Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in Solitude
there soon after noon. I found the hotel, a fifth-rate one, and
entering, was shown to the room of the Countess. What a change for her
from the past! Her room was a small one, plastered, but unpapered, and
with a few articles of furniture of the cheapest. The poor woman was
too evidently in a state of frightful depression, and well she might be.
Hers had been a butterfly existence, life all one Summer holiday, no
hostages given to fortune, no bond taken against future wreck or change.
Like the butterfly, she had roamed from flower to flower, sipping the
sweet only, or, like the cricket, had merrily piped all the Summer
through, thinking sunshine and bloom eternal. Even when youth and beauty
had fled, and lovers no longer stood ready to attend and serve, she
still found a good aftermath in her happy harvest field on the floors of
the Casino, but when the Casino lights at Wiesbaden went out, then, for
the Countess, had the Winter indeed come.
My walk had given me something of an appetite, and it now being 2
o'clock I at once proposed to have dinner. To my surprise she said she
had already dined, and upon my remarking that it was early for dinner,
she replied that it was, but as she was owing quite a hotel bill she
feared to give any trouble lest the landlord might present his bill, and
in default of payment she was liable to arrest and a very considerable
imprisonment. I need hardly tell my readers that they do these things
differently in Germany than with us. I could easily afford to be
generous with other people's money, and did not mean to see the Countess
suffer for a hotel bill. Ringing the bell, I told the waiter to bring me
some dinner and a bottle of wine. The Countess looked very uneasy over
my order. Of late years she had seen life from the seamy side and had
observed so much of the falseness and cruelty of men that she had
apparently lost all faith in them, and no doubt thought me an
adventurer, one who might possibly dine and order expensive wines,
leaving her to face an angry landlord. While dinner was being prepared
she told me she was in the greatest distress; had not even a single
kreutzer to pay postage, and, worst of all, was owing for two weeks'
board. She had no means to fly, no place to fly to, and if she remained
incarceration awaited her. She had for weeks been writing everywhere to
every one she had known, former lovers, distant, but long-neglected
relatives. The result--dead silence; no response from anywhere. She at
last was alone, caught in the world's great snare, with no friendly hand
to shelter or save. It was a sight to read this woman's face. There
swept over it all the conflicting waves of regrets over might-have-beens
and the gloomy shades of despair. Both proprietor and waiter appeared to
set the table; it was for one, but wineglasses for two were brought
unsolicited. They were officiously anxious to please "Your Highness," as
they christened me. The Countess sat looking gloomily out of the window
across the Rhine, while I watched her face until an infinite pity for
the shipwrecked soul filled my mind. Dismissing the waiter I went to the
window, and standing by her chair I said: "Don't worry any more,
Countess; I will pay your bill." At the same time drawing from an inner
pocket a book crammed with notes, I placed seven 100-thaler notes in her
lap, saying: "This one is for your board bill, and the other six are for
your pocket money." I need not attempt to picture her amazement and
delight. Certainly she appeared very grateful. We had a long
conversation and I was talking to her like a brother. Perhaps had she
still been beautiful and young my manner and language might have been
less brotherly. I told her she had danced and sung, but at last the time
had come for toil, and suggested she should go to Brussels, which is
ever thronged with tourists, where her knowledge of languages and her
savoir faire could be made available in one of the many shops where
gimcracks are sold to travelers. I advised her to offer a small premium
for a position. This she said she would do.
In saying good-bye I promised to see her again the next night, but I
found a telegram awaiting me on my arrival at my hotel which called me
to meet two of my companions at Calais, and I was forced to leave by an
early train. The next time I saw the Countess was at Newgate. She
visited me there, and was in perfect despair over my position and her
inability to serve me. For those who may care to know more of her, I
will say that, following my advice, she went to Brussels and obtained a
position in a Tourist Exchange and within a year married the proprietor,
who was a Councilman and a man of considerable local importance. She
made him a good wife and became a true mother to his five daughters.
When he died he made her guardian to both of them and his wealth. She
became very religious, and to the last was a devout member of the Roman
Church. She died in 1886, thirteen years after the episode at Rieberich.
Her ashes rest in the little graveyard of the Convent des Soeurs de Ste.
Agnes, on the Charleroi road, two miles from the city, and on her
monument is engraved:
TO ELIZABETH, The Beloved Wife, Pious and True. She Served God and
Has Gone to Live with the Angels
CHAPTER IX.
"WE HAVE ANOTHER JOB FOR YOU."
About every second day I called on Murpurgo & Weissweller in Frankfort,
and talked over matters, and easily saw that everything would go right.
All that was necessary was to produce the bonds, and they would hand
over the cash. Here in America, though we scrutinized a man's garments,
the quality and fit of the same having a certain value, we never take
much stock in a stranger because an artist tailor has decorated him, or
because he has plenty of money. But in the seventies, all over Europe,
from the mere fact that a man was an American and had the appearance,
dress and manner of a gentleman, they always took it for granted that he
must be a gentleman.
Therefore, seeing that I was taken for a capitalist, and that no
question would be asked, I told the firm my deal in Austrian copper
mines appeared so certain to be completed that I had ordered the
securities I intended to dispose of to be forwarded from London. Giving
them a list, they gave me a memorandum offer for the lot. I accepted
their offer. The next hour was a very bad sixty minutes for me. There
was considerable delay, and my suspicions were fully aroused, and at one
time I thought they had made some discovery; but, as a fact, my
suspicions were wholly unfounded.
The banker and clerks were simply hurrying around, anxious to oblige me
and have the money out of the bank before it closed. At last the amounts
were figured up and verified by myself. One of the partners hastened
off to the bank and in five minutes returned with a very pretty parcel
of 200,000 gulden; but, in spite of the evident safety of the business,
I was nervous, and resolved to put a good distance between me and the
town as speedily as possible. Before 5 o'clock I was in Weisbaden, and,
going directly to the Casino, where they kept at all times a million
francs, in addition to German money, and where the possession of large
sums attract no attention, I readily exchanged my money for 350
one-thousand-franc notes.
* * * * *
Going to Rothschild's, I bought exchange on New York for $80,000, and
left the same night for London. Very many times I journeyed over that
route in after years, but never with so light a heart. I was young and
enthusiastic; all the glamour and poetry of life hung around me, while I
was too inexperienced to notice whither I was drifting, or to understand
the powerful current upon which I had embarked. In fact, I had sold
myself to do the devil's work, and day by day the chain would tighten,
while all the time I thought I could when I pleased stop short on the
downward grade and take the back track. More experience would have
taught me that every one who forsook the path of honor not only thought
the same, but had a purpose to even everything up some day and make
restitution. And to-day there is not a criminal but who, at the start,
looks forward to the time when he will no longer war against society,
but will go out and come in at peace with all men. But when one comes to
think of it, what a fool's game is that of a man who fights against
society!
The criminal has but two arms, very short and weak they are, and of
flesh, too. He has but two eyes that cannot possibly see around the
nearest corner, while society has a million arms of steel that can reach
around the world, and a million eyes which are never closed, that can
pierce the thickest gloom with sleepless vigilance. The poor, unhappy
criminal, by fortunate dexterity, may escape for a little, but at last
society lays her iron grasp on him, and with giant force hurls him into
a dungeon. As for the short-lived, tempestuous success that some few
criminals have, is there any sweetness in it? I say no; success won in
honest fight is sweet, but I know from my own experience that the
success of crime brings no sweetness, no blessing with it, but leaves
the mind a prey to a thousand haunting fears that make shipwreck of
peace.
There were no sleeping cars in all Europe then, so I sat up in a
compartment and really enjoyed the ride, viewing the country by
moonlight. At midnight we arrived at Calais, and took the boat for
Dover. Then the express for London. Arriving at Victoria Station I took
a cab to Mrs. Green's, where I had breakfast a l'anglaise.
I had a little adventure that night going down the Strand. At Bow
street, on the corner, is the "Gaiety," a famous drinking saloon,
flooded with light inside and out, with more than a half-dozen handsome
barmaids. Barmaids are a great institution in England--that is, they
have never more than one man behind a bar, none at all in the railway
bars. And a fearful source of ruin to the girls, as they are to
thousands of young men--I might say tens of thousands every year. These
girls are chosen for their beauty and attractiveness. Yearly, in London
and in other large cities of England, a "Beautiful Barmaid Show" is one
of the stated features, and is held in some public garden or monster
hall. These exhibitions are wonderfully popular, and thousands flock to
them. Various beauty contests are got up, and all the popular features
of voting, etc., are in vogue. Those of the young women who win the
prizes make their fortunes, for they are at once engaged at high
salaries for the more aristocratic barrooms. Fancy what an attraction
and even fascination the gin palace with lovely girls behind the bar
must have to the youth of a great city. Many of them strangers, busy
during the day, but with nothing to do at night, with the choice of the
street or a sombre room, but sure of a sweet smile of welcome from a
fascinating woman in the barrooms. How easily and how naturally, too,
does a young man become ensnared. But how if he has no money? No smiles
and no welcome for him! And then what a temptation to help himself to
his master's cash!
Happy for our country that our laws forbid women entering that
occupation!
While standing in the brilliant light of the Gaiety, watching the
thronging crowd of passers-by, with its sprinkling of unfortunates, I
saw one poor, bedraggled creature, wan-faced and hollowed-eyed, with
hunger and despair imprinted on every feature. Looking sharply at her
she caught my eye, and, crossing the street, she spoke to me. The poor
thing looked as if she had been dragged through all the gutters of