During the events described in the preceding chapter, a man still in
the glow of youth was walking through the valley surrounded by lofty
saline cliffs, in this howling storm, while clouds of shrivelled leaves
danced above his head. He did not mind the dreary desolation around him.
His face, naturally strong with manly beauty, was now pale and haggard,
showing unmistakable traces of a great sorrow. His large intelligent
eyes were now sunk deep in their sockets. A nervous restlessness made
him shiver, and his pale cheeks gathered only a little color when an
obstinate cough threatened to rend his suffering breast asunder.
His coat betrayed the elegant cut of the fashionable tailor, but it was
now old and worn, and hung loosely about his emaciated form. He looked
like a teacher on whom fortune had persistently turned her back.
He carried in his hands a thick book, carefully wrapped up in a
handkerchief, which he clasped tightly almost tenderly to his breast,
as if afraid at any moment it might escape or drop out of his hands.
This idea made him tremble. It was indeed his only source of income; by
the aid of this valuable book he had already earned many a gold piece
in the Tyrolian and Styrian mountains.
His humorous lectures had been received with great approbation in
different hotels frequented by many foreign tourists. And still, his
earnings were not sufficient to support him and his motherless child,
pretty little Marie, whom he had left in the meantime with a family of
friends in Dresden. Every silver groschen he had earned was for the
support of his child.
He had come all the way from Hallstadt, and this long walk had
exhausted his strength considerably; and his heart was sick and heavy.
Now he felt a frightful nervousness, fearing not to be able to reach in
time the hotel where he was announced to deliver his humorous lecture.
He walked as quickly as he could to the farther end of the valley,
where he expected to see a clearing in the forest, and an open road
to the hotel. But on all sides he met high, unfamiliar cliffs.
Apprehension fell over him like an icy rain.
"Can I have lost my way?" he murmured, breathing heavily, while great
beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.
In an hour's time he was supposed to be at the Mountain View Hotel, and
now.... He looked helplessly around. Darkness began to fall, contesting
every inch of ground with retreating daylight. His teeth were
chattering with a cold chill, when he set out to find another opening.
The continuous excitement of this wandering from one hotel to another,
the consuming sorrow, the bleeding wound in his heart, had gradually
undermined his constitution, originally none too strong, and now
this wearing cough, the insidious fever!... "How upset I feel; it's
the peculiar atmosphere," he said to himself. At the same time he
remembered that the entertainment he proposed to offer this evening,
was not sufficiently furnished with witty epigrams and bons mots. So,
bowing and smiling to an imaginary audience of cosmopolitan taste, he
began to rehearse his lecture as he walked on, sharpening the humour
and adding some popular Austrian witticisms in vogue as trump cards.
Suddenly he looked up and saw a dark cloud threatening down upon
him. Heavy gusts of wind commenced to bend the tops of the high,
impenetrable trees. The songs of the mocking birds rang from the cedars
in the distance in his ear and startled him.
He stopped in alarm and looked distractedly around him. Where was he?
He could not make out. In the marshy places the fireflies were seen,
wandering about and looking in the distance like malicious eyes of
wicked sprites.
There was no longer any doubt, he had taken an entirely wrong direction.
Trembling with excitement, fearing delay, he rushed back to look for
the right path, while his hot breath grated audibly on his weak lungs.
A fearful storm was gathering, whispering and sobbing like complaining,
frightened witches now whirling the leaves into the air vehemently as
if driven by the furies of Hades.
A cold shudder ran through his fevered frame. He gazed in helpless
despair up and down, not knowing where to turn, while the rain poured
down in torrents, soaking him from head to foot, and the centuries
old tree-tops groaned and moaned like lost souls in Dante's Inferno.
Now everything began to swim around him. Nature was in an uproar and
bluster. Every little glowworm seemed to his frightened eyes to grow to
gigantic proportions dancing wildly about.
Sharp flashes of lightning lit up the Traunstein ever and anon and
seemed to come nearer and nearer, as if trying to march straight down
upon him. He wanted to retreat, but could not move; there was a dark
mist before his eyes. Uttering a piercing cry, he fell to the ground in
a heap because the big monster kept on advancing.
With a tremendous crash, the great mountain burst apart and a whole
troop of tiny, little mountain gnomes came out, dancing grotesquely
like sprites of another world.
They were garbed in white vestments, like fleecy vapors, with brazen
girdles which seemed to be sunbeams, and a cloudy stuff supposed to
be mantles hung loosely around their diminutive forms. With bare feet
they pattered down upon him. As soon as they caught sight of him they
commenced to giggle, swarming around him in great merriment. And then
they put their ludicrous little heads together and pointed at him with
contempt, whispering tales in falsetto tones to each other, which he
could not understand. But he saw by the glare of their twinkling little
eyes that they meant him, that they touched on something in his past
life.
By and by they became bolder and touched his wet clothes; some of the
older ones bent down to him and whispered malicious tales about his
wife into his ears. He groaned aloud. "It is a lie! I don't believe
a word of it!" he screamed, cursing the whole deceitful band. In his
indignation he tried to rise several times in order to drive them
away--down into the foaming stream, or back into their mountain riff;
but he could not move; his feet seemed to be fastened to the very
ground as if paralyzed or chained to earth. They whispered once more
the name of his wife with scornful laughter, and passed on over hills
and valleys dancing merrily.
Suddenly a bright light shone about him, illuminating the marshy
waters; invisible choirs were singing sweetly, as if angels were
descending from heaven. His eyes dilated as he saw a procession of tiny
elves passing him, carrying little lighted tapers in their diminutive
hands. In their midst he saw his dear mother stretching out her arms
longingly towards him.
Tears came to his eyes. The dear face! He wanted to run to her, embrace
her, but could not stir. A cry of horror broke from his trembling lips
when the fair Siren so fatal to his life stood before him, intervening
and trying to ensnare him again with the fascination of her glittering
eyes, her bewitching smile, speaking to him of love and devotion which
he believed again.
He listened to her; and a ray of happiness and delight filled his
love-sick heart. She comes back to him! She loves only him! And
unheeding the beseeching beckoning of his anxious mother, whose
tortured heart writhed and bled for her suffering son, he hastened on
with the enticing Siren,--where to, he did not know.
Suddenly they stood before a deep precipice; darkness surrounded them,
and the old trees commenced to sigh and moan and bend down upon them.
Six shadowy forms with blazing torches appeared upon the scene carrying
a coffin. Just in front of him the lid opened and the pale waxen face
of his dead mother met his frightened eyes. He screamed aloud with
horror. He had broken that noble heart, he had killed the best of
mothers, because he had followed this evil spirit of his life.
With a loud cry he threw himself upon the lifeless form and wept, while
the fair siren by his side laughed and laughed. Beside himself with
indignation he panted, trying to strike her and hurl words of hatred in
her face; but his hands fell helpless by his side; they had no power to
execute his will. He seemed rooted to the ground.