IN THE FOREST OF JUDITENKIRCHEN.
Early in the morning the carriage stopped before the village inn.
Blanden, Kuhl, and two other gentlemen sprang oat; the pistol cases
were left in the carriage.
"We have come too early; there is still half an hour's time," said
Kuhl, "a morsel to eat cannot hurt us."
"The morning is as hard as iron; the roads sparkle as if they were
armour clad," said the Doctor.
Blanden drummed his fingers upon the table. Kuhl sat down beside him.
"I cannot, indeed, understand why you plunged yourself into this
danger?"
"It is to revenge Giulia's honour upon a miscreant."
"Well, you know my opinion about duels; it is a special act of
friendship that I second you. I have, it is true, several times, used a
human body as a target, and marked it there when I intended to do,
because I set to work conscientiously, and did not swerve an iota from
my intentions. I wish you had my eye and hand to-day!"
"I prefer to leave it to chance," said Blanden, "then I shall have a
clearer conscience."
"But now," continued Kuhl, "no one would easily inveigle me into such a
duel. I do not hold Falstaff's views about honour, but I think that all
which does but exist in the opinion of mankind, enjoys a very shadowy
existence, and that it is not worth while, for the sake of such
dissolving views, for such opinions which fade into mist, and from day
to day assume a different form, to let a bullet be driven into one's
body."
"But we are dependent upon the opinions of mankind, especially of those
human beings with whom we must live."
"Those are the so-called class prejudices; for a citizen of the world
like you they should not exist. You know best that in Honolulu upon
such matters people think quite differently from what they do in the
Fiji Islands, or even in Japan, where they simply rip up their own
persons. It would be too cheap a mode of regaining one's lost honour if
it were only necessary to burn powder in the pan."
"We often long to punish an enemy," said Blanden, "and there is no
other suitable method than that of standing before him with sword or
pistol in one's hand. Hatred and enmity cannot be eradicated, and such
silently nourished ill-will, such Platonic hatred, as people might term
it, gnaws at one's vitals, just as does Platonic love. Every passion
must obtain satisfaction, therefore the world has produced swords and
pistols."
"You are right," said Kuhl, "the world, once for all, belongs to
cannibals, and the religion of love and peace, despite more than a
thousand years' reign, has not been able to eradicate manslaughter. And
so long as it is prosecuted on a large scale for the sake of a morsel
of land, or questions of lofty etiquette and political politeness, one
can really not object, when, on a small scale, people go to war with
one another for considerations of honour; at least, it is a cheaper
pleasure, and does not cost the blood of nations."
"In my duel, dear Kuhl," said Blanden, "in the first place a woman's
honour is concerned, and it is much more easily injured. As some birds
in Hindoostan, according to the opinions of the people, only live upon
the drops of rain which fall from the clouds, so do women only live
upon that heavenly refreshment which lies in the delicate sense of
their honour."
"Nonsense," said Kuhl, "people scorn the world's opinion."
"Then one must live upon a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe."
"Every truly free man is a Robinson who does not require mankind. A
robinsonade in society, it is that which is right, therein lies the
guarantee of happiness."
"Women must not have that wish; through it they would fool away the
happiness of their life."
"Who can deprive them of the happiness that they conquer boldly?"
"True! Listen to me; at such moments a man thinks more seriously upon
many things. I am about to fight for a woman's honour, you make game of
it."
"Blanden," cried Kuhl, jumping up. "My voice has more weight now, for
that which I say to you may be my last testament. You deprive two girls
of their good name, the sole guarantee which they possess for the peace
of a later life. Now they may play and joke, some day earnestness and
loneliness will come."
"Well, the one has already retired from me; Olga threatens to become
untrue to me."
"Possibly, then, all the more grave is your duty to the other, who now
defies the world's opinion; be it from folly, be it from passion,
later, however, she will lament that she did so, when, after a short
intoxication, she must lead a long, joyless, poverty-stricken life. You
have no duties; one day you will forsake her entirely, and she will be
left to gaze into long, lasting misery. She has rejected one honest
wooer."
"You speak of your friend Wegen!"
"I speak of what my heart feels. I am, perhaps, about to sacrifice my
life to one woman, therefore you can surely sacrifice your theories to
another. A man may become a martyr to his faith, but he may not make
others so."
Kuhl was silent, it was a disagreeable conversation on a disagreeable
morning; he must allow that Blanden was right, it was the way of the
world. He shivered; the narrowness of a subject's life seemed to
oppress him.
"One thing more," said Blanden, "take care of Giulia if I fall. The
world will condemn her as being the cause of my death. Perhaps her
artistic career may be endangered. She has no support, no friend!
Everything seems to be double-faced that moves around her. Be you her
friend; will you promise it me?"
"With all my heart," said Kuhl.
"I have made my will; the legacy I leave to her is considerable enough
to ensure her a life free from care, even if she retire from the stage.
Help her with good advice, but do not forget that she is almost my
widow, too sacred for frivolous games, and veiled for you by this my
last solemn word."
Kuhl thought to himself, "Jealous beyond the grave," but he did not
venture to smile, he only squeezed his friend's hand in silence.
Blanden looked at the clock--it was time. All entered the carriage
again, which rolled along upon creaking wheels through the snow-laden
forest.
On the edge of the pine wood another carriage was standing; the
opponents had just arrived.
The scene of conflict was a little snow-covered glade; distances were
measured, and the weapons examined. Blanden knew no fear, not even fear
of death, but the full consciousness of the nonentity of existence
overcame him. There was nothing appalling for him in death, but
something almost humiliating. It was miserable, full of thoughts which
grasp a world to be hurled to the ground by a piece of rattling metal,
which pierces one in rapid flight, which even an old decayed tree stem
can defy; it was too wretched to lie here bedded in the snow like any
crow shot down from the grey wintry sky by the sportsman's gun, so that
the wings of the mind hang down paralysed and dead for evermore, like
the wings of the hideous bird which just now croaked so loudly for prey
and food.
Lifeless lead--and instead of the agitated spirit's notes of
exclamation and interrogation, that one great line which ends this
chapter of life, and perhaps the whole book.
And, yet, it is easy to die on a frosty, winter's day, when all life
cowers, when the trees stretch their bare summits into the misty grey
atmosphere, and the shroud of snow lies upon all the forests and
meadows. All nature shudders, as if renouncing every happiness.
But, no! One heart there is that beats anxiously for you; two eyes
which already dedicate scalding tears to the dark possibility that
menaces you; there, indeed, is life and happiness, and from these it is
that you must part.
As is the case in all moments of most supreme tension, Blanden's mind
saw such pictures and thoughts pass before him with a certain rigidity,
and only awoke again as Kuhl pressed the pistols into his hand.
Attempts at reconciliation had not been made, the bitterness of the
opponents was too great, those polite ceremonies, which had been made
for form's sake, were dropped again immediately, as being perfectly
futile.
As in a dream, Blanden saw the colossal officer step before him. He
hated the man until that moment, then he was seized as with pity for
such a sensual life, and then, again, with a change of thought, quick
as lightning, his mind flew to recollections of his school days, and he
thought of Homer and the Bible, which tell so accurately how many feet
of earth such a mighty man covered in his fall.
Then in the midst of these dreamy thoughts, rang the call of the
seconds, the fatal counting began, the shots fell, and behind the
clouds of powder, each glance sought the falling opponent, but only
Buschmann had the satisfaction of rejoicing in that spectacle.
Blanden sank to the ground, the officer's bullet had struck his breast.
Kuhl and the surgeon knelt beside him. Buschmann did not trouble
himself about his victim, did not even vouchsafe a casual enquiry; with
a hasty greeting, he left the scene of the conflict.
The surgeon gave hopes; the ball had penetrated the chest, but it
appeared to him to be one of those rare cases in which no serious
injury of a vital organ had taken place. Kuhl also shared that opinion.
After adjusting the bandages, Blanden was lifted into the carriage, and
driven home. The drive was very exhausting, and as the carriage rattled
over the stone pavement, Blanden lost consciousness.
When he awoke out of the dull web of a confused world of dreams, with
its shadows melting into one another, he saw a pale form seated by his
bed.
It was Giulia.
Her gaze rested anxiously upon him; she kissed his unclosing eyes, she
kissed his hands amidst scalding tears.
He had fought for his betrothed, from henceforth she would be his.