, but seem to hardly know one another. And they don’t talk. That is the great tragedy because it brings about the death of one character and the ruin of another.

In this ghost story, it is humans, rather than spirits from beyond, who give the reader the chills. So, yeah, it is the typical cheery Ambrose Bierce stuff.

Bio: Ambrose Bierce (1842- disappeared 1914) was an American journalist, writer, and Civil War veteran. Among his best-known works are “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”—familiar to high school students in the U.S.—and The Devil’s Dictionary, a collection of sardonic definitions of common words. He also wrote a memoir, What I Saw at Shiloh, an unsentimental (at least) account of that battle.

There has been much speculation about his death. He is said to have gone to join the forces of Pancho Villa to observe the Mexican Revolution and disappeared, but a small ocean of ink has been spilled about hows, wheres, and whens.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (29:10)

Title: “The Moonlit Road”
Author: Ambrose Bierce (1842- disappeared 1914)
First published: Cosmopolitan (New York) [not that one], January 1907
Length: short story

Review of “Master of Fallen Years” by Vincent O’Sullivan: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Augustus Barber works in a paper-box manufacturing business in London. The narrator is at pains to tell the reader how ordinary, if commonplace, Augustus is. He doesn’t read anything outside of newspapers and shows no interest in anything spiritual or metaphysical.

After falling ill to the point that he was expected not to recover, Barber changes. He no longer laughs quite so quickly. He has fits of violence and begins to behave inappropriately in other ways. For example, once when the narrator is out with Barber and some friends, Barber “offered some freedom to a lady.” Her gentleman companion, who happens to be a member of Parliament, objects and raises his fist. Something makes him hesitate; it is not fear of Barber, who is a much smaller man. Something encompasses Barber, but then it is gone, and Barber gets decked before his friends can pull him away.

As the behavior grows more outrageous, the ability of the something to influence people increases. Barber frequently falls ill after an episode of angry or offensive conduct. Barber is aware of it and calls it the Other, but cannot control it.

Thoughts:

Poor Barber. The narrator (understandably) doesn’t want to have anything to do with Barber. Once an inoffensive if awkward guy—perhaps reminding the reader of an acquaintance who laughs too loudly at dinner—he becomes an outrageous guy who makes you want to run for fear of seeing flashing lights pull up out front.

The episodes appear to the modern reader like bouts of mental illness, especially because they are often followed by physical illness. Yet, O’Sullivan adds an element of the supernatural. During an episode, he seems to be able to influence people. At first, this is only to not interfere with what he’s doing, as if a toddler has managed to enchant those around him to let him continue with his antics. However, the antics become increasingly dangerous, and their influence grows. What began as annoying (at worst) becomes sinister and perhaps deadly.

This is a weird, sad little story.

Bio: Vincent O’Sullivan (1868-1940) was an American poet, critic, and writer of weird fiction, most notably in the turn-of-the-century Decadent* movement. He spent most of his life in Europe, living quite comfortably until the family coffee business went bust.

This story can be read here:

I could not immediately find an audio version of this story.

*The Encyclopedia of Fantasy describes the Decadent movement thus: “Decadent writers were interested in all things abnormal, artificial, morbid, perverse, and exotic and were much given to symbolism; they were inevitably drawn to fantastic themes and bizarre stylistic embellishments, and their best work dramatically expanded the range, the bizarrerie, and the grandiloquence of fantasy.”

Title: “Master of Fallen Years”
Author: Vincent O’Sullivan (1868-1940)
First published: The Smart Set, 1921
Length: short story

Review of “The Marble Hands” by Bernard Capes: Halloween Countdwon

Plot:

Our hero rides his bike with his friend Heriot to the churchyard. Heriot wants him to check something out but doesn’t want to see it himself. Our hero soon finds what he’s looking for—a grave with no headstone or inscription. A beveled marble curb encloses a graveled area. In the graveled area stand two marble hands as if projecting from the grave. A sculptor friend of the interred made them. The woman insisted that they be her only epitaph.

The woman beneath them was a friend of Heriot’s Aunt Caddie, who disliked her. Heriot, however, liked her. He was only seven.

When the husband of the deceased remarried, the new wife insisted that the hands go. Heriot went to see what the grave looked like without them—but they were still there, looking as lifelike as ever.

Thoughts:

This story is a short-short that can be easily read in one sitting, unless you have a cat who wishes to help you with your reading.

This is a brief, creepy story. The narrator feels the eeriness of the place but doesn’t understand it. His friend tells him the backstory as the two ride their bikes away. He does not, however, settle the crucial question of whether the hands are “real” or not. While she was alive, the owner of the hands was friendly to Heriot. He liked her in return. Now, he’s not so sure…

If this little gothic tale is something less than a masterpiece, it makes for a nice little creepy read.

Bio: Bernard Capes (1854-1918) was a prolific Victorian English author and journalist who mainly wrote ghost and supernatural stories but also romances, mysteries, poetry, and history. His popularity waned after his death during the 1918 flu epidemic. Anthologist Hugh Lamb published a selection of Capes’ stories as The Black Reaper in 1989 (expanded 1998).

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (8:35)

Title: “The Marble Hands”
Author: Bernard Capes (1854-1918)
First published: The Fabulists, 1915
Length: short story

Review of “The Wolf-Man” by Erckmann-Chatrian: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Around Christmas time in the year 18—, our hero Fritz lies fast asleep at the Cygne in Fribourg in the Black Forest when someone awakens him, telling him:

“I have good news for you; I am going to take you to Nideck, two leagues from this place. You know Nideck, the finest baronial castle in the country, a grand monument of the glory of our forefathers?”

At first, Fritz does not recognize his caller, which hurts the other man’s feelings.

“Was it not I who taught you to set a trap, to lay wait for the foxes along the skirts of the woods, to start the dogs after the wild birds? Do you remember me now? Look at my left ear, with a frost-bite.”

“Now I know you,” Fritz says. “That left ear of yours has done it; Shake hands.”

The visitor is Gideon Sperver, Fritz’s friend and foster father. Fritz hasn’t seen him for sixteen years.

Gideon, the old poacher, has honest work now. He’s a huntsman for the Count of Nideck at Nideck Castle. The old count has taken ill. The malady is a strange one, coming and going. No doctor has been able to help him, but Gideon is convinced Dr. Fritz can cure him.

They set off immediately despite the miserable weather. Gideon insists they arrive before nightfall.

On the way to Nideck Castle, they notice an old woman in a black, tattered dress crouching on a hillside some distance from them. She gives Fritz the creeps. Gideon calls her “The Black Plague” and wants to be clear of the sight of her. He calls her a witch and claims that she is “killing the count by inches.”

This makes no sense to Fritz.

When they get to the castle, various servants meet them before Fritz meets his patient and his daughter, Countess Odile. Although confined to his bed, the count seems cheerful and friendly. The count’s appearance rattles Fritz:

“A grey head, covered with short, close hair, strangely full behind the ears, and drawn out in the face to a portentous length, the narrowness of his forehead up to its summit widening over the eyebrows…”

He calls the older man an old wolf.

Word comes that a traveler, Baron of Zimmer-Bluderich, lost in the mountains, wishes to shelter at the castle. The countess agrees but tells the servant to let the baron know the count is ill and cannot receive him.

The count starts an old fight with his daughter. He wants her to marry. Then all his troubles would be over, knowing his line would continue. She demurs, having decided to dedicate herself to God.

Dr. Fritz stays out of the family argument. Once he sees his patient resting comfortably, he leaves. He assures the countess that her father is not in imminent danger and that he may, in fact, recover.

Gideon then leads Fritz to the old Hugh Lupus (hmmm… interesting nickname) Tower, where he’ll stay the night. Nideck greatⁿ granddaddy, for whom the tower was named, built the edifice in the time of Charlemagne.

Gideon and Fritz drink and eat a lot—but that’s probably not what gives Fritz those oddball dreams after he retires to sleep under the bearskins in the alcove.

Thoughts:

This story was originally serialized, so there are many little cliffhangers and colorful characters that serve as red herrings. Some of these may not wear well with the modern reader; the castle porter is a dwarf named Knapwurst. He’s described as ugly, but he’s also learned. He and Fritz become friends. The head butler is Tobias Offenloch, an old soldier from the Nideck regiment. He lost a leg in a battle and has grown fat. His wife is French, Marie Lagoutte. Rounding out the servants is Sébalt Kraft, master of the hounds, a dismal fellow. The servants don’t do much—the master is laid up, after all—and they like to party in the kitchen.

In true gothic fashion, Fritz witnesses the count’s grotesque transformation as a “fit.” He recovers but remains in danger of death. Fritz is a doctor. He should know.

And it is long, making it a nice winter read to enjoy with a cup or three of fortified hot chocolate.

What is the connection between the count and the “Black Plague”? Is she human, or something more? Why has this baron appeared out of nowhere, and why is he so determined to go into the mountains during the snowstorm?

While not all the mysteries are solved, the reader sees a centuries-old family curse unravel amid derring-do, tragedy, and loss. However, this is a nineteenth-century work that includes melodrama and flowery language. The foreshadowing is about as subtle as a kick in the shins. It is in no hurry to get where it’s going. All that said, I rather liked this, more for the company of the characters than the plot.

Bio: Émile Erckmann (1822-1899) and Alexandre Chatrian (1826-1890) were French writers and playwrights who collaborated on much of their work. However, it is now believed that Erckmann wrote the novels and Chatrian largely wrote the plays.

Among their best-known supernatural works are “L’Oeil Invisible” (“The Invisible Eye”), “L’Araignee Crabe” (“The Spider Crab”), “Le Blanc et le Noir” (“The White and Black”), and “La Maison Forestière” (The Forest House).

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here:(4:19:36)

Title: “The Wolf-Man”
Author: Erckmann-Chatrian (a pen name used by Émile Erckmann (1822-1899) and Alexandre Chatrian (1826-1890))
First published: in French “Hugues-le-loup,” Le Constitutionnel, (1859); in English 1876
Length: novella