A
Gipsy Prophecy
By
Bram
Stoker
"I
really think," said the Doctor, "that, at any rate, one of
us
should
go and try whether or not the thing is an imposture."
"Good!"
said Considine. "After dinner we will take our cigars
and
stroll over to the camp."
Accordingly,
when the dinner was over, and the La Tour finished,
Joshua
Considine and his friend, Dr. Burleigh, went over to the
east
side of the moor, where the gipsy encampment lay. As they were
leaving,
Mary Considine, who had walked as far as the end of the
garden
where it opened into the laneway, called after her husband:
"Mind,
Joshua, you are to give them a fair chance, but don't give
them
any clue to a fortune-and don't you get flirting with any of the
gipsy
maidens-and take care to keep Gerald out of harm."
For
answer Considine held up his hand, as if taking a stage oath,
and
whistled the air of the old song, "The Gipsy Countess."
Gerald
joined
in the strain, and then, breaking into merry laughter, the
two
men passed along the laneway to the common, turning now and then
to
wave their hands to Mary, who leaned over the gate, in the
twilight,
looking after them.
It
was a lovely evening in the summer; the very air was full
of
rest and quiet happiness, as though an outward type of the
peacefulness
and joy which made a heaven of the home of the young
married
folk. Considine's life had not been an eventful one. The
only
disturbing element which he had ever known was in his wooing
of
Mary Winston, and the long-continued objection of her ambitious
parents,
who expected a brilliant match for their only daughter.
When
Mr. and Mrs. Winston had discovered the attachment of the young
barrister,
they had tried to keep the young people apart by sending
their
daughter away for a long round of visits, having made her
promise
not to correspond with her lover during her absence. Love,
however,
had stood the test. Neither absence nor neglect seemed
to
cool the passion of the young man, and jealousy seemed a thing
unknown
to his sanguine nature; so, after a long period of waiting,
the
parents had given in, and the young folk were married.
They
had been living in the cottage a few months, and were just
beginning
to feel at home. Gerald Burleigh, Joshua's old college
chum,
and himself a sometime victim of Mary's beauty, had arrived a
week
before, to stay with them for as long a time as he could tear
himself
away from his work in London.
When
her husband had quite disappeared Mary went into the house,
and,
sitting down at the piano, gave an hour to Mendelssohn.
It
was but a short walk across the common, and before the cigars
required
renewing the two men had reached the gipsy camp. The place
was
as picturesque as gipsy camps-when in villages and when business
is
good-usually are. There were some few persons round the fire,
investing
their money in prophecy, and a large number of others,
poorer
or more parsimonious, who stayed just outside the bounds but
near
enough to see all that went on.
As
the two gentlemen approached, the villagers, who knew Joshua,
made
way a little, and a pretty, keen-eyed gipsy girl tripped up and
asked
to tell their fortunes. Joshua held out his hand, but the girl,
without
seeming to see it, stared at his face in a very odd manner.
Gerald
nudged him:
"You
must cross her hand with silver," he said. "It is one of
the
most
important parts of the mystery." Joshua took from his pocket a
half-crown
and held it out to her, but, without looking at it, she
answered:
"You
must cross the gipsy's hand with gold."
Gerald
laughed. "You are at a premium as a subject," he said.
Joshua
was of the kind of man-the universal kind-who can tolerate
being
stared at by a pretty girl; so, with some little deliberation,
he
answered:
"All
right; here you are, my pretty girl; but you must give me a
real
good fortune for it," and he handed her a half sovereign, which
she
took, saying:
"It
is not for me to give good fortune or bad, but only to read
what
the Stars have said." She took his right hand and turned it palm
upward;
but the instant her eyes met it she dropped it as though it
had
been red hot, and, with a startled look, glided swiftly away.
Lifting
the curtain of the large tent, which occupied the centre of
the
camp, she disappeared within.
"Sold
again!" said the cynical Gerald. Joshua stood a little
amazed,
and not altogether satisfied. They both watched the large
tent.
In a few moments there emerged from the opening not the young
girl,
but a stately looking woman of middle age and commanding
presence.
The
instant she appeared the whole camp seemed to stand still. The
clamour
of tongues, the laughter and noise of the work were, for a
second
or two, arrested, and every man or woman who sat, or crouched,
or
lay, stood up and faced the imperial looking gipsy.
"The
Queen, of course," murmured Gerald. "We are in luck
to-night."
The
gipsy Queen threw a searching glance around the camp, and then,
without
hesitating an instant, came straight over and stood before
Joshua.
"Hold
out your hand," she said in a commanding tone.
Again
Gerald spoke, sotto voce: "I have not been spoken to in that
way
since I was at school."
"Your
hand must be crossed with gold."
"A
hundred per cent at this game," whispered Gerald, as Joshua
laid
another half sovereign on his upturned palm.
The
gipsy looked at the hand with knitted brows; then suddenly
looking
up into his face, said:
"Have
you a strong will-have you a true heart that can be brave
for
one you love?"
"I
hope so; but I am afraid I have not vanity enough to say 'yes.'"
"Then
I will answer for you; for I read resolution in your
face-resolution
desperate and determined if need be. You have a
wife
you love?"
"Yes,"
emphatically.
"Then
leave her at once-never see her face again. Go from her now,
while
love is fresh and your heart is free from wicked intent. Go
quick-go
far, and never see her face again!"
Joshua
drew away his hand quickly, and said, "Thank you!" stiffly
but
sarcastically, as he began to move away.
"I
say!" said Gerald, "you're not going like that, old man; no
use
in
being indignant with the Stars or their prophet-and, moreover, your
sovereign-what
of it? At least, hear the matter out."
"Silence,
ribald!" commanded the Queen, "you know not what you do.
Let
him go-and go ignorant, if he will not be warned."
Joshua
immediately turned back. "At all events, we will see this
thing
out," he said. "Now, madam, you have given me advice, but I
paid
for a fortune."
"Be
warned!" said the gipsy. "The Stars have been silent for
long;
let
the mystery still wrap them round."
"My
dear madam, I do not get within touch of a mystery every day,
and
I prefer for my money knowledge rather than ignorance. I can get
the
latter commodity for nothing when I want any of it."
Gerald
echoed the sentiment. "As for me I have a large and
unsaleable
stock on hand."
The
gipsy Queen eyed the two men sternly, and then said, "As you
wish.
You have chosen for yourself, and have met warning with scorn,
and
appeal with levity. On your own heads be the doom!"
"Amen!"
said Gerald.
With
an imperious gesture the Queen took Joshua's hand again,
and
began to tell his fortune.
"I
see here the flowing of blood; it will flow before long; it is
running
in my sight. It flows through the broken circle of a severed
ring."
"Go
on!" said Joshua, smiling. Gerald was silent.
"Must
I speak plainer?"
"Certainly;
we commonplace mortals want something definite. The
Stars
are a long way off, and their words get somewhat dulled in the
message."
The
gipsy shuddered, and then spoke impressively. "This is the
hand
of a murderer-the murderer of his wife!" She dropped the hand
and
turned away.
Joshua
laughed. "Do you know," said he, "I think if I were
you I
should
prophesy some jurisprudence into my system. For instance, you
say
'this hand is the hand of a murderer.' Well, whatever it may be
in
the future-or potentially-it is at present not one. You ought
to
give your prophecy in such terms as 'the hand which will be a
murderer's,'
or, rather, 'the hand of one who will be the murderer
of
his wife.' The Stars are really not good on technical questions."
The
gipsy made no reply of any kind, but, with drooping head and
despondent
mien, walked slowly to her tent, and, lifting the curtain,
disappeared.
Without
speaking the two men turned homewards, and walked across
the
moor. Presently, after some little hesitation, Gerald spoke.
"Of
course, old man, this is all a joke; a ghastly one, but still
a
joke. But would it not be well to keep it to ourselves?"
"How
do you mean?"
"Well,
not to tell your wife. It might alarm her."
"Alarm
her! My dear Gerald, what are you thinking of? Why, she
would
not be alarmed or afraid of me if all the gipsies that ever
didn't
come from Bohemia agreed that I was to murder her, or even
to
have a hard thought of her, whilst so long as she was saying
'Jack
Robinson.' "
Gerald
remonstrated. "Old fellow, women are superstitious-far
more
than we men are; and, also, they are blessed-or cursed-with a
nervous
system to which we are strangers. I see too much of it in
my
work not to realize it. Take my advice and do not let her know,
or
you will frighten her."
Joshua's
lips unconsciously hardened as he answered: "My dear
fellow,
I would not have a secret from my wife. Why, it would be
the
beginning of a new order of things between us. We have no
secrets
from each other. If we ever have, then you may begin to
look
out for something odd between us."
"Still,"
said Gerald, "at the risk of unwelcome interference, I
say
again be warned in time."
"The
gipsy's very words," said Joshua. "You and she seem quite
of
one accord. Tell me, old man, is this a put-up thing? You told
me
of the gipsy camp-did you arrange it all with Her Majesty?" This
was
said with an air of bantering earnestness. Gerald assured him
that
he only heard of the camp that morning; but he made fun of
every
answer of his friend, and, in the process of this raillery,
the
time passed, and they entered the cottage.
Mary
was sitting by the piano but not playing. The dim twilight
had
waked some very tender feelings in her breast, and her eyes were
full
of gentle tears. When the men came in she stole over to her
husband's
side and kissed him. Joshua struck a tragic attitude.
"Mary,"
he said in a deep voice, "before you approach me, listen
to
the words of Fate. The Stars have spoken and the doom is sealed."
"What
is it, dear? Tell me the fortune, but do not frighten me."
"Not
at all, my dear; but there is a truth which it is well that
you
should know. Nay, it is necessary so that all your arrangements
can
be made beforehand, and everything be decently done and in order."
"Go
on, dear; I am listening."
"Mary
Considine, your effigy may yet be seen at Madame Tussaud's.
The
juris-imprudent stars have announced their fell tidings that this
hand
is red with blood-your blood. Mary! Mary! my God!" He sprang
forward,
but too late to catch her as she fell fainting on the floor.
"I
told you," said Gerald. "You don't know them as well as I
do."
After
a little while Mary recovered from her swoon, but only to
fall
into strong hysterics, in which she laughed and wept and raved
and
cried, "Keep him from me-from me, Joshua, my husband," and
many
other
words of entreaty and of fear.
Joshua
Considine was in a state of mind bordering on agony, and
when
at last Mary became calm he knelt by her and kissed her feet
and
hands and hair and called her all the sweet names and said all
the
tender things his lips could frame. All that night he sat by
her
bedside and held her hand. Far through the night and up to the
early
morning she kept waking from sleep and crying out as if in
fear,
till she was comforted by the consciousness that her husband
was
watching beside her.
Breakfast
was late the next morning, but during it Joshua
received
a telegram which required him to drive over to Withering,
nearly
twenty miles. He was loth to go; but Mary would not hear
of
his remaining, and so before noon he drove off in his dog-cart
alone.
When
he was gone Mary retired to her room. She did not appear at
lunch,
but when afternoon tea was served on the lawn, under the great
weeping
willow, she came to join her guest. She was looking quite
recovered
from her illness of the evening before. After some casual
remarks,
she said to Gerald: "Of course it was very silly about last
night,
but I could not help feeling frightened. Indeed I would feel
so
still if I let myself think of it. But, after all, these people
may
only imagine things, and I have got a test that can hardly fail
to
show that the prediction is false-if indeed it be false," she
added
sadly.
"What
is your plan?" asked Gerald.
"I
shall go myself to the gipsy camp, and have my fortune told
by
the Queen."
"Capital.
May I go with you?"
"Oh,
no! That would spoil it. She might know you and guess at me,
and
suit her utterance accordingly. I shall go alone this afternoon."
When
the afternoon was gone Mary Considine took her way to the
gipsy
encampment. Gerald went with her as far as the near edge of
the
common, and returned alone.
Half-an-hour
had hardly elapsed when Mary entered the drawing-room,
where
he lay on a sofa reading. She was ghastly pale and was in a
state
of extreme excitement. Hardly had she passed over the threshold
when
she collapsed and sank moaning on the carpet. Gerald rushed to
aid
her, but by a great effort she controlled herself and motioned
him
to be silent. He waited, and his ready attention to her wish
seemed
to be her best help, for, in a few minutes, she had somewhat
recovered,
and was able to tell him what had passed.
"When
I got to the camp," she said, "there did not seem to be a
soul
about. I went into the centre and stood there. Suddenly a tall
woman
stood beside me. 'Something told me I was wanted!' she said.
I
held out my hand and laid a piece of silver on it. She took from
her
neck a small golden trinket and laid it there also; and then,
seizing
the two, threw them into the stream that ran by. Then she
took
my hand in hers and spoke: 'Naught but blood in this guilty
place,'
and turned away. I caught hold of her and asked her to tell
me
more. After some hesitation, she said: 'Alas! alas! I see you
lying
at your husband's feet, and his hands are red with blood.'"
Gerald
did not feel at all at ease, and tried to laugh it off.
"Surely,"
he said, "this woman has a craze about murder."
"Do
not laugh," said Mary, "I cannot bear it," and then,
as if
with
a sudden impulse, she left the room.
Not
long after Joshua returned, bright and cheery, and as hungry
as
a hunter after his long drive. His presence cheered his wife, who
seemed
much brighter, but she did not mention the episode of the
visit
to the gipsy camp, so Gerald did not mention it either. As if
by
tacit consent the subject was not alluded to during the evening.
But
there was a strange, settled look on Mary's face, which Gerald
could
not but observe.
In
the morning Joshua came down to breakfast later than usual.
Mary
had been up and about the house from an early hour; but as the
time
drew on she seemed to get a little nervous, and now and again
threw
around an anxious look.
Gerald
could not help noticing that none of those at breakfast
could
get on satisfactorily with their food. It was not altogether
that
the chops were tough, but that the knives were all so blunt.
Being
a guest, he, of course, made no sign; but presently saw Joshua
draw
his thumb across the edge of his knife in an unconscious sort
of
way. At the action Mary turned pale and almost fainted.
After
breakfast they all went out on the lawn. Mary was making up
a
bouquet, and said to her husband, "Get me a few of the
tea-roses,
dear."
Joshua
pulled down a cluster from the front of the house. The
stem
bent, but was too tough to break. He put his hand in his pocket
to
get his knife; but in vain. "Lend me your knife, Gerald,"
he said.
But
Gerald had not got one, so he went into the breakfast-room and
took
one from the table. He came out feeling its edge and grumbling.
"What
on earth has happened to all the knives-the edges seem all
ground
off?" Mary turned away hurriedly and entered the house.
Joshua
tried to sever the stalk with the blunt knife as country
cooks
sever the necks of fowl-as schoolboys cut twine. With a little
effort
he finished the task. The cluster of roses grew thick, so he
determined
to gather a great bunch.
He
could not find a single sharp knife in the sideboard where
the
cutlery was kept, so he called Mary, and when she came, told her
the
state of things. She looked so agitated and so miserable that he
could
not help knowing the truth, and, as if astounded and hurt,
asked
her:
"Do
you mean to say that you have done it?"
She
broke in, "Oh, Joshua, I was so afraid."
He
paused, and a set, white look came over his face. "Mary!"
said
he, "is this all the trust you have in me? I would not have
believed
it."
"Oh,
Joshua! Joshua!" she cried entreatingly, "forgive me,"
and
wept
bitterly.
Joshua
thought a moment and then said: "I see how it is. We
shall
better end this or we shall all go mad."
He
ran into the drawing-room.
"Where
are you going?" almost screamed Mary.
Gerald
saw what he meant-that he would not be tied to blunt
instruments
by the force of a superstition, and was not surprised
when
he saw him come out through the French window, bearing in his
hand
a large Ghourka knife, which usually lay on the centre table,
and
which his brother had sent him from Northern India. It was one
of
those great hunting-knives which worked such havoc, at close
quarters
with the enemies of the loyal Ghourkas during the mutiny,
of
great weight but so evenly balanced in the hand as to seem light,
and
with an edge like a razor. With one of these knives a Ghourka
can
cut a sheep in two.
When
Mary saw him come out of the room with the weapon in his
hand
she screamed in an agony of fright, and the hysterics of last
night
were promptly renewed.
Joshua
ran toward her, and, seeing her falling, threw down the
knife
and tried to catch her.
However,
he was just a second too late, and the two men cried out
in
horror simultaneously as they saw her fall upon the naked blade.
When
Gerald rushed over he found that in falling her left hand
had
struck the blade, which lay partly upwards on the grass. Some of
the
small veins were cut through, and the blood gushed freely from
the
wound. As he was tying it up he pointed out to Joshua that the
wedding
ring was severed by the steel.
They
carried her fainting to the house. When, after a while, she
came
out, with her arm in a sling, she was peaceful in her mind and
happy.
She said to her husband:
"The
gipsy was wonderfully near the truth; too near for the real
thing
ever to occur now, dear."
Joshua
bent over and kissed the wounded hand.
