THE SIGHT OF TERROR
"My dear Henrietta," Leonard had said to his wife the day before, as he
shook the dust of the chase off his clothes, "very shortly some guests
will arrive at Hidvár and possibly they may be numerous. May I ask you
to make ready for their reception?"
Henrietta signified by a motion of her head that she understood.
"It is possible you may have to perform the duties of hostess without my
assistance, for I have to be off at once to Szeb and don't expect to be
back for a couple of days. It is possible that the gentlemen in question
may arrive during my absence which I should very much regret.
Nevertheless you may depend upon my hastening home as quickly as I can
to meet them here."
All this did not seem to interest Henrietta very much. Leonard noticed
it.
"Let the gentry, my dear, occupy the room overlooking the park, the
servants had better have the six rooms generally given to hunting
parties on the ground floor, with the four and twenty beds."
At these directions the lady looked at her lord with an expression of
surprised inquiry.
"I see," resumed her husband, "you are asking yourself what sort of
company that can be for whose master one room suffices while the
servants require six. I will tell you. It is the armed corps from Arad
which is charged with the capture of Fatia Negra and his associates. As
they will pass by this way I don't see how they can avoid calling at
Hidvár. In fact I have invited the magistrate who commands the corps to
make Hidvár the centre of his operations and if he is a sensible man he
will accept my invitation. The name of my guest I have not yet
mentioned," continued Leonard with easy levity, "it is Szilard Vamhidy,
a justice of the peace of the county of Arad--really a very nice young
man."
Henrietta became as white as a statue.
"You will greatly oblige me, my dear Henrietta, if you will do your best
to make our guest feel quite at home in our house. But you are a
sensible woman, so I have no need to press the point. Let me kiss your
hand--_au revoir_!"
Henrietta watched him go out, watched him get into his carriage and bowl
off and then began to weep and hide her head among the cushions that
nobody might hear her.
They are pursuing Fatia Negra! ... Szilard Vamhidy is pursuing Fatia
Negra!
He will come hither, he will enter this very castle. Leonard himself has
invited him!
He will certainly come to see his former love once more. The thought was
terrible!
But it must not, it should not happen.
Leonard himself had invited Vamhidy to his castle. This man relied too
much on the terror of a poor timid woman, he built too much on that
nimbus of terror which made him so horribly unassailable in her eyes.
What! first to invite the former lover of his wife to be his guest and
then show his indifference by choosing that very time to absent himself
from the house for some days!
But on one thing she was resolved--Vamhidy should not find her at
Hidvár. She would fly. She would leave her husband's house. Where should
she go? Who would receive her? What would become of her? She did not
know, she gave the matter no thought, but one thing was certain: Szilard
and she might meet together in the grave but they should never encounter
each other beneath the shadow of the halls of Hidvár.
There was nobody she could confide in. All the servants were her
husband's paid spies and her own jailors. The priest had disappeared
altogether from Hidvár. In her despair an old memory rose up before her.
She called to mind that during the earlier days of her stay at Hidvár
when she had explored the whole region under the delusion that she could
make the wretched happy, she had often passed a little house which had
always riveted her attention. It was a little hunting hut in the midst
of the forest built entirely of wood and planed smoothly outside like a
little polished cabinet. In front of it stood broad spreading fruit
trees, crowded with flowers in spring, crowded with fruit in autumn,
wild vines and moss grew all over its roofs.
In the midst of the listening woods this little house had such an
inviting exterior that the very first time she saw it, Henrietta could
not resist the temptation of entering it.
The door of the little house stood open before her, being only on the
latch. She had stepped in: there was nobody inside. In the first room
there was furniture of some hard wood; close to the wall stood a carved
side-board with painted earthenware on it, on a table was a pitcher of a
similar ware full of fresh pure water. The door of another room to the
right was also open and in that room also she found nobody. There stood
a bed with a bear skin for a coverlet, other bear skins spread on the
floor served instead of carpets and on the walls were bright lynx, and
wildcat skins.
From this room there was a door leading into a third room and here also
she found nobody. The walls of this room were covered with
weapons--guns, pistols and curiously shaped swords and daggers, in rows
and crossed, hanging on nails and leaning against the walls. On the
oaken table stood stuffed beasts and birds, under the table was a
stuffed fox fastened to a chair; a pair of wild boars' heads with
powerful tusks were over the door, but there was no sign of any living
beast.
Henrietta fancied that the master of this little house must be away but
not far off and she made up her mind to wait till he returned home. Yet
one hour after another passed away and Henrietta was at last obliged to
go on further lest she should have to pass the night there and, only
when she was already some distance away, was she struck by the peculiar
circumstance that all round the hut grass was growing thickly and that
no path led up to it.
In a few weeks' time curiosity drew her again in the same direction.
Alone, without any escort, she stood before the forest dwelling,
fastened her horse to the fence and passed through the door.
Everything was just as she had seen it on the first occasion. In the
first room on the table was the earthenware pitcher full of water; in
the second room was the bed covered with a bear skin and in the third
room were all the guns and other weapons just as she had seen them
before.
Again she waited for a long time for some of the dwellers of this little
house to draw near, and again she waited in vain; even by eventide not a
human being had approached the hut.
These hut dwellers must be curious folks she thought, they leave
everything unlocked, evil disposed people might steal everything.
On the way back she met some charcoal burners and asked them about the
lonely little house in the midst of the forest. Three of the four
pretended not to understand: they did not remember ever seeing such a
house they said. The fourth, however, told the lady in reply that in
that house dwelt "Dracu."[51]
[Footnote 51: The Devil.]
This only made Henrietta more than ever curious. She asked the priest
about it and even he was inclined to be evasive. He evidently either
knew nothing about it or was casting about in his mind for some
plausible explanation. At last he said that rumour had it that a
huntsman's family had either been murdered or had committed suicide
there, and, ever since, nobody dwelling in the district could be
persuaded to cross its threshold, let alone steal anything out of it;
they would not even take shelter there during a storm, for they believed
that an evil spirit dwelt there.
Henrietta, however, did not believe in these invisible evil spirits. The
evil spirits she was acquainted with all went about in dress clothes and
surtouts. The atmosphere of mystery and enchantment which made the
little house uninhabitable only stimulated her fancy. She determined to
discover whether it was really uninhabited or not.
Accordingly, when she entered the house for the third time, she plucked
a wild rose and threw one of its buds into the pitcher of water on the
table, a second on the bear skin coverlet of the bed and a third, fourth
and fifth she stuck into the barrels of the muskets hanging up in the
armour room.
When now, she visited the lonely house for the fourth time, she looked
for the rose buds and could not find one of them in the places where
she had put them. Consequently there must needs be someone who slept in
the bed, drank the fresh water from the pitcher and used the firearms.
Her thirst for knowledge now induced her to enquire of her husband
concerning this little dwelling and he, then and there, elucidated the
mystery.
It was quite true that a lonely inhabitant of this house had once been
murdered there, that the common people believed it to be haunted, and
that consequently not one of them would cross its threshold at any price
either by day or by night. An old landed proprietor from the mining town
of X., who owned a small strip of forest in those parts and was at the
same time an enthusiastic huntsman, had taken advantage of this popular
superstition to buy this little house, for a mere song. He used it as a
hunting box. He could not afford to keep a huntsman of his own to look
after it and knowing that if he locked it up, thieves would most
probably break into it and steal everything, he left the doors wide open
and everyone instantly avoided it as uncanny. The reason Henrietta never
met him was that this old gentleman was a government official, who had
to live most of his time in the town of Klausenburg, but whenever he was
not hunting here he was out in the forests all night till dawn when he
turned into the little house for a nap and was off again before the
afternoon; and so Henrietta who regularly visited the hut in the
afternoon, naturally never encountered him.
Leonard even named the old gentleman's name and then Henrietta
remembered meeting him at the _soirées_ at Klausenburg. Leonard,
however, warned his wife never to mention the matter in the presence of
the old gentleman in question, if she should ever meet him, for he had
sundry relations with poachers and other people of that sort. The fact
was, his own strip of forest was not very large and therefore he very
frequently trespassed on Leonard's property in pursuit of game. The old
gentleman was, therefore, very desirous to keep his passion for the
chase a secret, especially as his relations with Leonard were none of
the best.
After that Henrietta had visited the little forest house no more. This
prosaic explanation had robbed it in her eyes of all its mysterious
interest, nor did she think it becoming to enter a house whose owner was
not on very good terms with her husband. Only now did the recollection
of the little forest dwelling recur to her, and in the terror of her
soul she began to regard the little moss-covered hut whose doors stood,
open, night and day, as a possible asylum. It was the only place where
she could take refuge, the only place where she had no need to fear
spies, where nobody would look for her, where she might remain in hiding
and from whence she might either return home or wander further out into
the world according as fate was kind or unkind to her.
At night there would be nobody in the little house, for the enthusiastic
old hunter would be stalking the forest. It was also possible that his
official duties might keep him away for days together. But even if she
were to meet him, why should she be afraid of the eccentric old man?
Would she not rather find in him a natural protector who would conduct
her out of the mountains to Klausenburg or Banfi-Hunyad, from whence she
would make her way to Pest and there seek a refuge in her aunt's house?
She did not think twice about it, but accepted the idea as a heaven-sent
inspiration which it was her duty to follow. She put on a shawl as if
she were only going to take a walk in the moonlight and descended into
the park accompanied by the gardener's daughter whom she had bribed to
help her to escape. The girl succeeded in hoodwinking the men servants
by dressing herself up in a mantle of her mistress's, pretending she
would have supper out in the park as the night was so fine and warm, so
that by the time the fraud was discovered and the alarm given, Henrietta
had had a start of several hours and although the men, fearful of the
anger of their master when he should return and find his wife flown,
searched in every direction with lighted torches they were unable to
discover a trace of the missing lady.
Terror lends strength to the most feeble. Ordinarily Henrietta was so
weak that it was as much as she could do to promenade through the park.
But to-day after a two hours' run over stones and through briars and
bushes, at midnight, she still did not feel weary. From the top of a
hill she looked back. She could still see the tower of the castle of
Hidvár in the valley, but it looked blue through the mist in the
distance and then she hastened down into the valley whose steep
overhanging sides hid her even from the moonlight.
The night was noiseless, the forest dark. Now and again a humming night
beetle circled round and round her and obstinately pursued her as if he
also was a spy sent after her. The poor thing's heart throbbed
violently. What if she had lost her way? What if she fell into the hands
of the robbers whom they were now actually pursuing through the woods?
Yet still greater was her terror of Hidvár and a hundred times more
homelike was the dreadful forest with its giant trees speaking in their
sleep than the tapestried walls of the Castle of Hidvár.
Suddenly a glade opened up before her which seemed to greet her as an
old acquaintance.
Yes, indeed, there were the wild roses which she had so often plucked to
adorn her hat. The hunting-box could not be far off now. It conceals
itself to the right of the rose bushes beneath a lofty birch.
A few moments later she found herself outside its door.
As she laid her hand on the latch, a thought of terror transfixed her.
What if the door should be shut?
But she had only to press the latch in order to put all her fears to
flight. The door this time also was not fastened.
Standing on the threshold she enquired with a trembling voice: "Is
anybody in?"
No answer.
Then she closed the door behind her and opened the door of the second
room. There also nobody responded to her enquiry. The third room was
also open as usual, nay even one of its windows was opened towards the
orchard. Moreover, everything was in its proper place just as she had
always found it--the weapons, the bear skin coverlet and the water
pitcher.
It occurred to Henrietta to close the door from the inside so that
nobody might come upon her unawares while she slept. But then the
thought also struck her that it was not right to lock the old gentleman
out of his own house especially as he might turn up in the early morning
tired out and half frozen. So she ultimately decided to stay up for him
in order to tell him, as soon as he arrived, that she meant to obtain a
separation from her husband, whose conduct she could no longer endure.
Till then she would try hard not to go to sleep. But she was tired to
death from her long run through the forest and was obliged at last to
throw herself on the bear skin coverlet to rest; and gradually sleep
overcame all her anguish, all her terror.
She might have slept for about a half an hour, a restless,
phantom-haunted sleep at best, when she suddenly awoke.
It seemed to her as if she had heard a distant cry. Perhaps she had only
imagined she had heard it in her slumbers, and perhaps what she had
dreamt was so awful and what she fancied she had heard was so terrible,
that it had awakened her.
She began to listen attentively. After midnight every light sound seems
so loud.
She fancied in the great stillness that she could hear rapidly
approaching footsteps.
Again a cry! like the cry of a hunted beast, like the cry of a wounded
wolf!
She was not dreaming now, she could hear it plainly. She saw where she
was. The moonlight was streaming through the window, she could see to
the end of all three rooms.
Suddenly at the window overlooking the garden whence the moonbeams
streamed in, a black shape appeared which obscured the moonlight for an
instant.
This shape leaped through the window and, panting hard, rushed through
the two rooms into the third where the arms stood.
Henrietta saw it fly past her bed, she heard its panting sobs
and--recognized it.
It was Fatia Negra! this was Fatia Negra's house!
And this was not all.
Close upon the traces of Fatia Negra rushed another phantom with a drawn
sword in its hand, but its face was towards her and she recognized in
it--Szilard Vamhidy.
And yet she did not lose her consciousness at this double sight of
terror, though it would have been much better for her if she had.
Fatia Negra plunged into the armoury and plucked down a pistol from the
wall.
Szilard paused on the threshold.
"Halt!" cried Fatia Negra with a voice like a scream--"this is my house
and your tomb."
Szilard did not condescend to reply but drew a step nearer.
"Sir, but one word more," said Fatia Negra in a fainter voice and so
hoarsely as to be scarcely audible, "you have wounded me, you have run
me down; but your life is now in my hands and I could kill you this
instant if I had a mind to. Let us bargain a bit: I won't kill you if
you will not pursue me any further. You return and say you could not
catch me. I swear to you that to-morrow I will send you twenty thousand
ducats."
With contemptuous coldness Szilard replied: "Surrender, I will not
bargain."
"You won't bargain, you crushed worm you! The mouth of my pistol is on a
level with your forehead. I have only to press my finger and your head
would be shattered--and yet you dare to have it out with me? Do you want
to save your head?"
"I mean to have yours," said Szilard and he drew a step nearer to the
adventurer.
"My head, eh? Ha, ha, ha! You would have it would you, and have it here!
Take it then!"
At that moment a piercing shriek startled the two deadly antagonists and
in the adjoining room a white figure fell prone upon the floor.
The next moment there was a loud report and Fatia Negra fell back
lifeless on the bear skin carpet.
At the very moment when he had laughed aloud and cried: "Take it then!"
he had suddenly put the mouth of the pistol into his own mouth and fired
it off. The heavy charge blew his head to bits, Szilard felt a warm red
rain showering down upon him.
So Fatia Negra, after all, did not give up his head, the pistol shot had
annihilated it.
And nobody ever knew who Fatia Negra really was.