CHAPTER I.

Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive

Transcriber's Note:

1. page scan source:

http://www.archive.org/details/lonelyhousefrom00wistgoog

The Lonely House

[Illustration: Franz and Anna]

_The_

Lonely House

From the German of

ADOLF STRECKFUSS

Author of "Too Rich," "Castle Hohenwald," etc.

_By_

MRS. A. L. WISTER

Translator of "The Old Mam'selle's Secret," "Gold Elsie," "The

Second Wife," "The Happy-Go-Lucky," etc.

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY_

CHARLOTTE WEBER-DITZLER

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

1907

Copyright, 1907

BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

Published October, 1907

_Electrotyped and printed by J. B. Lippincott Company_

_The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U. S. A_.

I TAKE PLEASURE IN INSCRIBING THIS TRANSLATION--THE LAST I SHALL EVER

COMPLETE--TO THE CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN OF THOSE WHO SO KINDLY

WELCOMED THE FIRST, PUBLISHED A LIFE-TIME AGO.

ANNIS LEE WISTER

"Lindenshade,"

Walungford, Pa.

September, 1907

Contents

CHAP.

I. The Professor's Persistence

II. The Professor's First Excursion

III. The Professor's Return

IV. The Investigation

V. The Investigation Continued

VI. Two Wounded Hands

VII. The Two Requests

VIII. Quiet Weeks

IX. An Exploring Party

X. An Accident?

XI. Forced Seclusion

XII. An Arrest

XIII. An Old Chest

XIV. The End of the Professor's Holiday

Illustrations

Franz and Anna _Frontispiece_

"You Must Help Me!"

Then Began a Struggle, a Fight for Life and Death

The

Lonely House

CHAPTER I.

THE PROFESSOR'S PERSISTENCE.

Ukraine! Ukraine! For years I had longed to spend some weeks in

Southern Ukraine. The descriptions I had read of its wonderful

mountains had greatly attracted me; I was certain of adding there

many valuable specimens to my collection; that section of country had

been so rarely visited by entomologists that I might even hope to

enrich our German fauna with a new species. Some years before a

butterfly-collector from Vienna had discovered there the caterpillar of

the beautiful _Saturnia caecigena_, found previously only in Dalmatia.

Why might I not hope for something equally interesting!

The scenery of Southern Ukraine is not thought to be very fine: the

mountains are much less imposing than in other Alpine districts, but

the Carpathian range is said to have many very interesting caves, and

strange formations of rock, while for the naturalist its fauna and

flora offer a rich field for investigation in its mountain fastnesses

and deep valleys.

If travel in that section of the country were only not attended with

such risk and inconvenience! Travellers who seemed thoroughly familiar

with its political and social condition warned me seriously not to

attempt going thither. The only tolerable accommodation for strangers,

they said, is to be found in the larger towns--Laibach, Adelsberg,

etc., and on the high road followed by tourists; as soon as the

traveller attempts to penetrate the interior he finds only wretched

inns, no comfort of any description, and a poverty-stricken peasantry,

speaking the dialect of the country, and understanding not one word of

German. All expeditions into the valleys are fraught with discomfort

and even hardships. Nevertheless, little alluring as were the accounts

given me of the country, the prospect of adding to my collections--I am

a naturalist--an entomologist--was so tempting that when I had a longer

vacation than usual I determined to fulfil a long cherished desire and

to pass a spring in Southern Ukraine.

And then the question arose as to what place I should make my

headquarters. A naturalist cannot travel hither and thither like an

ordinary tourist; he must establish himself somewhere, and make

excursions into the surrounding country, which he must investigate

thoroughly or he can hope for no results from his labours; moreover,

the paraphernalia of his profession are too bulky to be moved easily

from place to place.

Unfortunately all the guide books were too incomplete to give me the

least assistance; I had recourse to the admirable maps of the Austrian

Government, and in them I found a small town--Luttach--which seemed

well fitted for my purpose. It is situated in a deep valley in the

midst of the Carpathians, at the foot of a long spur of Mt. Nanos on

the road from Adelsberg to Goerz--a road once much travelled, but fallen

into disrepair since the intrusion of the railroad. From Luttach the

topmost peak of Mt. Nanos could be reached in a few hours, and in the

valley itself there was sure to be a mingling of the southern fauna and

flora with those of the Alps proper. I might promise myself rich

additions to my collections. Moreover the many German names of the

surrounding villages, and indeed the German name of the town itself,

were very attractive for me, giving me hopes that there might be German

elements mingling with the Slavonic civilization.

Luttach it should be then. My two huge travelling trunks were duly

packed and I was provided with every requisite for collecting. The last

of April I left Berlin full of pleasant anticipations.

In Vienna, where I stopped for a day as I passed through, I called on a

friend; he gravely shook his head when he heard that I had chosen

Luttach for a stay of some weeks. "I never heard before of this

God-forsaken hole," said he; "I should not risk going there, but since

you are determined to go, provide yourself at least with a good

revolver, for without it you never ought to venture among the dreary

deserts of the Carpathians, or to wander in those primeval woods and

forests. It is dangerous for an elderly man like yourself. You know

besides that there are still bears and wildcats in the forest on Mt.

Nanos, not to mention those two venomous reptiles native to the rocky

retreats of the Karst range--the cross-adder and the sand-viper. More

to be feared than all these, moreover, is the human beast of prey whom

you will surely meet in your wanderings there. You had really best

relinquish your plan of visiting so inhospitable a region. But if you

insist upon it, pray be cautious. Go well armed, and do not venture too

far among those desert fastnesses."

I cannot say that I was agreeably impressed by my friend's warning. I

was not formed in an heroic mould and I do not willingly court danger.

At sixty, after a life spent principally in study, there is small

desire for perilous adventure. Although I am not deficient in personal

bravery, as I had opportunity to prove in my student-days, and

afterwards in political embroglios, it is not my nature to seek for

perils. Bears and wildcats, and even venomous serpents, caused me no

alarm--the beasts are rarely dangerous in summer, and I knew well how

to manage the reptiles; I had frequently encountered them in my

excursions in the Swiss Alps and even in Northern Germany. The danger

from human beasts of prey appeared to me far more serious, but even

this could not deter me from carrying out the plan I had contemplated

for so long. In Vienna I purchased an excellent revolver with the

necessary ammunition and started the next morning for Goerz, where I

wished to visit an old friend and fellow-student, who, dwelling so near

the frontier, would, I hoped, give me a less alarming account of the

country I wished to explore. But my hope was vain; he was even more

emphatic than my Vienna friend had been, although he laughed at the

story of bears, wildcats, and snakes. He shook his head and said: "I

know nothing of Luttach and the surrounding country, except that on

Nanos the _Saturnia caecigena_ was formerly to be found. You will

probably make some good additions to your collections, although I doubt

your making as many as you hope, since in the rocky parts of the

mountains insect life is sparse, and where the mountain sides are

clothed with trees, they form an impenetrable primeval forest. I doubt

also whether the richest harvest you can reap will compensate you for

the hardships, the discomforts--yes, the dangers to which you will

expose yourself. The greatest of these lies in the fact of your being a

German. The unhappy strife between nationalities in Ukraine has so

embittered the inhabitants there that all kindly feeling is extinct.

The Slav considers hatred of the German his first duty; it is his

greatest delight to annoy--even to maltreat--a German. Whether you can

defend yourself with your revolver from such maltreatment is more than

doubtful. You could not use it against any single peasant who should

meet you in the forest, and insult you, or even against three or four,

who might amuse themselves by annoying you in countless ways. There

certainly is danger of encountering robbers in those wilds; your

revolver might serve you there--to me danger from the determined

hostility towards Germans seems far greater."

This was encouraging! I almost wonder now that I was not deterred from

my undertaking. If my respected colleague had not expressly stated that

I should find _Saturnia caecigena_ on Mt. Nanos, I should probably have

followed his advice not to go to Luttach, but my passion for collecting

outweighed every other consideration. I refused to be intimidated, and

started upon my journey the very next day, arriving at four o 'clock in

the afternoon at Adelsberg, whence I could reach Luttach in four hours

by a carriage road. So desirous was I to attain this goal of my wishes

that I resisted the temptation to visit the world-renowned Grotto at

Adelsberg, postponing this pleasure until my return. I hired a vehicle,

large enough to accommodate myself and my two huge travelling trunks,

and in half an hour I was on my way to Luttach.

The road was excellent, leading through an attractive mountain region

among low hills, although loftier eminences bounded the horizon. I

should have liked to know the names of those giant mountains, but my

driver was a genuine Slav, who could not understand a word of German,

and who was too stupid to comprehend signs, so all intercourse with

him was impossible. We drove swiftly, almost as swiftly up-hill as

down-hill, through a charmingly varied landscape, through forests, past

meadows and cornfields, with only a glimpse of the desolate Karst range

now and then in the distance, until we rapidly approached the bare gray

rocks of Mt. Nanos--which, as we descended by a winding road to the

valley of Luttach, stood out boldly against the sky.

Time passed rapidly during the long drive; there was so much to see,

and everything that I saw was distinctly in contrast with what I had

been led to expect in Southern Ukraine. The numerous villages through

which the road ran were entirely different from the ruinous Polish

hamlets with which I was familiar in Upper Silesia; they consisted

mostly of flourishing farms, with very few straw-thatched cottages. The

peasants whom we met greeted me as we passed along with friendly

courtesy--they could not recognize me as a hated German--and the inns

as we drove by them, so far from presenting pictures of dirt and decay,

were most attractive, and invitingly clean.

And when in the valley we drove among meadows bright with the luxuriant

growth of spring--past vineyards where each vine showed careful culture

and was just putting forth its tender leaves--along a road bordered on

the left by hillsides under full cultivation, where countless white

cottages in the midst of blossoming orchards betokened a numerous

population, I could hardly fancy that I was in the midst of the

ill-reputed desolate Karst range, in a corner of the world of which

scarce a hint was to be found in the guide books. The bald rocky mass

of Mt. Nanos alone, clothed at its feet only with a forest of oaks, and

the bare peaks of the high range that seemed to close in the valley in

the distant west, showed that vegetation was not as luxuriant

everywhere in the Karst range as I found it on the hills to the left

and in the valley itself.

"Luttava!" my driver called out, nodding to me and pointing with his

whip towards a little town near at hand, nestling at the very foot of

Nanos, its white houses seeming to cling to the rocks. In a few minutes

we had reached it, and after driving along a street too narrow for more

than one vehicle, turned into the gateway of a large building, before

which a tall pole supported a sign whereon a golden grape vine declared

it to be the inn recommended to me before I left Adelsberg.

The carriage stopped beneath the dim gateway before a door opening

directly into a spacious kitchen, where in the huge chimney-piece a

bright fire was blazing. Through the door I could see several men, some

standing, some seated upon low benches, about the fire, all of whom

regarded the newcomer with curiosity. A plainly clad but spotlessly

clean dame busied herself on the hearth, moved a steaming pot to one

side, and hurried out to receive me, opening the carriage door to help

me to alight.

"Can I have a room!"

"Certainly! If the gentleman will kindly go upstairs," was the reply,

delivered in excellent German, although with a strong accent. "Mizka,

show the gentleman up to Number Two."

Mizka, a pretty slender girl, tripped lightly before me up the stairs

leading up two flights directly from the kitchen to a wide entry, where

she threw open the door of Number Two, and courteously held it open for

me to precede her.

The room was large, low, and square, with two small windows, looking

out upon the street. It probably looked larger than it really was from

the absence of much furniture along its walls. Between the two windows

there was an old-fashioned sofa covered with gay chintz, and above its

high back hung an oval mirror in a black varnished frame, while before

it stood an extension table, which if pulled out to its fullest

capacity would have accommodated twenty-four persons. A tall cedar

clothes press, a washstand, six chintz-covered cushioned chairs, and a

huge bed which had to be clambered into by the help of a chair,

completed the furniture of the room. The walls, painted light green,

were adorned with four gaily colored prints, each portraying a quarter

of the earth in the guise of a very ugly and scantily clothed dame,

whose distorted limbs reclined upon a fantastically shaped couch.

This was Number Two, my room. It certainly did not look inviting for a

long stay; it was too bare, but it as certainly possessed the

unexpected attraction of perfect cleanliness. Not a speck of dust lay

upon the few articles of furniture, the bare floor was spotless, and

the creases in the white bed linen bore testimony to its freshness.

"Will the gentleman take his supper here, or below in the dining-room?"

Mizka asked me in very good German.

"I will come down as soon as I have washed," was my reply.

"I will bring fresh water immediately;" and she hurried away, returning

presently with a can of crystal-clear water, and a supply of fresh

towels, and followed closely by two gigantic porters, each of whom bore

upon his shoulders one of my heavy trunks. Assuredly thus far I could

not complain of lack of promptitude in the service of a Slav inn.

When I had freed myself from the dust of travel, and had changed my

coat, I went down to the dining-room; the way led through the kitchen,

where several men were sitting or standing around the hearth, talking

familiarly with the hostess, who was busy meanwhile with her cooking.

All greeted me politely as I passed through the room.

When Mizka showed me into the spacious dining-room, I took it all in

with a rapid glance. Its arrangement could not be called elegant, but

the cleanliness of the scoured tables atoned for its simplicity. There

were but a few persons present. At a table near a window a young man

sat alone, apparently absorbed in a newspaper. He looked up for a

moment as I entered, disclosing a singularly handsome face, which was

immediately hidden behind his paper. The face was thoroughly German.

Such deep blue eyes, such fair, close curls are to be found nowhere

save in Germany. He was certainly handsome, but his expression was too

grave, perhaps even too stern and hard to allow of his being thoroughly

attractive.

As far from this young man as the size of the room would permit, at a

large round table near the tall stove, sat six or eight men, smoking

long cigars, with glasses of wine before them. They evidently saw me

enter and look about for a seat, and one of them instantly rose and

motioned courteously with his hand, placing a chair at the table, while

the others moved aside to give it room.

I was amazed at so polite a reception in this notoriously hostile Slav

country, and I was not quite pleased. I should have liked to observe

the magnates of Luttach, who were apparently here assembled, from a

distance, at my leisure, before making their acquaintance, whereas now,

when I accepted their invitation, and introduced myself as a German, a

Prussian, and worse than all, from Berlin, whose citizens are never

popular, their amiability might decrease. "Permit me to present myself

to you, gentlemen," I said, "as Professor Dollnitz from Berlin, who

hopes to spend some weeks with you here in your beautiful country,

collecting plants and butterflies, beetles and chrysalids. I am an old

naturalist who looks forward to much gratification here in your richly

endowed Southern Ukraine."

I observed a fleeting smile pass around the circle upon hearing that I,

so old a man, was running after butterflies and beetles, but I am used

to that; all sensible men regard us old entomologists as cranks, and

sometimes jest rather rudely at our expense; but this was not the case

here; the gentlemen, as I could see, suppressed their smiles at my

butterfly mania; they rose very politely and formally introduced

themselves as the District Judge Foligno, his Assistant Herr Einern,

Burgomaster Pollenz, a retired Captain Pollenz, a landed proprietor,

Gunther by name, Herr Weber, a merchant, and Herr Dietrich, a notary.

Strange! All German names save that of the district judge.

Chance had surely brought me among Germans. I was strengthened in this

belief by finding that they all spoke excellent German, not merely with

me, but among themselves; only now and then was there heard a brief

remark in Slavonic. I soon found out my mistake, however, when in the

course of conversation I mentioned that I had been warned in Vienna and

in Goerz not to visit the Ukraine on account of the hostility of the

Slavs to Germans. The Burgomaster Pollenz, a reverend old man, made

reply, speaking with emphasis, and so loudly that even the young man

sitting by the window at the other end of the room could hear every

word distinctly: "That is unfortunately a widespread error which has

brought our good Ukraine into ill-repute. We are all Slavs, and are

proud of being so. Our ancestors were Germans, but we are not. The

Ukraine is our home. Whoever is born here and lives here must feel

himself a genuine Slav. Those only do we hate among us who are disloyal

sons of their native land, who would rob us of our language, our

customs, and make Germans of us; we have no hatred for Germans born.

There are none of them dwelling among us; our entire population is

Slavonic, and you will soon find that as a native-born German you will

be kindly received everywhere. It is not so in Laibach, or where, as

there, the population is mixed, and national prejudice has free sway,

causing constant strife, but even there the Slavs are seldom the

aggressive party."

"Then you think I can chase my butterflies alone among your woods and

mountains without fear of insult? I was expressly warned in Vienna not

to leave the house here without a loaded revolver in my pocket to

protect me from robbers."

I was answered by a burst of laughter. "I assure you there is no tract

of country in the realm of Austria as perfectly safe as ours," the

Burgomaster replied. "We have had no robbery here for many years and I

will guarantee you as a German against any insult, unless, indeed," he

raised his voice again, and spoke very loud, "you should consort with

the only Slav among us who is disloyal to his country; friendship with

him would cause you to be suspected of hostility to our nation."

The young man by the window had hitherto seemed heedless of our

conversation; now he arose and approached us. His flashing eyes seemed

to defy each member of the circle, but their expression grew gentler as

he addressed the Burgomaster. "I cannot be angry with you, Herr

Burgomaster," he said gravely, but not unkindly. "Your words were

offensive, but I know that you mean well by me and by the strange

gentleman. You have called me a disloyal son of my country, which I am

not! I am a whole-souled Austrian, but one also who can never forget

that he is sprung from German and Austrian blood. You have all of you

forgotten this; I am true to the German tongue and to German customs.

You are the faithless ones, not I!"

"Do you want to pick a quarrel with us all, Franz?" asked the

Burgomaster, regarding the young man disapprovingly.

"No, but I cannot allow you to give the strange gentleman a false

idea of me. Moreover, you need not fear that I shall force my

friendship upon him. I know too well that it might cause him annoyance.

Good-night!" He turned upon his heel and left the room without

bestowing a further glance upon the company.

When the door had closed behind him, the District Judge said: "Franz

Schorn always was and always will be a most disagreeable fellow. He

deserves a thrashing for his insolence in calling us all faithless."

"Your cane is just beside you in the corner; why did you not use it!"

the Captain asked with a sneer. "In fact, Franz is not altogether

wrong. My brother irritated him unnecessarily; he would never have

forced his company upon the Herr Professor. He lives so quietly and is

so reserved that he cannot be accused of officiousness."

"'Tis natural that you should espouse the cause of your future cousin,"

remarked the District Judge with a contemptuous emphasis upon the word

"cousin."

"I should be glad to have him for my cousin; he is a thoroughly brave,

honest fellow."

"But a German."

"I am half German myself, and at all events I should prefer a German to

an Italian cousin. The Italians are always squinting over at Italy, and

Franz is, as he says, a German-Austrian at least."

"Leave off bickering," the Burgomaster admonished his brother. "What

will the Herr Professor think of us, if we quarrel so before him over

our wine?"

During this short skirmish of words I took occasion to observe the two

antagonists narrowly. I liked the Captain's frank, manly face and

bearing, but the District Judge Foligno produced a very unpleasant

impression upon me. He was a man of about forty, with a worn, sallow

countenance. His features were regular; he might have been accounted

handsome but for some ugly lines about his mouth, half hidden though

they were by a glossy black moustache, and a false, unsteady expression

in his piercing black eyes. Before his war of words with the Captain he

had taken no part in the conversation, but had sat gloomily silent,

with downcast eyes, smoking his long cigar and drinking far more than

the others. In the short time that I had been present Mizka had twice

filled his tall glass.

The Burgomaster's efforts to restore peace were unavailing; the

District Judge renewed the quarrel by a malicious remark about old army

officers who no longer knew what nation they belonged to. The Captain

retorted angrily, more bitter words ensued, the other gentlemen

presently took part in the dispute, which principally concerned the

character of young Franz Schorn. The Burgomaster alone was silent; of

the rest only the County Clerk, Herr Einern, sided with the Captain.

While the others all agreed with the District Judge's abuse of Franz

Schorn as a rough, arrogant fellow, a recreant Slav, who was detested

and despised all through the countryside, and were unanimous in

declaring that "old Pollenz" was perfectly right in forbidding Franz to

hang around the Lonely House watching for pretty Anna, that it was the

old man's patriotic duty to shield his charming daughter from Schorn's

advances, the Clerk and the Captain warmly espoused his cause. The

Clerk, in fact, did not mince matters, but frankly characterized as

exaggerated and unjust his chief's tirade against Franz. The boldness

that he showed in doing this without in the least overstepping the

bounds of civility impressed me very favourably.

I was soon tired, however, of listening to a discussion which became

more and more heated as time went on, concerning people of whom I had

no knowledge, and therefore when I had finished my supper--an excellent

one, by the way--and had emptied my glass of wine, I rose to retire,

pleading fatigue from my journey.

The gentlemen probably suspected that their quarrel had driven me away,

and they fell silent in some confusion while the Burgomaster said

kindly: "You have chanced upon an unfortunate evening, Herr Professor.

Do not suppose that such a disturbance is frequent in our little

circle, and I pray you pardon any harsh words you may have heard with

regard to Germans. I can assure you that we have no quarrel with any

Germans, save those who should be Slavs. That we have no dislike for

Germans or Germany you may see for yourself, since you hear us all

speak your language among ourselves, and pray do not let this evening's

experience prevent you from joining our circle in future. You will

always be an honoured and welcome guest."

I pressed the good man's hand cordially and followed Mizka, who stood

with lighted candle ready to show me to my room.

I thought it not indiscreet to gossip a little with pretty Mizka while

she was arranging my bed, and to learn from her something regarding the

gentlemen whose acquaintance I had made below, and with whom I should

probably have daily intercourse during some weeks to come. I could not

have sought information from a better source.

Mizka had been born in Luttach; she knew all about every inhabitant of

the town, and she felt highly honored by "the gentleman's" desire to

converse with her. In her gratitude she detailed all that I wished to

know. I learned that the Burgomaster, Herr Pollenz, was the owner of

the "Golden Grapevine," which Mizka's aunt, Frau Franzka, or rather,

her husband, rented from him; he was now a guest in his own house,

occupying with his brother, a pensioned captain, the entire second

story.

Mizka was eloquent in praise of the two brothers, whom she described as

the best and truest of men. No one could be as thoroughly kind as the

Burgomaster; he was, in fact, too kind, for he was sometimes really

pinched for money himself, because he could not refuse to give or to

lend to the poor, and there were evil-disposed people who abused his

benevolence. He was very wise, too, and learned. Whoever in all Luttach

stood in need of good counsel could be sure of finding it from the

Burgomaster. He and the Captain were much respected, not only in

Luttach, but throughout the countryside.

Mizka gave unstinted praise also to the County Clerk, Herr von Einern,

for whom every one in Luttach had a good word, regretting that he was

not District Judge and Foligno the Clerk; he was too young for a Judge

as yet, but he was sure of promotion, for he belonged to a very old

Luttach family--his father was a general--although he never prided

himself upon his position, but was kind and courteous to the very

poorest, whereas the Judge was often rude and harsh to poor people in

court.

Mizka had nothing pleasant to say of the Judge. He was out-and-out

Italian although his grandfather had settled in Luttach and he himself

could not speak Italian fluently; but an Italian was always an Italian;

he never could be a true Slav. Yet he was not temperate, like most

Italians; he drank too much, and was not content with the good Luttach

wine, but always wanted some special kind for himself. That was why he

was always needing money. Eighteen hundred gulden was a good salary;

many a Judge could live comfortably upon it with a wife and children,

whereas he, though a bachelor, was always in debt. He already owed Frau

Franzka nearly five hundred gulden, and Mizka could not understand why

her aunt would go on lending to him. He had the best two rooms in the

upper story--Number Twelve, just above the Herr Professor's Number Two,

and Number Thirteen--but he had paid nothing for them for a year, and

yet he behaved as if he was the greatest guest in the house; nothing

was good enough for him. He often drove to Goerz, where he consorted

with the officers, and 'twas said that he had sometimes lost at play

more than a hundred gulden in one evening. He had long since squandered

all the property he inherited from his father; he had a house in

Luttach, but not a stone of it really belonged to him; he had mortgaged

it all to the wealthy old Pollenz, the Burgomaster's cousin, and

whoever got into the clutches of that old man never got free until he

had lost his last penny; for old Pollenz, who lived in the last house

on the mountainside--it was called "the Lonely House"--was a

hardhearted usurer.

Old Pollenz now owned forests, vineyards, meadows, and farmlands, for

which he exacted the highest rents; all his money had been made by

usury, and woe to the peasant to whom he had lent any--he was sure to

be obliged to sell all that he possessed to satisfy his creditor's

demands. The man was a hateful old miser; in spite of his wealth he

hardly dared to eat, and never entered an inn to drink a glass of good

wine. He lived with his daughter, pretty Anna, and an old servant maid,

apart from everybody, in the Lonely House; its windows barred with

iron, because he was constantly in dread of robbers, although there had

never been a robbery or burglary in all the countryside within the

memory of man. But the old fellow was so afraid of thieves that he

would let no one enter the house whom he did not know well, and he

always went armed with a couple of pistols and a big knife.

He was most afraid of Franz Schorn, and had often said of him: "If he

should meet me alone, he'd be sure to do me a mischief, but I'll be

even with him. I'll shoot him like a mad dog sooner than let him attack

me." The old man's dread in this case was not quite without cause, for

Franz was a rough fellow, who might well assault a mortal enemy, and

the two had been mortal enemies ever since two years before, when old

Pollenz drove Franz from his door with curses.

The old man was a bitter foe of the Germans, and had fallen into a

terrible rage when some one had told him that Franz was sneaking around

his house courting pretty Anna. And so, when one day Franz did not

sneak around the house, but boldly entered it and asked for pretty Anna

for his wife, the old man became almost insane with fury; he drove the

young fellow out of doors with blows and curses, although Anna wept and

entreated, saying that she would rather die than give up her Franz.

Just at that time the Judge, who certainly had need of a rich wife,

asked old Pollenz to take him for his son-in-law. The old miser said

"yes," thinking to make an end of pretty Anna's love affair with Franz.

He told his daughter that she must marry the Judge, but Anna refused.

To all her father's threats she answered, "I'd rather die! You may drag

me to the altar, but you cannot compel me to utter a 'yes'!" And so the

Judge got the mitten in spite of the father's consent. Ever since then

he had been a deadly enemy to Franz Schorn; every child knew how he had

got the mitten in the Lonely House; he had often been teased about it,

and the malicious Italian would never forgive Franz Schorn because of

it.

Such, in brief, was the sum of Mizka's information; she would gladly

have talked on, but I was afraid she might be wanted in the room below,

so I dismissed her with a "Goodnight."

I admit that she had interested me much with her gossip. I now

understood many words and phrases that had escaped the gentlemen below

in the heat of their quarrel, and I perfectly comprehended the

bitterness of the Judge's hostility to Franz Schorn. A love story in a

Slav village! But what did it all matter to me? What possible interest

could an old naturalist, sixty years of age, take in the love affairs

of a young fellow whom he did not know, and the disappointment and lack

of money of a very disagreeable District Judge? There was absolutely no

reason why I should mix myself up with such matters, or even bestow a

thought upon them. That was not why I was in Luttach, but for the

purpose of collecting plants, butterflies, and beetles, which I

resolved to begin to do the next morning, oblivious of all love

affairs, German or Slav.

I undressed, mounted a chair and made a bold leap which landed me in

the midst of the maize straw with which the bed had been stuffed. It

was not a luxurious couch, but fatigue sleeps well even upon a poor

one. I had scarcely extinguished the candle on the table beside my bed

when I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.