THE TWO REQUESTS.
Again I awoke early in the morning. I did not need much sleep for
physical refreshment, and although it had lasted but a few hours, I
felt quite fresh and well. The beautiful morning should serve me for
another expedition, and I wished to start as early as possible; in
Southern Ukraine only the early morning hours are suitable for mountain
walks and climbing. As long as the dew still glitters on the grass,
wandering in the Ukraine mountains is indescribably delightful, but
when the glowing sun has absorbed the last dewdrops, when its direct
rays are reflected from gray rocks, when no breath of air fans the
climber's cheek, mountain-climbing becomes altogether too hard a task
for an old man. I finished my breakfast before six o'clock and was all
ready for a start. Whither should I turn my steps! The forest above the
Chapel of St. Nikolas allured me. I had found such entomological
treasures there on the previous day that I surely could do nothing
better than go thither again. I could not collect too many specimens of
the grub of the _Saturnia caecigena_, for, unfortunately, I could not be
sure that each larva would produce a butterfly. To St. Nikolas, then, I
took my way and by the narrow path. I had succeeded in descending it
without accident the day before, and it was surely not too dangerous
for me to ascend it. I set out. The path certainly was better than its
reputation. It had no danger for a climber not subject to dizziness,
and was quite firm beneath the foot. I had often ascended far more
steep and dangerous pathways in my search for some rare plant.
The easy footpath leading to the Lonely House was soon reached, and I
strode forward sturdily. On the previous day I had hurried along it,
only desirous to reach Luttach as quickly as possible. To-day I feasted
my eyes with the view of the charming country upon which I looked down,
while at the same time I scrutinized with the keenness of a collector
the gentle ascent on my left where I might perhaps discover some
treasure growing among the rocks. Not far from the Lonely House I
perceived to my great joy in a spot which could be reached without
difficulty many beautiful specimens of the very orchid _Ophrys
Bertolini_ which the Judge had brought to me yesterday. This was an
unexpected delight. In yesterday's excitement I had neglected to put
the charming flowers in water, and when I returned from the
investigation they were so withered that they were not worth preserving
for my herbarium. Now I could gather many glorious specimens without
any trouble.
I left the path and easily climbed the rocks soon reaching the spot
where the orchids grew. But no sooner had I arrived there than to my
astonishment several trampled flowers showed me that another had been
before me, who was also a collector, and had plucked many blossoms of
the rare _Ophrys_.
One spot showed me that whoever he was, he had been no true botanist; a
true botanist would have taken the plants, roots and all, not the
blossoms only. He who collected the flowers here must have been in a
hurry; he had dropped several blossoms which lay wilted on the ground
and had evidently been plucked yesterday.
Was this the spot where the Judge had collected the beautiful _Ophrys_
for me! The specimens which he had brought me were without roots. I now
recalled this circumstance, which had escaped my notice on the previous
day; but he had said that it had cost him some trouble and even danger
to reach the rare plants with the habitat of which he was acquainted.
He had fallen in doing so and had lacerated his hand. It was impossible
that he could have done so here; for here was no possible danger; no
flowers on the mountains could be plucked with more facility than
these.
And yet here the Judge had been. He had certainly gathered the _Ophrys_
for me here. I found one unmistakable proof of his presence. On the
ground lay a red and yellow silk pocket handkerchief, just exactly such
a handkerchief as the Judge had carried the day before yesterday. I
remembered it perfectly. Of course he had lost it here while plucking
the flowers.
Involuntarily I smiled at the good man's boast; in order to give his
gift a higher value, he had talked of danger in procuring it. I would
tease him a little for his bragging. When I returned his handkerchief I
would expatiate on the terrible danger of the place where the _Ophrys
Bertolini_ was to be found.
Still the plucking of the flowers had not been entirely without danger
for him. I could not comprehend how he could have fallen on this smooth
spot and wounded his hand, but that he had done so the handkerchief
testified. On the yellow silk there were several brown stains, which I
recognized as blood. The hackneyed old saying, "No fall so slight but
may kill you quite," occurred to me. With a smile I put the
handkerchief in my pocket to return it to its owner when I got back to
the inn. I dug up a number of the beautiful _Ophrys Bertolini_ growing
here by hundreds, and then, walking on quickly, in scarcely five
minutes I reached the Lonely House. I was going to pass it, but from a
window of the upper story the Captain called, begging me to wait a
moment and he would join me.
He came and greeted me with great cordiality. He had passed a
melancholy night. Old Johanna had been half crazy with fear and was
absolutely useless. He had tried to persuade her to occupy one of the
two rooms on the right of the hall, but she had fled to her bed in the
upper story and locked herself in. Therefore the Captain had earnestly
entreated Anna to leave the Lonely House, but all his words had been in
vain. Anna displayed wonderful composure in her profound grief, but at
the same time a firmness of purpose bordering on obstinacy. She had
declared that she would not leave the Lonely House as long as it
sheltered her father's body. She could not leave it all alone there.
She would stay with him until he was buried, and she watched beside the
corpse for half the night. Morning had dawned before she betook herself
to rest.
"Anna is a strange child," said the Captain. "There are odd
contradictions in her character. She is gentle and yielding and at the
same time absolutely firm, open to no persuasion; sometimes frank and
confiding; at others reserved and almost suspicious even of me,
although she has repeatedly assured me that she trusts no human being
as she does me and my brother, the Burgomaster. With entire frankness
she has given me a detailed account of all the misery and wretchedness
which has existed here in the house ever since the day when Franz
Schorn asked her in marriage of her father. Towards herself the old man
was kind and caressing, although she declared to him that she never
would forsake Franz Schorn, that she never would marry the Judge; but
to every other human being, and particularly to Franz, he displayed
positive hatred, regarding all with profound suspicion, even old
Johanna. He was completely dominated by the fear that some day he
should be attacked and murdered. Wherefore he always bolted himself
into his room, and if he admitted any one was armed with a dagger-like
knife. He kept this terrible knife in his hand even whilst old Johanna
arranged his room; even from her he feared some secret attack. No
entreaty of Anna's could induce him to moderate his savage hatred of
Franz. She, on her part, declared that she never would forsake Franz as
long as she lived. This had led to continual strife between herself and
her father, for she had told him frankly that he must shut her up in a
close prison if he wished to prevent her from seeing Franz, and she had
seen him almost daily; when her father locked himself up in his room
after the midday meal to sleep for an hour, she always left the house
to see Franz, who awaited her beneath the large oak not far away. Her
father knew this, but had done nothing to prevent it, after she had
declared to him that she should continue to do it, and if he locked her
in the house, she would try to break the locks. The strange girl told
me all this with reckless frankness, while at the same time she refused
me any explanation, although I begged her to give it, of what she meant
yesterday when she declared that she perhaps was guilty of her father's
death. My little Anna is a riddle to me," the Captain thus closed his
long account, "but I love her none the less and I shall stay here to
protect her. I will not leave her all by herself in the Lonely House.
Now you can do me a favour, Herr Professor. When you return at midday
from your excursion to St. Nikolas, stop here before the Lonely House
once more, and I will give you some directions to take to Luttach for
my brother, the Burgomaster. He must provide a suitable home for Anna
in Luttach if she refuses to accept the doctor's invitation after her
father's funeral, for which he must also give directions. I will put
all this down in a letter, which you will have the kindness to give to
my brother yourself."
I at once promised what he asked, and we parted the best of friends.
The Captain returned to the Lonely House to write his letter, which, as
he said, was quite a task for an old soldier unaccustomed for many
years to hold a pen.
I continued my walk and soon reached the little Church of St. Nikolas.
Again I fed my eyes on the charming prospect and then proceeded to
collect. I scrambled about in the forest, hither and thither, for some
hours; then up on the bald rocky side of Nanos, and not until my
bottles and boxes were so full that I could accommodate no more
treasures, and the heat had become oppressive, did I take my way back
towards noon by the same path which I had followed yesterday. In a
little while I reached the footpath leading to the Lonely House, and on
the very same spot where I had yesterday encountered Franz Schorn I
found him again to-day, but he did not avoid me; he awaited me. He was
not alone; beside him, with his arm around her waist, stood pretty
Anna. They were a charming pair. I delighted in the sight of the two
beautiful young people. Franz was certainly a handsome fellow. Now, as
he looked down on his lovely companion, with eyes full of the tenderest
affection, the beauty of his features, which a gloomy expression had
hitherto concealed, was plainly visible.
When the young man observed me, a shadow crossed his brow. Without
releasing his companion, with his left hand he took off his straw hat
in greeting. Then Anna, too, saw me, and with a blush beckoned to me
kindly. She made no attempt to release herself from the embracing arm
of the young man.
"We were awaiting you here, Herr Professor," said Franz, as I reached
them. "Captain Pollenz informed my betrothed that you, in coming from
St. Nikolas, had promised to stop, towards noon, at the Lonely House;
therefore we came to meet you to make a request of you."
"Which I shall certainly comply with if possible," I replied, regarding
the young girl with genuine delight. She blushed, but looked up with
kindling eyes at Franz as he uttered the word "betrothed."
"It is a request that may seem strange to you, Herr Professor," Franz
continued, "but, nevertheless, I will make it; I am convinced that you
would not wish to cause annoyance either to myself or to my dear
betrothed."
"Most certainly not. Pray tell me quite frankly what you wish."
"It is not much. I would only ask you not to mention to any one our
meeting yesterday here in this place."
The request in itself seemed trivial enough, but the look which
accompanied it was far from meaningless. It betokened intense anxiety
as to whether or not I would accede to what he asked.
In truth, the young man's request was a strange one. Involuntarily my
eyes turned to his wounded right hand. All diverse thoughts ran riot in
my brain. I remembered the large double-edged knife with its bloody
handle lying on the floor of the room in the Lonely House, and then
came the memory of the cut on a brown hand and the doctor's voice
saying, "That looks as if you had grasped a knife by the blade." Again
I saw Franz turn from me to hurry through the undergrowth, and again I
saw him with eyes gloomily cast down as he listened to the physician's
words. I recalled his bitter hostility to old Pollenz, and the old
man's words, "That fellow will kill me one of these days." Hitherto I
had entertained no downright suspicion of the young fellow, but it
suddenly stirred within me.
"Why do you wish me not to mention our meeting?" I asked in reply.
"Because I begged Franz to ask you this," Anna replied for the young
man, whose features as I spoke resumed their wonted gloomy expression.
"Franz told me that yesterday he turned away from you because he wished
to avoid any meeting with you. He feared it might cause you annoyance,
if you had happened to be seen by any chance passer-by walking with
him. He had been waiting for me a long time in vain beneath the old oak
where we are used to meet every day at noon. I could not come because
my father had sent me down to Luttach. Franz was in a very bad humour
when he met you, and so, to avoid greeting you, he turned away into the
forest."
Anna's words had a peculiar effect upon me. They strengthened my
suspicions. If he were not guilty, would Franz have thought it
necessary to have the young girl explain to me why he was in the
neighbourhood of the Lonely House at noon, and why he had turned away
from me with such sullen looks?
"You have not yet told me why I should not mention my meeting with Herr
Schorn," I replied.
"I will explain that to you myself," Franz said hurriedly, "my
betrothed thinks that if Foligno should learn that I was seen yesterday
here in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, the malice and hatred
with which he regards me would find expression in vile suspicion of
me."
"It would certainly be so. I entreat you, dear Herr Professor, do not
tell a human being that you met Franz yesterday."
As she spoke the young girl looked up at me with such entreaty in her
beautiful eyes that my heart was softened. I was in an awkward
position. Ought I to tell her that I could not comply with her request,
because I had already informed the Judge of my meeting Franz? This I
could not do. I could not warn Franz without perhaps injuring the
investigation; but, on the other hand, I certainly could not make a
promise which it was already impossible to keep.
"I can promise nothing," I replied guardedly; "in an official
examination one is bound to conceal nothing."
"Oh, Herr Professor, I beg, I entreat you----"
Franz interrupted her, and, casting at me a look which was almost
menacing, exclaimed, "Do not say another word, Anna; the Herr Professor
is right; it was folly, yes, wrong, for me to yield to your desire and
make this request of the Herr Professor, who ought not to comply with
it. If that scoundrel, Foligno, suspects me, I know how to meet his
suspicion. Come, Anna, we ought not to detain the gentleman any
longer."
He lifted his hat by way of farewell, and walked towards the forest
with the young girl. My mind was filled with contradictory thoughts.
Can that proud, self-assertive young man be a miserable criminal! I
would so gladly have banished all suspicion of him, but--how terrible
it was that so lovely and charming a girl had perhaps bestowed the
wealth of her affection upon her father's murderer!
I walked slowly towards the Lonely House, where the Captain, sitting
before the door, was awaiting me. He handed me the letter for his
brother, gave me various verbal commissions, and I left with a promise
to visit him shortly in the Lonely House.
"Shall I bring the Herr Professor's lunch into the garden?" Mizka asked
me as I entered the kitchen of the Golden Vine on my return from my
excursion. "The Judge has been lunching in the garden, and is sitting
with his coffee beneath the great linden."
The _Ophrys Bertolini_ occurred to me. I smiled at the remembrance of
the Judge's boast and was pleased at the idea of teasing him. Of course
I ordered my lunch in the garden and betook myself thither.
The Judge was sipping his coffee and smoking his long cigar at the
round table beneath the spreading linden. He seemed sunk in a profound
reverie, leaning his head upon his hand and with downcast eyes. I was
struck with his pallor and with the sallowness and the drawn look of
his features. At my first words he started violently, and for a moment
gazed at me with terror, almost as if awaking from an oppressive dream,
but in an instant he recovered his self-control, and greeted me with a
smile.
"I think I was dozing," he said; "the terrible heat makes me sleepy."
Why should he have told such an untruth? He had not been dozing; just
before he started he had raised his hand to his cigar and had taken a
long whiff.
"I admire you, Herr Professor," he said, "for being able to climb about
in such heat. I suffer from it even here in the shade of the linden. I
trust you were richly rewarded for your trouble."
"I was indeed," I replied smiling. "I have had great luck. I have been
so fortunate as even to discover the place where, yesterday, you
plucked for me the charming _Ophrys Bertolini_."
My jesting words produced a strange effect. Herr Foligno stared
at me blankly; his sallow face grew ashy pale; his mouth twitched
convulsively as he said brokenly, "No, impossible! How--how--could
you--how could you get there?"
"In the easiest way in the world," I replied, tickled that the
discovery of his boast had so startled the worthy gentleman. "The spot,
so difficult and even dangerous to attain, in reaching which you fell
on the rocks and wounded your hand, I found right on the road to the
Lonely House and most easy of attainment. From the path I saw the
_Ophrys_ blooming, and mounted without any difficulty to where it
grew."
"Then you have had the good fortune to discover a new home for it
which I had not known," Herr Foligno replied, having regained his
self-control with surprising celerity. "I found the orchid on an
overhanging rock in quite a distant part of the country."
"Indeed, that is very remarkable. Did you, by chance, lose your pocket
handkerchief there? I found it in my spot--or is it not yours? Look,
the yellow silk shows some spots of blood, probably from a wounded
hand."
With a laugh I drew out the handkerchief and handed it to him; the
black gloved hand with which he took it trembled. He examined it quite
attentively for some time, and then said quietly, "This certainly is a
remarkable coincidence. The handkerchief actually belongs to me, and I
probably lost it yesterday in climbing about the rocks, but certainly
not where you found it, for I was not even in the neighbourhood of the
Lonely House. Probably one of the young goatherds here who scramble
about everywhere in the mountains found it, and lost it again where you
discovered it."
With the greatest calmness he put the handkerchief in his pocket. I
could not refuse him my admiration, for his barefaced explanation
struck me as quite brilliant. Whether I believed him or not, I must
pretend to do so. Laughing heartily, I replied: "I congratulate you,
Herr Foligno, on the happy chance which led the little goatherd and the
old Professor to the same place, one losing, the other finding your
handkerchief to restore it to you."
The Judge probably felt the irony in my words, but he took no notice of
it. He offered me his hand cordially.
"It certainly is a very strange coincidence," he said. "If my
acquaintances here should hear of it, it might give them material for
teasing me quite unpleasantly. You will oblige me, Herr Professor, if
you will not mention this little occurrence. May I rely upon you?"
"Certainly; I will be silent as the grave," I replied, still laughing,
but the suspicious and evil glance which he cast at me quickly silenced
my laughter. He said nothing further about the handkerchief or the
_Ophrys_; he only made a few remarks about the unusual heat of the
weather so late in the season, and then arose, saying that he was
obliged to return to his office, and, therefore, to his regret, must
leave me.