WE CHASE THE PLAGUE.--HER DEATH.
An hour after my conversation with Odile, Sperver and I were galloping
hard over the plain from Nideck. The huntsman, bending over his horse's
neck, set spurs to her from time to time, and the tall Mecklenberg, with
flying mane and foaming lips, literally cleaved the air in her flight.
As for my mount, I believe he took the bit in his teeth, and ran away
with me. Lieverle accompanied us, bounding along beside us like an
arrow. We seemed to be borne along on the wings of the wind.
The towers of Nideck were far behind us, and Sperver was leading the
way, as usual, when I shouted to him:
"Hallo, comrade! Pull up! Before we go any further, let us deliberate a
little."
He wheeled about.
"Only tell me, Gaston, is it to right or left?"
"No, no! Come here. You must first know why I have started off this
morning. In a word, we are going to catch the hag!"
An expression of supreme satisfaction lighted up the long, bronzed face
of the old steward; his eyes sparkled.
"Ha, ha!" he exclaimed; "I knew it would come to that sooner or later."
With a movement of his shoulder, he slipped his rifle into his hand.
This significant movement opened my eyes.
"One moment, Sperver. We are not going to kill the Black Plague; we are
going to take her alive."
"Alive!"
"Precisely; and to spare you future regrets, I warn you that the destiny
of the old creature is identified with our master's. The ball that
strikes her down kills the Count."
Sperver sat open-mouthed with amazement.
"Is this really so?"
"Positively."
There was a long silence; our horses tossing their heads at each other
as if in salute, pawed the snow impatiently. Lieverle yawned expectantly
and stretched out his long, snake-like body, and Sperver sat motionless,
with his hand resting on his rifle.
"Well, then, we will try to take her living," he said at length; "we
will handle her with kid gloves, since it must needs be so; but it is
not such an easy matter as you think, Gaston."
Pointing with his extended hand to the mountains which lay unrolled
about us in the form of a great amphitheatre, he added:
"You see before us the Altenberg, the Birkenwald, the Schneeberg, the
Oxenhorn, the Rhethal, and the Behrenkopf, and if we were up a little
higher, we could see fifty other peaks, extending clear into the plain
of the Palatinate. Within this distance are rocks, ravines, defiles,
torrents, and endless forests, and the old woman wanders everywhere
through this wilderness. She has a sure foot and a good eye, and can
scent you a good league away; so you see we shall have a pretty chase
before us."
"If it were an easy thing to do, I shouldn't have chosen you out of all
the people of the Castle."
"That sounds all very well. Still, if we can once get on her trail, I
don't deny that with courage and patience--"
"As for her trail, don't worry about that; I will put you on it myself."
"You?"
"Exactly."
"You, able to follow up a trail?"
"Why not?"
"Ah, well, since you are so confident and know so much more about it
than I do, that's another thing; go ahead. I'll follow."
It was easy to see that the old huntsman was vexed at my venturing to
encroach upon his particular field of operations. Therefore, laughing
inwardly, I waited for no second invitation and turned to the left, sure
of coming upon the traces of the old woman, who, after having left the
Count in the subterranean passage, must have recrossed the plain to gain
the mountain.
Sperver followed on behind me whistling with assumed indifference, and I
could hear him muttering:
"The idea of looking for the she-wolf's tracks in the middle of the
plain. Any one should know that she would follow along the edge of the
forest, as she always does; but it seems she walks about now with her
hands in her pockets, like a well-to-do citizen of Tuebingen."
I turned a deaf ear to all this, and kept on my way. Suddenly he gave an
exclamation of surprise, and looking at me sharply:
"Gaston," he said, "you know more than you are willing to admit."
"How do you mean, Gideon?"
"The track that it would have taken me a week to find, you have got at
once. There is something behind this."
"Where do you see it, then?"
"Come, don't pretend to be looking at your feet," and pointing to a
scarcely perceptible white streak at some distance ahead of us, he said:
"There it is."
He started off at a gallop. I followed him, and a moment later we
leaped from our saddles. It was indeed the Black Plague's track.
"I should like to know," said Sperver, folding his arms, "how the devil
that trace came to be here!"
"Don't let that trouble you."
"You're right, Gaston. Don't mind what I say. I talk nonsense sometimes.
The principal thing now is to find out where this track leads."
The huntsman knelt on the snow. I was all ears, he all attention.
"It is a fresh track," he said at the first glance; "last night's. As I
thought, Gaston, during the Count's last attack the hag was prowling
about the Castle."
Then examining it more carefully:
"She passed here at about four o'clock this morning."
"How do you know that?"
"The track is fresh, but there is sleet around it. Last night at twelve
o'clock I went out to lock the doors, and sleet was falling then; there
is none on this footprint, and therefore it must have been made since
then."
"That is true, Sperver; but it may have been made later, at nine or ten
o'clock for instance."
"No; look! It is covered with frost. There is no mist to freeze except
at daybreak; the old woman passed here after the sleet and before the
frost; that is to say, between three and four this morning."
I was astonished at the accuracy of Sperver's reasoning. He got up,
slapping his hands together to shake off the snow, and looking at me
thoughtfully, he added, as if speaking to himself:
"Let us call it, at the latest, five o'clock! It is now twelve, isn't
it?"
"Quarter to twelve."
"Very good; the hag has seven hours' start of us. We must follow her
step by step wherever she may lead us. On horseback we can come up with
her in from one hour to two, and if she is still moving, by seven or
eight this evening she ought to be in our clutches. Come on, Gaston;
there is no time to lose!"
We started on again, following the traces which led us straight towards
the mountain. As we galloped along, Sperver called out:
"If good luck would have it that this cursed Plague had gone into a hole
in the rocks somewhere to lie down for an hour or two, we might catch
her before nightfall."
"Let's hope so, Gideon."
"Don't fool yourself that way. The old she-wolf is always moving; she
never grows tired; she roams through all the hollow roads of the Black
Forest. We mustn't indulge vain hopes. If she should happen to have
stopped somewhere along the road, so much the better for us, and if she
is still going, we have no reason to be discouraged. Come! hurry along!"
It was a strange occupation; that of a man engaged in hunting down one
of his own kind; for, after all, this unfortunate woman was a fellow
creature, endowed like us with an immortal soul, and feeling, thinking,
and reflecting like ourselves. It is true that perverted instincts had
brought her near the level of the wolf, and that some great mystery
overhung her destiny. Her prowling life had doubtless obliterated her
moral being, and even effaced her human character; but granted all this,
it is, nevertheless, an incontrovertible truth that nothing in God's
universe gave us the right to exercise over her the despotism of man
over the brute creation.
Notwithstanding, a savage ardor hurried us on in pursuit; for my part,
my blood boiled, and I was determined to stop at nothing which would
enable me to get this strange being into my power. The wide waste of
snow flew past us, and the fragments of crust, thrown up by our horses'
hoofs, whizzed past our ears.
Sperver, sometimes with his head thrown back, and his long mustache
blowing in the wind, and always with his gray eye on the trail, reminded
me of the famous horsemen of the steppes, whom I had seen passing
through Germany in my childhood; his tall, sinewy horse, with full mane
and body tapering like a greyhound's, completed the illusion. Lieverle,
in his enthusiasm, bounded sometimes as high as our horses' backs, and I
could not help trembling at the thought that, should he come upon the
Black Plague, he might tear her to pieces before we could make a
movement to prevent him.
The old woman led us a terrible chase; on every hill she had doubled,
and at every hillock we found a false scent.
"It is easy enough along here," said Sperver, "for you can see a long
distance ahead, but when we get into the woods, it will be another
matter; we shall have to keep our eyes open there. Do you see how the
cursed beast has confused her tracks? There she has amused herself
sweeping the trail, and from that rising ground that is exposed to the
wind she has slipped down to the stream and crept through the cresses to
reach the thicket yonder. If it weren't for these two foot-prints, she
would have tricked us completely."
We had just reached the border of a fir forest. In these forests, the
snow never penetrates between the branches of a tree. It was a difficult
way. Sperver dismounted to watch the tracks closer, and placed me on the
left, that my shadow might not come between him and the ground. There
were large open spots covered with dead leaves and pine-needles, which
take no imprint. Thus it was only in the unsheltered places, where the
snow lay on the ground, that Sperver could recover the trail.
It took us an hour to get through this patch of woods. The old poacher
gnawed his mustache with vexation, and his long nose almost touched his
chin. When I tried to speak, he interrupted me shortly, crying:
"Don't talk; it bothers me!"
At last we descended into a valley to the left, and Gideon, pointing to
the she-wolf's steps, running parallel with the edge of the undergrowth,
remarked:
"This is no false sortie; we can follow it confidently.
"How do you know?"
"Because the Black Plague has a habit, whenever she doubles on her
tracks, of going three steps to one side, then, retracing them, taking
four, five or six in the other direction, and finally jumping into a
clear space. But when she thinks she has covered the trail, she strikes
out without troubling herself about false scents. Look! what did I tell
you? She is burrowing now into the brushwood like a wild boar; it will
be easy enough to follow her here. So much for that; and now, let's keep
the tracks between us and light a pipe!"
We halted, and the good fellow, whose face was beginning to brighten up,
looked at me with enthusiasm, crying:
"Gaston, this promises to be one of the finest days in my life. If we
take the old creature, I will fasten her to the saddle behind me like a
bundle of old rags. Only one thing troubles me."
"What's that?"
"Having forgot my horn. I should like to have sounded the return as we
were approaching Nideck. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
He lighted his stub of a pipe, and we started on again. The track of the
she-wolf now led up a wooded slope so steep that we were obliged many
times to dismount and lead our horses by the bridle.
"There it goes to the right," said Sperver; "in this direction the
mountains go up like the side of a house. One of us may have to lead
both horses while the other scrambles along after the trail, and as the
devil will have it, it's getting so dark we can't see anything much
longer."
The landscape was at this point assuming a grander aspect. Enormous
boulders, covered with icicles, raised one beyond another their angular
peaks, like breakers in a sea of snow.
There is nothing that imparts a more melancholy sense to the beholder
than a winter scene among these mountains. The irregular line of crests,
the dark ravines, the denuded trees and bushes sparkling with a tracery
of hoar frost, all assume before your eyes a look of indescribable
desolation and still sadness; and the silence, so profound that you can
hear a dead leaf rustle on the snow-crust, or a pine-needle swirl from
its branch,--this silence oppresses you; it forces upon you the
realization of man's littleness in the scale of Nature's vast economy.
Sometimes we felt a need of speaking, if only to break the stillness:
"Ah, we are getting nearer the end of this business! How beastly cold it
is! Lieverle, what have you got there?" or some like insignificant
phrase.
Unfortunately, our horses were beginning to tire; they sank up to their
bellies in the snow, and no longer whinnied as they did on setting out.
The inextricable defiles of the Black Forest stretched out indefinitely.
The old woman loved these solitudes; here she had passed around a
deserted charcoal-burner's hut; further on she had torn up the tender
roots which overspread the surface of the rocks; and here again she had
sat down at the foot of a tree to rest, and that recently,--at most two
hours before, for the marks in the snow were fresh. At sight of this,
our hopes and enthusiasm were redoubled; but the daylight was fast
fading out. Strangely enough, ever since our departure from Nideck, we
had met neither woodcutters, charcoal-burners, nor log-haulers; the
solitude was as complete as in the Siberian steppes. At five o'clock the
night had so far closed in that Sperver halted and said to me:
"Gaston, we have started a couple of hours too late. The Plague has got
too long a start of us. In ten minutes the woods will be as dark as an
oven. Our best plan will be to reach the Roche Creuse, twenty minutes
from here, light a good fire, and eat our provisions and empty our
goat-skins. When the moon comes up we will take up the trail again, and
if the old hag is not the devil himself, ten to one we shall come upon
her frozen stiff at the foot of some tree, for no human creature could
live through such a tramp in such weather as this. Sebalt himself, who
is the best walker in all the Black Forest, could not have stood it.
What do you say, my boy?"
"I should be mad to think otherwise, and, moreover, I am perishing with
hunger!"
"Well, let's be off!"
He took the lead, and we pressed into a narrow gorge between two walls
of precipitous rock. The fir-trees formed an arch above our heads;
beneath our feet trickled what the frost had left of a mighty torrent,
and from time to time a wandering ray penetrated the obscurity, and
reflected the dull, lead-colored ice mantle. The darkness had become
such that I deemed it wise to let my bridle fall on the horse's neck.
The steps of our horses on the slippery pebbles reechoed with an odd
noise like the laughing and chattering of monkeys through the narrow
glen. The rocks took up and repeated every sound, and in the distance a
blue point seemed to grow as we advanced. It was the outlet of the
gorge.
"Gaston," said Sperver, "we are now in the bed of the Tunkelbach. It is
the wildest pass in all the Black Forest, and it terminates in a cave
called La Marmite du Grand Guelard. In the spring, when the snow is
melting, the Tunkelbach pours all its torrents into it to a depth of
two hundred feet. It makes a tremendous roar; the waters leap over the
edge, and their spray falls upon the neighboring mountains. Sometimes
they even flood the cavern of the Roche Creuse, but just now it must be
as dry as a powder-flask, and we can build a big fire there."
As I listened to Sperver's observations, I was at the same time
considering this ominous defile, and reflecting that the instinct of the
savage beasts, which seek such retreats far from the light of day and
from all that gladdens the soul, must be akin to remorse. The creatures
that live in the sunshine,--the goat on the open crag, the horse running
free on the plain, the dog frisking about his master, the bird basking
in the sunshine,--all breathe in joy and happiness with their gambols
and their songs. The kid, browsing in the shade of the great trees on
the green hillside, is as poetic an object as the retreat that he
prefers; the wild boar, as fierce and savage as the trackless brakes
through which he roams; the eagle as proud and lofty as the towering
peaks where he rests in his sweeping flight; the lion as majestic as the
mighty arches of his den,--but the wolf, the fox, and the ferret seek
the darkness, with fear their only companion; aye, this instinct is
closely related to remorse.
I was still reflecting upon these things and already felt the keen air
blowing against my face--for we were approaching the opening of the
gorge--when suddenly we perceived a reddish reflection dancing upon the
rock a hundred feet above us, turning to purple the dark green of the
firs, and making the frost wreaths on the tree trunks glitter.
"Ha!" whispered Sperver hoarsely, "we've got the witch!"
My heart leaped; we moved along pressed close against each other. The
dog growled warningly.
"Can't she escape us?"
"No; she is caught like a rat in a trap. La Marmite du Grand Guelard has
but one outlet, and we are barring it. Everywhere else the rocks rise
sheer two hundred feet. Ha! you Satan's hag, I've got you!"
He sprang from his horse into the ice-cold water of the Tunkelbach,
handing me his bridle. I shivered. The click of his rifle as he cocked
it sounded with fearful distinctness, and the sound sent a nervous wave
clear to my finger-tips.
"Sperver, what are you doing?"
"Never fear; it is only to frighten her."
"Very good; but no blood! Remember what I have already told you. The
ball that strikes the Plague kills the Count!"
"Rest easy on that score!"
He moved forward, without stopping further to listen to me. I could hear
the splash of his feet in the water; then I saw his tall figure appear
at the outlet of the glen, black against the bluish background. He stood
full five minutes motionless. Meanwhile, I was slowly approaching him,
and when he at last turned around, I was within three paces of him.
"Sh!" he said mysteriously; "look there!"
At the end of the open gorge, now revealed to us, which was dug out like
a quarry in the mountainside, I saw a bright fire unrolling its golden
spires before the mouth of a cave, and in front of the fire sat a man
with his hands clasped about his knees, whom I recognized by his
clothing as the Baron Zimmer. He sat motionless, with his eyes fixed on
the fire, and seemed lost in thought. Behind him a dark form lay
stretched upon the ground, and further in the distance, his horse, half
lost in the shadows, gazed upon us with fixed eyes, ears pricked up, and
distended nostrils.
I stood stupefied. How came the Baron Zimmer to be in this dense,
terrifying wilderness at such an hour and such a time,--what was he
doing here? Had he lost his way? The most contradictory conjectures
succeeded each other in my brain, and I knew not where to pause, when
the Baron's horse began to neigh. At the sound, the master raised his
head:
"Well, Rappel, what now?"
Then, in his turn, he gazed in our direction, straining his eyes to make
us out in the darkness. That pale face, with its clear-cut features,
delicate lips, and heavy black eyebrows, gathered in a frown, would have
struck me with admiration under any other circumstances, but now an
indefinable feeling of apprehension took possession of me, and I was
filled with vague anxiety. Suddenly, the young man cried:
"Who goes there?"
"I, monsieur," replied Sperver quickly, at the same time advancing
towards him; "I, Sperver, steward of the Count of Nideck!"
A strange expression passed across the Baron's features, but not a
muscle of his face quivered. He rose to his feet, gathering the folds of
his cloak more closely about him. I drew towards me the horses and the
hound, who suddenly began to howl as he had done on the night of my
arrival at the Castle.
Who of us is not subject in some degree to superstitious fears? At the
sound of Lieverle's menacing growls, I felt a dread of I know not what,
and I shuddered instinctively. Sperver and the Baron stood at a
distance of fifty yards from each other; the first immovable in the
middle of the gorge, with his rifle resting against his shoulder; the
other, standing erect before the entrance of the cave, holding his head
high, and surveying us with a haughty glance.
"What do you want here?" he asked defiantly.
"We are looking for a woman," replied the huntsman; "a woman who comes
each year prowling about the Castle of Nideck, and we have orders to
seize her."
"Has she robbed?"
"No."
"Has she committed murder?"
"No, monsieur."
"Then what do you want of her? What right have you to pursue her?"
Sperver straightened up, and fixing his gray eye on the Baron:
"And you? What right have you over her?" he asked with a strange smile;
"for she is there. I can see her at the back of the cavern. By whose
authority do you meddle with our affairs? Do you not know that we are at
this moment within the domains of Nideck, and that we administer all
forms of justice at our pleasure?"
The young man grew paler yet, and replied shortly:
"I am not accountable to you for any act of mine."
"Take care," replied Sperver; "I am acting in the name of my master, the
Count of Nideck, and am but doing my duty. You will have to answer for
any interference on your part."
"Your duty!" exclaimed the young man, with a bitter smile; "if you speak
of your duty, you may force me to tell you mine."
"Let us hear it," cried the old steward, whose face was becoming
discomposed with anger.
"No," returned the Baron, "I will tell you nothing, nor shall you set
foot inside this cave."
"We will see about that," said Sperver, advancing towards the cavern.
The young man drew his hunting-knife. Seeing this, I tried to spring
between them, when the hound, which I was holding by a leash, shook
himself free, throwing me to the ground with the force of the shock. I
thought that the Baron was lost; but at the same moment a savage cry
rose from the back of the cavern, and as I rose to my feet, I saw the
old woman standing upright before the fire, her clothing in rags, her
head run forward, and her gray locks scattered about her shoulders, with
her long, skinny arms raised towards heaven, and uttering dismal howls,
like the cries of the wolf in the cold winter nights, when hunger is
gnawing at his entrails.
Never in my life had I witnessed such a frightful spectacle. Sperver,
motionless, with his eyes fixed on the strange scene before him, seemed
turned to stone. The dog, surprised himself at this unexpected
apparition, stood still for a moment, then suddenly arching his
bristling back, he flew at the hag with a low growl of fury that made
me shudder. The entrance to the cavern was some eight or ten feet above
the spot where we stood, or he would have reached it with a single
bound. I can hear him still, as he crashes through the frost-laden
bushes, and see the Baron fling himself before the old woman with the
heart-rending cry:
"My mother!"
Then, as the dog takes his final spring, Sperver, quick as lightning,
raises his rifle, and brings down the noble animal dead at the young
man's feet. All this was the work of an instant. The gorge was
momentarily lighted by the rifle flash, and the echoes, taking up the
noise of the explosion, carried it roaring and tumbling to the infinite
depths of the neighboring crags.
When the smoke cleared away, I saw Lieverle lying stretched out at the
foot of the rock, and the old woman fainting in the arms of the young
man. Sperver eyed the Baron gloomily, as he dropped the butt of his
rifle to the ground, his features working with rage and grief.
"Baron," he said, pointing to the cave, "I have killed my best friend to
save the woman whom you call your mother. You may thank God that her
destiny was bound up with that of my master. Take her away from here.
Take her far away, and let her never return; for, if she does, I cannot
answer for myself."
Then, glancing at his dog:
"My poor Lieverle!" he cried; "was this to be the outcome of our long
years of friendship? Come, Gaston, let us hurry away from this accursed
spot. I might do something I should regret afterwards."
Seizing his horse's mane, he started to throw himself into his saddle,
but suddenly his heart swelled to bursting, and dropping his head on his
horse's neck, he wept like a child.