THE BALE-FIRE.
The last crimson reflection of sunset had long vanished, field and
forest were covered with dew, and the darkness was softly creeping up
from the valleys to the heights, while above the snow-peaks began to
gleam with a silvery lustre,--the herald of the rising moon, which was
not yet visible.
Then flames began to dart forth from the heaped-up wood on the
Wolkenstein; at first only fitfully, crackling and smoking, until the
fire caught the giant logs, and then it leapt aloft wildly with a
magnificent ruddy glare, hailed by cheers from the circle of men around
it,--the ancient bale-fire of the mountains.
It was wonderfully picturesque,--the scene to which the growing
darkness added much in effect,--the flaming altar sending its
sparks towards heaven, and around it in the red light the crowd of
brown-visaged mountaineers in joyous motion. They chased and chaffed
one another, and leaped around the fire, snatching and waving aloft the
burning brands in unrestrained delight, to which the crackling and
roaring of the flames added intensity, while above it all the smoke
rolled and floated in thick clouds, now half veiling and anon revealing
the scene below.
Erna and Waltenberg had not left their place,--probably preferring to
keep somewhat aloof from the noisy crowd. At a little distance stood
Wolfgang with folded arms, apparently lost in contemplation of the
fantastic spectacle. Probably by chance, he had taken up a position
where he was almost entirely in the shadow; all the more brilliant did
the light seem which was thrown upon the little group on the hillock,
the slender, graceful figure of the girl, the tall, dark form beside
her, and the shaggy dog lying motionless at their feet, his head
resting upon his huge paws.
Benno, standing near the fire with Gronau, now and then glanced towards
them, but that other pair of eyes watched them intently from the gloom,
and if sometimes their owner resolutely looked away towards the busy,
happy throng, some mysterious force seemed to compel his gaze to rest
again upon the pair, who looked as if they already belonged to each
other.
Erna, who had grown warm from climbing, had taken off her hat and laid
it upon the mossy stone that served her for a seat, while Waltenberg
leaned above her, conversing in a low tone. What he said had, perhaps,
no special significance, but his look sought hers with a passionate
eagerness which he took no pains to conceal. His eyes could well
express the emotion which thrilled his whole being. The man whose
thirst for freedom had so long defied the fetters of love was now
hopelessly enthralled.
The conversation was carried on in an undertone, but Wolfgang
distinguished every word; through all the shouting and laughter,
through all the crackling and hissing of the flames, every syllable
distinctly fell on his ear, for every nerve was strung in the effort to
listen, as if for him life and death depended upon what was said.
"Inaccessible do you call the Wolkenstein?" asked Waltenberg. "That
only means that no one has yet ascended it. It can be subdued, that
haughty peak."
"Hitherto no one has subdued it, however," Erna replied. "Several have
ventured up through the rocks to the foot of the topmost cliff, but
there every one has been stayed; even my father, who was not easily
daunted by any ascent and pursued the chamois to the highest summits,
often declared, 'The Wolkenstein peak is inaccessible.'"
Ernst looked up at the peak, now only partially visible, and smiled:
"Do you know, Fraeulein Thurgau, your description tempts me to venture
the ascent?"
She looked up at him in dismay: "Herr Waltenberg, you would not----?"
"Climb the Wolkenstein peak? At least I shall attempt it."
"Impossible! You are jesting."
"Do you think so? I hope to prove to you that I am in earnest."
"But why? What for?"
"Why does one undertake any adventure? Because the danger excites;
because it is a victory, a triumph, to achieve the apparently
impossible."
"And if this triumph should cost you your life? You would not be the
first victim of the peak. Ask Sepp; he can tell you a sad story."
"Bah! I am no novice in such attempts. I have climbed higher mountains
than your dreaded Wolkenstein."
His tone betrayed the defiant persistence of a man accustomed to
danger, apt indeed to seek it. Nordheim was right: he longed only for
what was withheld from him, and life had thus far withheld from him
little enough. To climb a mountain-summit which no human foot had
ever before trod, or to win a beautiful, proud woman who met his
advances with coy reserve,--either attempt attracted him. He must win,
subdue,--nothing was impossible.
The wind, which was rising, blew the flames to one side; they flickered
and leaped, and a shower of sparks fell upon Wolfgang, who hardly
noticed it. He remained motionless in the ruddy glare, which did not
reveal his extreme pallor. The entire pile was now one mountain of
flame, whence huge tongues soared aloft, higher and higher, invading
the night with a fiery breath. The cool, dewy meadow, the dark forests,
the steep declivities of the Wolkenstein,--all looked strangely
transformed in the red, darting light beneath the clouds of smoke
rolling overhead.
And there was a reflection of the glowing fire in the face of the man
who endured mutely, with compressed lips, the torture that he would not
flee. He felt the hot breath of the flames, but he could not tear
himself from the spot where those low, half-whispered words reached his
ear.
"Take care. It is the legendary stronghold of our mountains; there is a
spell upon it. Its ruler permits no human foot to press her throne."
"Until he comes who subdues her. The German legends all end thus. He
whose courage wins the summit clasps the enchantress in his arms."
"And dies beneath the Mountain-Sprite's icy kiss. Yes, so runs the
legend."
Waltenberg laughed contemptuously: "Yes, the tale may terrify children
and simple peasants. Thence comes the inaccessibility of the
Wolkenstein,--not from the danger, but from superstition! Nevertheless
I hope to make it mine, that mysterious kiss."
"You will not persist?" Erna interposed, between entreaty and command.
"Give up so foolhardy an idea!"
"No, no, Fraeulein von Thurgau, not even at your command."
"But if I entreat?"
There was an instant's pause; in the brilliant light Wolfgang could
distinguish every feature in the girl's face turned upward in genuine
entreaty, and in that of the man who bent over her so close that he
wellnigh touched her curls. The daring, reckless tone had vanished from
his voice; it sounded low, but infinitely tender, as he rejoined,
"_You_ entreat me?"
"Yes--from my heart! Do not persist in such folly. It troubles me."
Ernst smiled, and replied, in a voice strangely gentle for one so
impatient of control,--
"You shall be obeyed. Sweet as it would be to know, were I in any
danger, that one human being was anxious on my account, I relinquish my
project."
The sharp needles of the pine bough about which Wolfgang had clasped
his hand in a nervous grasp pierced his flesh, but he did not feel
them. The hill of fire, which was still glowing erect, tottered, some
of the logs gave way, and the burning pile fell into ruins, crashing
and crackling, while from the dazzling heap a thousand tongues of flame
curled along the ground, illuminating now only a comparatively narrow
circle, while the meadow and the hillock vanished in darkness.
"It was a magnificent sight, was it not?" Benno asked gaily,
approaching his friend and laying his hand upon the one clasping the
pine. "But, Wolf, what is the matter with you? You have an attack of
fever,--you are trembling, and your hand is icy cold."
"There is nothing the matter," said Wolfgang. "I may have taken a
little cold here in the damp."
"Taken cold on this summer evening? a fellow of your iron constitution?
You are ill."
But Elmhorst withdrew the hand the doctor would have taken: "Pray do
not make so much of a slight indisposition; such attacks go as quickly
as they come. I felt it as we were walking up here."
Benno shook his head; he had not before perceived any symptoms of
indisposition. "We had better set out upon our way back," he said. "The
fire is going out, and we have a good mile to walk down the mountain."
"You are right; we are going too," said Waltenberg, approaching. "Sepp
proposes to take us down by the Vulture Cliff, but that shorter way
seems slightly perilous."
"It certainly is by moonlight."
"Then we will give it up. I promised Frau von Lasberg to return
early, and I must keep my word. Gronau can descend with the guide by
the cliff, since he seems to want to do so. He can meet us on the
high-road."
The little party set out together, Gronau and Sepp agreeing to meet it
at an appointed spot in the road below. The meadow with the flickering
flames soon vanished, and the silence of the mountain-forest replaced
the shouting and laughter on the height. Silence also fell upon the
descending group; they were obliged to walk heedfully, for the path,
although neither steep nor perilous, lay in the shadow of the dense
pine forest, which hid the moonlight except for a brilliant ray here
and there. Waltenberg walked close beside Erna; the other two followed.
Thus descending, they reached the edge of the forest in about half an
hour and emerged upon the cleared mountainside.
"The heights all around are still flaming," said Waltenberg, pointing
upward, where, upon the other summits, the fires were yet blazing. "The
Wolkensteiners lit their pile early. Her Majesty the Mountain-Sprite
takes precedence, and she seems actually to mean to unveil in honour of
the night."
He was right. The clouds that during the entire evening had hovered
about the summit of the Wolkenstein and had veiled its peak were
beginning to float away.
"I wonder that Gronau and Sepp are not here," Erna remarked. "They
ought to have been here before us, since they took the shorter path."
"Perhaps they have met with some ghostly hinderance," said Benno,
laughing. "It is Midsummer Eve, and the mountains are alive with
fairies and spirits. I'll wager either that they have encountered some
phantom, or that they are now searching for the treasures which rise
from hidden depths to the surface on this night in the year. Ah, there
they are!"
In fact, Sepp made his appearance on the other side of the road, but he
was alone, and the haste of his approach boded ill.
"What is the matter?" said Waltenberg, going to meet him. "Has anything
happened? Where is Herr Gronau?"
Sepp pointed in the direction of the Vulture Cliff: "Up there! We have
had an accident. The gentle man slipped on the rocks, and his foot----"
"There are no bones broken?"
"No, 'tis not so bad as that, for we got down to even ground, but he
could not go any farther. The gentleman is up there in the forest, and
cannot move his foot, and I came to ask the Herr Doctor to look after
him."
"Of course I must look after him," said Reinsfeld, instantly turning to
go. "Where did you leave him? Far from here?"
"No; only a short quarter of a mile up."
"I will go with you," said Waltenberg, hastily. "I must see after
Gronau. Pray stay here, Fraeulein von Thurgau; you hear it is not far,
and we shall return immediately."
"Would it not be better that we should all go up together?" asked
Elmhorst. "My aid might be necessary."
"Oh, a sprained ankle, or even a broken limb, is not dangerous," said
Benno. "We three can do all that is necessary, even although we should
be obliged to carry Herr Gronau; and Fraeulein von Thurgau cannot be
left here alone."
"Certainly not; Herr Elmhorst must stay with her," Ernst said,
decidedly. "We will be as quick as possible, rely upon it, Fraeulein von
Thurgau."
The arrangement was a very natural one; fearless as the young lady
might be, she could not be left here in the night alone, and Wolfgang,
almost a member of her family, was, of course, the one to be left to
take care of her. Nevertheless neither of them seemed pleased. Erna
objected, and thought it would be better to accompany the doctor. But
Waltenberg would not hear of it; he hurried away with Reinsfeld and
Sepp over the meadow, and then all three vanished in the opposite wood.
Those left behind were obliged to accommodate themselves to
circumstances. They exchanged a few remarks about the accident and its
possible consequences, and then there was a long silence.
The midsummer night with its deep, mysterious stillness brooded above
the mountains, but without the darkness of night. The full moon, now
high in the heavens, bathed everything in its dreamy radiance. In its
light the fires upon the mountains gleamed but dimly. They no longer
flamed aloft, but looked like glowing stars fallen from the firmament
and shining on the heights in clear, quiet beauty. By day there was a
distant view from this meadow, now the mountain world was veiled in a
delicate mist that left only certain detached features distinctly
visible. The rigid lines of the tall summits were softened, the thick
forests were massed in bluish shadow; below, where yawned the
Wolkenstein abyss, darkness still reigned, although the moonlight
already silvered the bridge. It reached from rock to rock, like a
narrow, shining plank, discernible by keen eyes even at this height.
The Wolkenstein summit alone, close at hand, was defined sharply
against the clear sky of night. The forests at its feet, the jagged
outlines of the billowy sea of rocks, and the gigantic proportions of
the steep wall rising from them,--all were flooded with snowy lustre.
Around its head there was still a fleecy vapour, which seemed slowly
melting away in the moonbeams; at times each icy peak would be revealed
clearly, to half vanish again in a semi-transparent veil. Erna had
seated herself on the stump of a felled tree on the border of the
forest. The scene fascinated her, as it did her companion, who was,
nevertheless, the first to break the long silence.
"Herr Waltenberg could hardly achieve that ascent," he said. "It was
scarcely necessary to warn him off so seriously; he certainly would
have turned back at the foot of the rocky wall."
"You heard what we said?" the girl asked, without looking away from the
Wolkenstein.
"I did. I was standing very near you."
"Then you heard that the attempt was relinquished."
"At _your_ request."
"I was interested that it should be so; there is something distressing
to me in all aimless foolhardiness."
"In _all_? I think Herr Waltenberg attached another significance to
your words; and was he not justified in so doing?"
Erna turned and bestowed upon him a glance of disapproval: "Herr
Elmhorst, you evidently consider yourself as already belonging to our
family, but I cannot, nevertheless, accord you the right to ask such
questions."
The rebuff was sufficiently plain. Wolfgang bit his lip.
"Pardon me, Fraeulein von Thurgau, if I was indiscreet; but, from the
remarks of my future father-in-law, I judged the matter to be no longer
a secret."
"My uncle spoke of it to you? And before his departure?"
"Assuredly. And he also did so three weeks ago, when I was in the
city."
A dark flush mounted to the girl's cheek. So the president had even
then confided to his prospective son-in-law his plans for disposing of
his niece, probably before her personal acquaintance with Waltenberg.
All the pride of her nature was in revolt as she replied, "I know my
uncle puts a price upon everything, and why not upon my hand? But in
this case the decisive word is mine, as both he and you seem to have
forgotten."
"I?" said Wolfgang, indignantly. "Can you suppose me to have any share
in his plan?"
She looked at him, with a strange expression which he could not
unriddle, and there was a shade of scorn in her voice as she replied,
"No, certainly not in this plan."
"You would do me gross injustice by such a suspicion. Moreover, I have
no liking for Herr Waltenberg, and I feel sure that, despite all his
brilliant qualities, he is not fitted to make another human being
happy."
"That is your opinion," Erna said, coldly. "In such a case all that a
woman takes into consideration is whether she is beloved without
calculation or reserve."
"Ought that alone to be decisive? I should suppose there might be a
question as to whether she herself loves."
The words came slowly and almost with hesitation from his lips, and
yet his eyes were riveted in breathless eagerness upon the face so
clearly revealed in the bright moonlight. There was no reply; Erna's
glance avoided his: her eyes were fixed upon the distant scene. The
mountain-fires were growing fainter; the largest, upon the Wolkenstein,
still gleamed with starlike radiance.
Above these the wreathing mist was still floating, and the moonbeams
called forth from it strange shapes, which, when the eye would have
seized and held them fast, eluded it and melted away. Slowly, however,
from among them the topmost peak emerged white and gleaming, the
inaccessible throne of the Alpine Fay in her garment of eternal ice and
snow.
Wolfgang approached the young girl and stood close beside her as
he continued, in an undertone: "I have no right, I know, to ask
this question, but doubtless you have put it to yourself, and the
answer----"
A low, angry growl interrupted him. Griff had not forgotten his early
antipathy for the superintendent; he could not endure to have him
approach his mistress, and, as if to defend her, thrust himself between
them. Erna laid her hand caressingly upon the dog's head, and he was
instantly silent; then she asked, "Why do you hate Ernst Waltenberg?"
"I?" Elmhorst was apparently amazed by this counter-question, which
found him entirely unprepared to reply.
"Yes. Can you deny that it is so?"
"No," said Wolfgang, with defiant frankness. "I confess it. I hate
him!"
"You must have some reason for so doing."
"I have a reason. But you must allow me to follow your example and
withhold the answer to your question."
"I will answer it myself. Because in Ernst Waltenberg you see my future
husband."
Elmhorst started and looked at her with an expression of dismay,--nay,
of positive terror: "You--know?"
"Do you suppose a woman cannot feel when she is loved, even though
every means be resorted to to conceal it from her?" Erna asked, with
extreme bitterness.
A long, oppressive pause ensued; Wolfgang's eyes were downcast; at last
he said, in a low, dull voice, "Yes, Erna, I have loved you--for
years!"
"And you wooed--Alice!"
There was harsh condemnation in her words; he stood silent with bent
head.
"Because she is rich; because her hand can confer the wealth which I do
not possess. Nevertheless Alice will not be unhappy; she neither knows
nor demands happiness in the higher sense of the word, while I should
be unutterably wretched bound to a man whom I despised."
"Erna!" he exclaimed, in torture.
"Herr Elmhorst?" she rejoined, haughtily.
He accepted the rebuff, and controlled himself by an effort: "Fraeulein
von Thurgau, you have felt yourself obliged to hate me since the hour
of your father's death, and you have avenged yourself richly for a
supposed injury. Well, then, I will endure your hate if so it must be,
but _not_ your contempt. I will not suffer any longer from the cold
scorn which I always see in your eyes. You well know how to wound with
it, but I pray you--do not drive me to extremes."
He really looked as if the farthest limit of his self-control were
reached. The man usually so cool and calculating, of such iron
resolution, absolutely trembled in the fever of his agitation.
Griff was still pugnacious, following with an angry eye every movement
of him whom he considered a foe, and who seemed to be threatening his
young mistress, who, however, took the dog by the collar and held him
fast.
"Can you compel my esteem?" she asked.
"Yes, by heaven I can and will!" he broke forth. "I compelled respect
but now from that insolent egotist, who despises money merely because
he possesses it in abundance, and who parades as romanticism his dreamy
idle existence. You heard how he was silenced by my reference to my
work. He does not know what it is to be poor, and to have bare, hard
reality staring him in the face. But I drained that cup to the dregs in
my needy youth; life for me possessed no poetry, no ideals. I felt
within me the power to excel in my profession, and was tied down by
hard mechanical labour. I had to submit to men my inferiors in
intellect, and to obey where now I command. The plan of the Wolkenstein
bridge, now regarded as such a wonder, was rejected again and again
because I had no patronage, because a poor, unknown man is sure to be
despised. But, in spite of it all, I determined to rise; not for the
money's sake, not that I might revel in idle luxury, but that I might
work with freedom, undeterred by all the petty hinderances, to soar
above which wealth gives wings. There stands my work!" He pointed to
the narrow road, which gleamed like silver above the abyss. "Whether
you hate its designer or not, it must force even you to respect him!"
With like proud, bold self-assertion Wolfgang Elmhorst was wont to
silence his opponents and to win the victory, but it stood him in no
stead here. Erna had risen and stood confronting him, the scorn which
he would not brook still looking from her eyes.
"No!" she said, decidedly. "That work of yours condemns you. The man
capable of achieving that should have had the courage to depend upon
himself, and to go forward alone, for he carried his future within him.
My uncle recognized your talent long before you wooed his daughter; he
had opened the way for you, and you could have attained your goal even
without him. But that indeed would have cost time and trouble, and you
wanted to take fortune by storm."
Wolfgang gazed sadly at the girl's agitated face. "Yes," he said, "I
did. And I have paid a high price for it; perhaps--too high."
"The price now is your freedom; in future it may possibly be your
honour."
"Erna! Have a care! Do not insult me!"
"I do not insult you. I only give utterance to what you do not yet
choose to confess to yourself. Do you imagine that you can with
impunity pledge yourself to a man like my uncle? You still have
ambition; he has long been done with it, and now cares only for gain.
He has, it is true, won millions, and gold flows into his coffers from
every quarter, but he is not content. The magnitude of his undertakings
does not affect him, except as it brings him money, and once completely
in his power he will require you to be the same. You will no longer
create, you will only accumulate."
Wolfgang looked down gloomily; he knew that she spoke the truth; he had
long known this side of the president's character, but his pride
rebelled against the part thus assigned him.
"Do you think me so wanting in energy as to be unable to preserve my
independence?" he asked. "I have a will, and if necessary can assert
it, even in my present position."
"Then you will be given an alternative, and you will be obliged to
submit. You have not chosen the hard, lonely path trodden by so many
great men who could call nothing their own save their talent and their
faith in themselves. For me,"--there was a kind of passionate
inspiration in the girl's eyes,--"I have always imagined that in the
striving and struggling there must be happiness perhaps even greater
than that of attainment. To ascend thus from the depths, to be
conscious that one's power increases with every step forward, with
every obstacle overcome, and then at last to stand on the free heights
in the joy of victory won by one's own exertions,--I have had some
sensation akin to it when I have been climbing a difficult Alpine
ascent, and not for worlds would I have accepted another's aid."
Carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, she was again the free,
unconventional child of the mountains, whom Wolfgang had once found
amidst the abysses of the Wolkenstein, her curls waving, and quick
to love as to hate. Together they had then bidden defiance to the
tempest; in fancy he again heard her joyous, reckless laughter amid the
hurly-burly, and it seemed to him that he had then been happy,
supremely happy, as never again since then.
"And could you have loved a man who had risen thus?" he asked at last,
with suppressed suffering in his tone. "Could you have stood beside him
in toil and danger, perhaps in defeat? Answer me, Erna,--I entreat
you!"
Erna shivered; the light in her eyes faded, as she replied, coldly,
"What need to ask? The question comes too late! One thing I know: the
man who denied and crushed out his love for the sake of the gold which
another hand could bestow, who bought his future because he lacked
courage to create it, I never could have loved,--never!"
She took a long breath, as if with the words she cast aside a burden,
and turned her back to him. Griff suddenly became restless; he
perceived the approach of the rest although their advance was as yet
inaudible; his mistress understood him.
"Are they coming?" she asked, in an undertone. "Let us go to meet them,
Griff."
She slowly crossed the meadow, where the dew lay heavy and glistening.
Wolfgang made no attempt to detain her: he stood motionless. The last
of the mountain-fires had just sunk to ashes; it glimmered aloft for a
few moments like a faint and fading star and then vanished.
The peak of the Wolkenstein, on the contrary, was plainly visible; the
mists that had been hovering around it seemed to melt in the moonlight,
and the ice-crowned summit stood forth distinct and glistening. She had
unveiled herself, the haughty sovereign of the mountain-range, and sat
enthroned aloft in her phantom-like beauty, while above her realm
brooded the silent mystery of the midsummer night, with its ghostly
hint of buried treasures ascending from hidden depths and awaiting
discovery,--the ancient, solemn midsummer-eve of St. John.