On the Heights: A Novel

CHAPTER XII

The two friends returned to the inn. On their way, they met one of the grooms who had brought their horses, and who now told them of a boatman who had informed him that the body of a woman had been dragged from the lake. It had been near the village, of which a few scattered houses and the church steeple were visible on the opposite shore.

The intendant embraced Bruno, who seemed staggered at the news. They sat down for a while, in the very spot where they had been when the news reached them. The groom said that, by boat, they could reach the village in one hour; but that if they went by land, it would take them several hours.

"I can't cross the water," said Bruno, "I can't to-day; Schoning, don't ask it of me! Don't force me! Why do you torment me so?" he asked impatiently.

The intendant well knew that deep grief makes men unreasonable. In the dark depths of their hearts, there still lurks a feeling of anger, even toward those who most thoroughly sympathize with them, but who, themselves, have been spared by misfortune.

"I take no offense at anything you do," he replied, "and through you treat me rudely, I shall bear it. I understand you, and am far from wishing to induce you to cross the lake. We'll ride."

Their horses were brought, and they rode off in the direction of the village that had been pointed out to them. They passed an inn where a crowd of merry wagoners, boatmen and woodcutters were sitting under the lindens, and drinking beer or brandy. Bruno felt that he was being treated like a fever patient whom they were dragging over hill and dale, and to whose clouded vision the world seemed bare and desolate. When they reached the inn, his mouth watered. He thirsted for drink; perhaps it might give him new strength and, what was still better, might enable him to forget. But he did not venture to express his wish to his friend. Was it proper for one in his position to drink brandy? A poacher, like Thomas, might do so; but it would ill befit a cavalier. While thanking the intendant for the trouble he had given him, and promising that he would never forget it, Bruno, whose tongue was parched with thirst, secretly cursed the friend who would not allow him to drink. Ah, how fortunate it is that words are always at command. It is almost as fortunate as the fact that horses are properly broken in, and keep up their pace so nicely that they give one no trouble.

The friends rode on at a rapid pace. It was high noon when they reached the village which Hansei and his family had left two days before. The landlord of the Chamois was standing at the door, and respectfully saluted the two horsemen with the groom behind them.

They alighted. Bruno handed the reins of his steaming horse to the groom. The intendant led his friend into the front garden, where they sat down. He then insisted on Bruno's taking a glass of wine. The host quickly brought a sealed bottle, and vaunted it as the best wine in the house. He also brought some roast meat and placed it on the table, and as long as he had brought it, it must be paid for, even through it were not touched.

The intendant took the host aside and, in a whisper, asked him whether it was true that the body of a woman had been cast ashore near there.

The host answered in the affirmative, and with a smile of satisfaction. The occurrence was a strange and unusual one, and it was only right that it should enure to his great profit. The intendant again asked him where the house was in which the body lay.

"I'll take you there," said the host, with a smile.

"Send for the burgomaster, also."

"There's no need of that; I'm a member of the council," said he, hurrying into the house and returning with his long coat and his medal. He meant to let the gentlemen see with whom they had to do. He felt sure that they must be people of quality, or else they wouldn't be traveling with a groom, and would have said: "Take your meat away; we shan't pay for it!" He even fancied that he knew one of them.

"Begging your pardon," said he to the intendant, "but some years ago, there was a painter here who looked enough like you to be your brother."

The intendant well knew that it was himself who was referred to, but he was not yet in the mood to renew the acquaintance.

The host accompanied the strangers to Hansei's house.

On the way there, he said: "She was a handsome creature. She was beautiful, but good-for-nothing; and her belongings were as bad as she was: particularly her one brother."

The intendant beckoned the innkeeper to be quiet. Bruno bit his lips until they bled. They found it almost impossible to force their way through the crowd which had gathered in the garden and about the road. There were wailing woman, crying children, and cursing men.

"Make way there!" cried the host. He walked on, forcing a passage for the two men, and Bruno heard some one behind him say: "The handsome man, with the large mustache, is the king."

"No, he isn't; it's his cousin!" said another.

They had entered the garden. Bruno leaned against the cherry-tree, and the intendant motioned to the host to allow his comrade to rest for a little while. Everything seemed to swim before Bruno's eyes. Something touched him, and he started with fear. It was a dead leaf which had fallen from the tree above. At last, addressing Schoning in French, he said:

"What good will it do the dead, if I look at her? And it will harm me forever, for I shall never be able to banish the sight from my memory!"

"You must go in, my friend. Remember that these people have made every effort in their power to restore to life one who was a stranger to them, and they have done this out of pure philanthropy."

"Well, we can give them money for that; but why torment ourselves with these dead remains?"

But Bruno was, nevertheless, obliged to go in; leaning on his friend's arm, he entered the house.

Black Esther now lay in the very spot where Hansei had been two days ago, when thinking of her. Her thick, glossy black hair had fallen over her face; her mouth was open-the last cry that Irma had heard still rested there.

"Esther!" cried Bruno, covering his face with his hands.

"It isn't your sister!" said the intendant consolingly. "Come, let us be off."

Bruno could not move from the spot.

"Yes! sister!" cried the old woman, who now rose up from beside the corpse; "yes, sister. Didn't I tell you to let her alone, even if she did help the beautiful lady? didn't I tell you she'd kill herself, if you beat her again? And now you've had your own way, and here she is, lying in this house! Oh, this house, this house! The lake will wash it away yet. Lake! take the whole house! Who are you? What do you want?" she cried, springing up and seizing Bruno's arm. "Who are you with the black hands? let me see who you are-it's you, is it? you who didn't want to see your father die-and what do you want of my Esther? Great God! – now I see it all. You were the one, you! say you were! – say it-! Don't shut your eyes, or I'll scratch them out for all. It was you-I'll drive a nail into your brain, into the cursed brain that forgot her! Oh, why didn't I know it before! But there's time enough yet. My Thomas has already aimed at you-and he'll have a chance again-"

Bruno fainted. The intendant caught him in his arms, but could not support his weight and, therefore, laid him down on the same floor on which lay the dead body of Esther. The innkeeper hurried out to fetch water, and when they opened the door, several people entered from without, among them Doctor Sixtus, Doctor Kumpan, the notary, and Baum.

Sixtus soon restored Bruno to consciousness. A glance sufficed to inform Baum of what had happened. He supported himself against a door-post, holding fast with desperate grip, lest he should fall to the ground. At the first opportunity he glided out of the room. He was not needed there, and if he were now to betray himself, all might be lost. He dragged himself as far as the cherry-tree, sat down on the bench, buttoned his gaiters, unbuttoned them, took out his watch, counted the seconds, wound it up again, held it to his ear and carelessly played with the watch-chain. He stopped to consider. One great task still remains, thought he to himself, and that I must accomplish unaided. He felt that he had a clue to Irma's whereabouts. Sixtus wouldn't listen to such a thing and ridiculed him. So much the better; the credit would all fall to his share; and for that reason, this was no time to worry about his mother. His sister was dead, and perhaps it was for the best. At any rate, he couldn't restore her to life; but, at some future day, he could, without discovering himself, provide for the old woman.

Baum felt proud of his firmness and stroked his chin with satisfaction.

Within the house, the excitement was not yet at an end. The old woman howled, shrieked, ran about the room, opened the window, and cried: "Strike him dead! Drown him, he drowned her!"

Baum let his watch drop from his hand when he heard these words. The old woman was dragged away from the window, and Doctor Kumpan held her fast. She went back to the corpse.

"Strike us all dead!" she cried, "there's no king on earth, and no God in Heaven!"

The old woman raved; then she would weep, and then would again go back to her child.

"Your lips are open! Say but a word! only one 'yes,' before these witnesses! speak his name! he ruined you and left you to perish in misery! They don't believe me. Say, you!" she exclaimed, addressing the intendant and seizing him at the same time, "say, didn't he utter her name and confess it all? Is nothing to be done to one who leads a poor creature into misery and drives her to death? Speak!" said she, turning to Bruno. "Here! take the ring your sister gave me! I want nothing from any of you!"

Shrieking and groaning, she again threw herself upon the corpse.

Bruno was at last led away. He was as pale as death; his face had been marked by his black gloves. They placed him upon the seat under the cherry-tree. Baum rose and brought some water, so that Bruno might wash his face. He was astonished when he saw the white handkerchief which had been blackened by the spots upon his face.

They went back to the inn. Like a fearful child, Bruno never relaxed his hold of the intendant's hand. At every sound he heard, he fancied that the old woman was coming to scratch out his eyes and to tear out his heart. At last he regained his composure, and asked the intendant what he had said on seeing the corpse. Schoning replied that he had called out "Schwester" (sister), and that the old woman, who had understood him to say Esther, had grown quite frantic in consequence.

Bruno felt comforted to learn that he had not betrayed himself. He, nevertheless, set aside a considerable sum for the life-long support of the old woman from whom Irma had received her last shelter.

"Oh, my friend!" said he to the intendant, "as long as I live, I shall never forget the image of that drowned girl!"

Bruno was so exhausted that he was unable to ride his horse. Doctor Sixtus's carriage was in readiness and he got into it, in order to accompany him back to the capital. The doctor gave Bruno the poor consolation that Irma's body would not be recovered. That of the abandoned girl had floated on the surface. Irma, however-as he had already said, – must have been kept down by her long riding-habit, and would, therefore, never be found.

When taking leave of Bruno, the intendant said:

"Now I know how great a heart you have."

Bruno merely nodded in reply. He did not object. It might be well if the intendant were to say the same thing at court.

When they repaired to the carriage, the whole region was obscured by a misty rain; neither mountain nor lake were distinguishable. Just as they were starting, Bruno called Baum to him and gave him his coat with a red collar, for Baum was to mount Bruno's horse and ride it home. The intendant rode back, accompanied by Baum. He told the lackey to remain beside him, instead of following.

"These are fearful goings on," said Baum, addressing the intendant.

"Yes, terrible. I think the mother of the drowned girl must be crazed."

"Sir," resumed Baum, "there is something I should like to speak to you about. I think that maybe the countess isn't drowned, after all. The court physician has laughed at me, but I have a clue, and-"

The report of a gun was heard. Baum fell from his horse.

"I've hit you this time!" cried a voice.

Thomas rushed forth from the thicket.

"Take me!" cried he, "I caught him after-"

At that moment, he saw Baum's body lying on the ground. In a furious voice, he cried:

"I meant to shoot Bruno, and now it's you! you!"

"Brother! my brother!" gasped Baum. "I'm Wolfgang! Your brother Jangerl-Wolfgang-Zenza-my mother!"

Thomas rushed back into the thicket and, in an instant, the report of another shot was heard.

The intendant was in despair. The rain fell in torrents. Baum gave one more convulsive start. Presently, a merry crowd passed by; it was the excursion party they had met early that morning. The ladies were horror-struck and hastened away; the gentlemen remained to assist the intendant. Peasants were called from the fields to carry Baum's body back to the village; others searched the thicket; and soon brought out the lifeless body of Thomas.

The intendant met the notary in the village, and gave him a full report of all that had happened. Before long, the whole village had gathered at the Chamois. It was no unimportant event, for three of one family to be dead at once. No one would confess to surprise that Baum had turned out to be Wolfgang. They all declared that they had recognized him long ago, even when he had come with Doctor Sixtus to take Walpurga away.

The intendant and the innkeeper sat up late that night. The former had discovered himself as the painter who had been a guest at the inn in times gone by. The host had much to tell about Hansei and Walpurga, and one can readily conceive the tone in which he spoke of them.

When they told Zenza what had happened, she listened with a stolid, stupefied air; nor did she seem to understand them when they told her that the count had left money for her and had promised always to take care of her. She burst into a shrill laugh, and when food was brought, greedily ate all that was placed before her.

Baum, Thomas, and Black Esther were buried in one grave.

CHAPTER XIII

The king was at the hunt. The queen was ill. Life at court went on as usual. The ladies and gentlemen dined at the marshal's table, and conversed upon different subjects. They were cheerful, for it was their duty to maintain the accustomed tone.

It was the fourth day after the receipt of the terrible news. It was after dinner, and the ladies were sitting under the so-called "mushroom," a round, vine-covered arbor, situated at the edge of the mountain vineyards. The roof rested, at the center, on a column and, in the distance, resembled an open umbrella, or a gigantic mushroom. They were delighted to have a chance to talk of the preparations for the betrothal of Princess Angelica. They spoke in praise of her noble traits, although she was merely a simple, modest good-hearted girl. They had the court catechism, the genealogical calendar, before them; for dispute had arisen as to the degree in which the mediatized Prince Arnold was related, on his grandmother's side, to the reigning house. Their conversation, however, was simply a makeshift.

Some one remarked that the intendant had returned from his journey. No one, however, knew what adventures he had passed through. They all knew that there had been deaths by shooting and drowning, but as to the "who" and the "how," they were as yet ignorant.

They felt quite happy when they saw the intendant coming in person. They welcomed him in a half-pitying, half-teasing tone. He seemed quite exhausted by his recent experiences. They offered him the most comfortable chair and, placing it in the center of the group, begged him to tell them everything. Although this general homage was not without a touch of irony, the intendant felt quite flattered by it, and was, as usual, ready to play the agreeable. He was always willing to sacrifice everything, not excepting himself, for the sake of being in favor.

He began by telling them of Bruno's deep grief: but that did not interest them. Very well-"as you don't care to hear of Bruno, we'll pass him by." He then went on to give a cleverly arranged account of the terrible death of Baum, who, like a true servant, had been obliged to give up his life for another. However, the death had not been an undeserved one, for he had denied his mother and kindred, and, at last, fell by the hand of his own brother, who immediately afterward killed himself.

The intendant's audience were horror-struck, and found it wondrous strange that so much of the adventurous was concealed in a common-place, everyday lackey like Baum.

"You have at last beheld a tragedy in real life," said one of the ladies.

The intendant well knew that tragedies were no longer in favor, and, in his anxiety to please, recounted some very interesting reports about Walpurga, giving, as his authority, the host of the Chamois, an honest, upright man, who had been decorated for his services in the war.

Whether it was real or afflicted forgetfulness on their part, it is impossible to say, – but the ladies seemed to have forgotten that Walpurga had ever existed-but who can remember all one's subordinates?

For want of some other safe topic of conversation, they listened to various droll stories about Walpurga and her dolt of a husband. Schoning, to use his own words, simply repeated all that the veracious and upright host of the Chamois had told him. Hansei was described as an awkward bumpkin, unable to use his hands or feet, and obliged to call the schoolmaster to his assistance whenever he found it necessary to count the smallest sum of money. One of these stories, introducing a wager and a chamber window, was quite piquant and greatly to the taste of the ladies. They tittered, and scolded the intendant for talking of such things, but Schoning well knew that the more they scolded, the better they were pleased with what he had told them. He found an added pleasure in the opportunity afforded him of using the dialect of the mountain region from which he had but recently returned, and cleverly imitated the voices of the peasants and peasant women who had stood before the window, on the night referred to. He introduced various forcible and unequivocal expressions, and greatly enjoyed shocking the ladies, who would, now and then, cry: "Oh, you horrid man! you terrible man!" One lady actually pricked him with her needle, but he quietly proceeded with his story, well knowing how delighted they were to listen to it.

And if there was no harm in describing Hansei as a dolt, there was just as little in heightening the colors in which Walpurga was depicted-the petticoats of the peasant women are always shorter upon the stage than they are in real life-and thus, with the kindest feeling toward all and merely yielding to his desire to please, the intendant said all sorts of strange things about Walpurga. It had been rumored, he added, that it was not without cause that the pastor had called her into the vestry-room on the first Sunday after her return.

With cautious reserve, he at last confided to him, as a great secret, the story that Walpurga had received immense sums of money from a certain lady who had been a friend of hers. It was, of course, impossible to assign a reason for such gifts, but it was well known that the money had been used to purchase a large farm. They had, indeed, been obliged to remove from their old home; for, even in the country, ill-gotten wealth disgraces its possessors. It had been the talk of the whole neighborhood. The bailiff had also confirmed the report that the whole purchase had been paid for in ready money, and that the price had been more than six times as much as Walpurga had received for her services as nurse.

The intendant again remarked that he did not mean to calumniate any one, – that really nothing was further from his intentions; – but he was determined to be interesting, even though it was at the expense of others, as well as himself.

They were delighted to know that this dressed-up specimen of rural innocence was at last exposed, and only hoped that the queen might also behold her favorite in her true colors.

Care was taken that she should not be left in ignorance of the story.

CHAPTER XIV

The king was hunting in the Highlands. He was a veritable sportsman, and, instead of allowing his retainers to beat up the game and drive it within shooting distance, would climb the dizziest heights while in quest of the chamois. His hardened and elastic frame enabled him to sustain any amount of fatigue or exposure, and gained sinewy strength and new ardor from the chase.

The gentlemen of the party felt sure that some important matter engaged the king's mind, and were not a little puzzled how to account for Bronnen's constant and almost exclusive attendance upon the king.

It was well known that Bronnen had declined to take charge of the war office under the Schnabelsdorf ministry, and now it was asserted that Schnabelsdorf was at a disadvantage; for he was only master of the green table and was unable to attend the hunt. Bronnen thus had the king's ear for several days.

Rifles were heard on the heights, and many a beast was killed; rifles were heard in the valley, and two brothers met their death. In the mean while, the capital was filled with murmurs that sounded like the roar of mighty ocean. The queen heard nothing of all this. In her apartments, all was quiet; not a footfall was heard, naught but occasional faint whisperings.