lady does not look as if she felt a great horror of you, but to drink
wine is forbidden to those who are ill; is it not so your honour?
Ignatzius has a notion that no one can live without wine. Oh what a
wild fellow he is! I have been begging and entreating him for a whole
hour to come away. We are going down to Meran for our pledge, you
understand, our betrothal; but there he will sit, sit till night comes
on, and when the wine is well up, forsooth, a pretty figure we shall
make before the deacon. Do persuade him to come away my lady----"
"Heigh-ho what's this!" exclaimed the young fellow, whom I at last
recognized as my friend of the Zenoburg, "don't you see Liesi that this
gentleman and lady are in no hurry either? What do you say to that,
sir? she already takes the reins; the women are always in a hurry to
get the men into their power. A smart fellow often pauses on this road
and drinks his last bachelor's bottle with all the more relish. In
other respects," he continued, casting a proud and merry glance
at her, "I cannot complain; she is a tightly built lass, and has her
senses about her; and certainly she has not been picked up on the
highways--Only this setting down, and domineering, that is an
affliction to be sure; but even the strongest and most determined
fellow must submit to it--How have you fared?" turning to Morrik, the
lady here is very nice, and I would not mind changing with you, but
then there would be an end of playing the master of the house, "well
every one has some burden to carry."
"Ignatz," I said, for Morrik still continued silent, and I feared he
would set the young fellow down, whose tongue the wine had loosened,
somewhat ungently, "this gentleman is neither my sweetheart nor my
brother. We are both of us strangers here; who only had agreed to make
this excursion together. You talk about commanding but that demands
strength. A poor woman who will be buried before the spring arrives,
neither has spirit nor inclination for it. And now go with your Liesi
to Meran to the priest, and don't let it be said of you that you did
not know what you were doing when you gave her your promise."
The girl who was fresh and blooming, and had a frank and intelligent
countenance, now also rose and took the young man by the arm.
"Thank you, young lady," she said, "for helping me to get off with this
fellow. Say God speed, to the gentleman and lady, Natzi, and then come
along; and I hope ma'am that you will change your mind about dying. I
was a servant girl in one of the lodging-houses down at Meran during
two winters, and know many a one who quite recovered after having
ordered his coffin, and many a one who thought he was breathing his
last breath, afterwards climbed to the top of the Muth. The air of
Meran is so fine that I should not wonder if it woke up the dead. But
now goodbye your honours, or this one here, will go to sleep on the
spot where he is standing."
There really seemed some danger of this for he stood leaning against
the table, and vacantly stared at the floor. He nodded dreamily towards
us, and willingly let himself be led out.
I cannot deny that the whole scene had made a painful impression on me.
It did not exactly show the young fellow to disadvantage, but his talk
of which I have given the main part without his strong expressions had
vexed me. Morrik did not seem much edified either by this encounter.
The landlady who brought in our dinner, also asked importunate
questions, and so did not improve our humour. Moreover the air was
heavy in the low room and the smoke from the kitchen penetrated into
it. The cooking too was bad, so we were glad to have done with it and
to breathe again the fresh air. We walked slowly along the narrow paths
among the picturesque farms, talking little. My cheerfulness however
soon returned. "Are you not well?" I asked, as he pensively walked
beside me. "I cannot complain," he said, "I should feel neither care
nor grief if thoughts did not oppress me."
"Perhaps it would relieve you, if you could express your thoughts."
"Perhaps it would make it worse. My thoughts would hardly please you."
"Your confidence at least would please me."
"Even if I should confide to you, that after all, I fear you have too
much confidence in me?" I looked at him enquiringly.
"Look here," he continued, "the little you know of me, is perhaps the
best part of me; thence I am persuaded that you think much too highly
of me, and would be disappointed if you heard the judgement which other
people, who to be sure know me still less than you do, have passed upon
me."
"Is it not the same with every one of us," I replied, "either we are
judged too highly or undervalued by our fellow creatures. Even our
nearest friends do not always see us in our true light. But shall I for
that lose my faith in the durability of our friendly intercourse, the
term of which is so very short."
He smiled sadly. "I have a sure presentiment that you will outlive me;
perhaps for many years. Since I have known you, your health has visibly
improved, and who can tell whether the sentence pronounced on you by
your doctor may not one day be laid aside with the rest of the sayings
which false prophets have recklessly uttered. You shake your head. Well
we will leave the future to decide this question. I carry the sure
tokens of death too plainly within me to mistake them. So it causes me
much deliberation whether I am not wronging you, in enjoying your
society, your conversation, may I say your friendship? without heeding
the injury your kindness may do you. You are so far above many things,
which, in spite of their meanness, are all powerful in this world; how
strong and cruel that power is, I myself have painfully experienced.
Lest you should feel hurt at a man's reminding you of the prejudices
and opinions which usually have more influence with women, and which
hitherto, in our friendly intercourse, we have despised, you must know
that I should not be here, not be ill, not be dying if I had been more
careful of the judgement of others and of the light, or rather shade
which I throw on all with whom I associate."
We had seated ourselves on a stone, close by the roadside, and covered
with moss and ivy from whence we could see the beautiful mountain peaks
and the sloping heights of the Passer through the branches of the
chesnut-trees.
Children on their way to school surrounded us at some distance,
peasants passed, and cows were led to the fountain. He did not heed
them, but continued in a low voice: "Perhaps you do not know, dear
Marie, how much an independent position influences our nature for good
or for evil. It is now useless to moralize on the subject, but one
thing to be observed, is, that a man who is not restrained by any tie
is very apt to despise those who are bound by considerations, or
prejudices. I have already told you that I was better than my
reputation. As I could easily dispense with the assistance, protection,
and good-will of my fellow-creatures, I thought I could also dispense
with their good opinion, and only laughed when the _homemade_ people,
as I used to call them, painted my character in darker colours than it
really deserved. They envy me my freedom, I often said. As I am not
dependent on them for anything, they want me at least to bow down
before their moral tribunal. What would freedom be worth if it did not
teach us to depend on ourselves and the voice of our conscience alone?
So I went my way, and let them talk. Every path in life leads past
human habitations, and whoever seeks admission into these must steady
his steps that he may not be suspected of being a vagabond or a
drunkard, and no peaceful citizen will let such a one cross his
threshold. I will not give you a long history--to be brief; I made the
acquaintance of a most amiable girl--perhaps, it was for the first
time, that I felt warm friendship, and inspired it. The young lady had
been engaged for several months to an officer whom I had formerly met
in rather light society. At that time he was absent on duty. I am
convinced that I would never have entered the house again, had I felt
anything like love for his betrothed. But as matters stood, I gave
myself up to the charm of this harmless and cordial intercourse, the
more so, that her brother saw no objection to it. The family was
wealthy and much esteemed. Small parties were given in the house, where
dancing, comedies and tableaux-vivants went on, so that many young men
were always assembled there even during the absence of the betrothed,
and his future bride gaily joined in every amusement. Suddenly I
remarked that her brother treated me with coldness and reserve; I was
on the point of asking him the reason of this, when he anticipated me
by writing a polite letter in which he expressed his positive desire
that I should never again enter his parents' house. Of course, we had
an explanation in which I was informed that the officer to whom his
sister was engaged had charged her to break off all intercourse with
me, as I was a man of no principle. Several other circumstances added
to the irritation caused by this unfortunate affair, and though I did
my best to spare my fair friend every sorrow, yet the affair took a
serious turn. The conversation ended in a duel. I shot into a tree, but
the brother whose blood was hotter than mine, grazed my side with his
bullet. It was not much to speak of, but the agitation which I with
difficulty repressed, the cold of the winter morning in which I drove
for several hours in my carriage back to town, and the pain and rage I
felt at seeing this pure and charming tie so foolishly rent asunder,
all this laid me prostrate. I only rose from an inflammatory fever to
be sent here as incurable. And now, dear Marie, you will understand why
I can no longer make light of your innocently walking by the side of a
man supposed to be without principles. I who, at least, have always
adhered firmly to one thing, and that is not to seek my own happiness
at the cost of another's."
I had long made up my mind how I should answer him. "If you have
confided all this to me, with the hope of changing my opinion," I said,
"you little know me. It can only confirm me in the belief that I do
well in availing myself of the right of speaking the truth to you. A
right which is only granted to the dying.
"All the good I have enjoyed in this life I have had to struggle for. I
so truly prize our mutual friendship that I will not renounce it so
easily. What would friendship be worth, if one had not the courage to
acknowledge, and defend it when attacked. How mean and false, should I
not appear in my own eyes, and in yours, if I changed in my conduct
towards you because bad or silly people accuse you of things which I
know to be untrue. I too depend on no one, in consideration of whom, I
being a girl should subject my feelings against my convictions.
"If my father should ever hear that in my last days I had formed a firm
friendship with a stranger, he will only think highly of the stranger
in whom his daughter confided.
"So no more of these reflections which ought never to have troubled
you, and we will remain what we were before, good comrades. Is it not
so, my friend?"
"Till death," he said, and pressed my hand, greatly agitated. I soon
succeeded in cheering him again, and this happy day would have closed
harmoniously, but for an event which to be sure troubled only me. We
rode home early, as the sun so soon sets behind the mountains. Morrik
was very merry, and talked to his mule, jestingly giving it credit for
a sense of the beautiful; he stopped at the farms, and spoke to the
children and their mothers, and as we rode past a white bearded old man
whom we met panting up the hill, he stuck a paper florin in the old
peasant's hat, and was delighted with the thought of what he would say
when a passing acquaintance told him of the strange ornament. So we
reached the bridge by a shorter road, there I saw on a bench a young
Pole whom I had several times noticed, and not in the favourable sense
of the word. I had now and then met him alone, and then he had stared
at me with such a fierce look in his dark eyes that I always hurried
past him. He is evidently one of the most suffering of the strangers
here, and his passionate temper seems constantly to be in revolt
against his fate, and this inward conflict distorts his otherwise
handsome and attractive features. His strange costume, all black, with
high boots, and a fur-cap with white feathers in it, gives him a
striking appearance, which sometimes has haunted me in troubled dreams,
always menacing me with terrible looks. To-day he sat quite quietly,
and did not appear to see me. Morrik was in front as the bridge is so
narrow that two riders cannot cross it side by side, and I had to pass
close to the bench on which he was reclining apparently asleep.
Suddenly he jumped up seized the bridle of my mule, and looked at me
fixedly with piercing eyes; he wanted to speak, but only burst out in a
frantic laugh, so that my mule shied and gave such a start that it
nearly sent me flying over the parapet of the bridge. Before I had
recovered from my astonishment, he had disappeared round a turning of
the road. The guide in a fury sent a curse after him, and I had hardly
time to enforce silence on him, before we reached Morrik, to whom I
would on no account mention this singular adventure until I ascertain
whether there is any mystery concealed under it. I have written too
much, and my pulse is beating feverishly. This night I shall have to
pay for the pleasures of the day. Good night.
The 8th November--rain and sirocco.
This the second day we have had of this unwholesome air in which no
patient dares to go out. It is a pity. I had anticipated the pleasure
of discussing different subjects with my newly acquired friend, which I
had refrained from doing before we had so cordially shaken hands as
comrades. Now, I must wait patiently. Strange that the solitude which
formerly seemed to me as life itself becomes only the resort of
necessity now that I have associated with a genial and intellectual
mind. I must content myself with my books and music. Every morning he
sends his servant to enquire how I feel. The ride seems to have done
him good, I still feel it in my limbs. I will write home and tell my
father of my new friend; I know it will please him.
The 11th November.
Now, at last, the southern winter has commenced its mild reign, and
people say that this will continue. Yesterday I again remained out of
doors from two o'clock till sunset with Morrik on the Wassermauer, not
always conversing, as he in compliance with my request brought a book
with him. The poems of Edgar Allen Poe, he showed them to me with a
smile, saying that these were the true expositors of his own feelings
before his regeneration, as he called it. I have taken the book away
with me and have lent him instead "The wisdom of the Brahmins" by my
dear Rueckert, of which, however, one can only take in finger-tips at a
time, but every pinch of this snuff, to continue the clumsy simile,
freshens the mind and dispels congestions.
"You really have given me a spiritual medicine," Morrik jestingly said,
"I must beg of you to go on prescribing for me, for that desperate
American had quite unsettled me."
He told me that people had talked a great deal about our excursion to
Schoenna, and looked at me to see if that annoyed me. "Do not let us
please them by noticing it," I answered, "just as we enjoyed the
sunshine without allowing the gnats and flies that buzzed about us, to
spoil our pleasure." We have tacitly agreed never to talk about our
illness, as most people here do, and either make themselves unhappy by
it or find consolation in it, according to the warmth or coldness of
their hearts. But I often perceive that he fancies erroneously that my
health is improving, instead of which I distinctly feel the contrary.
The momentary relief which I experience is just what characterises the
approaching end in this disease. I fancy that I breathe more easily and
move with less effort. I also eat more and sleep well, probably owing
to exhaustion, which increases, though I have the illusive feeling
of more vigour and ease. As I walked home to-day--I dine at three
o'clock--I really felt hungry, but I know how it is with me.
To-day there is at Meran besides the usual market one of those large
meat ones that take place in the autumn when the Lauben are transformed
into long rows of butcher's stalls, and butchering goes on in all the
court-yards. On every peg, there hangs the half of a pig or a calf
which is sold to the peasants, who come in great multitudes from the
Vintschgau, Passeier, and Ultner valleys, and from the different farms
in the neighbourhood. Other booths are filled with various merchandize:
ironware, clothes images of saints and numberless trifles. Between
these boothes the people push, press, and jostle, so that if one is not
in danger of one's life, one is at all events nearly suffocated as the
smell of the meat mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. I have even
seen boys of ten years old walk about with short pipes in their mouths,
and the smoke hangs over the market-place like a heavy fog; the lungs
that can stand it must really be strong as healthy. I nearly fainted.
Those great strong fellows would not stir a step out of my way.
Fortunately my friend of the Kuechelberg and his Liese came to my
rescue, just when I most needed it. By plenty of vigorous elbowing he
at last got me safely through those human walls. He was again somewhat
flushed with wine, but he nevertheless appeared to me like a guardian
angel and I easily forgave him the question he jokingly asked me about
my brother or sweetheart. I could not make him understand that the
gentleman was neither the one or the other, though very dear to me.
My landlady has just brought me in my afternoon meal. My hunger has
grown so morbid that I cannot wait till supper time. Probably these are
the last figs of this year. Thank heaven that ham and bread are not
restricted to any particular season. What if I played our old doctor
the trick of dying before the spring, and that of starvation!
The 19th November.
I can hardly hold my pen, I tremble so with the agitation of this last
hour. How rashly I hoped that the weeks would glide on peaceful, and
full of sunshine like the last one; one day resembling the other. In
the forenoon, those happy hours on the Wassermauer with Morrik; the
remainder of the day, my books, and letters, or my work and my piano,
which I fancy sounds more and more melodious every time I play on it.
And now this occurrence! Moreover I cannot speak of it to any one, and
above all before my friend, before Morrik, I must appear as if nothing
had happened. Is it not all some fearful dream! Has that poor man, I
may say that madman, though he vehemently protested against the
suspicion, really spoken words to me that I could not understand,
accompanied by looks that I shudder to think of, for they seem to me to
have been more expressive than his words. I ought to have listened to
the secret misgivings which warned me against the solitary road on the
Kuechelberg, since that scene on the bridge. But I knew that Morrik was
not on the Wassermauer, and did not like to be there without him,
particularly as the band was to play on that day.
I had walked on so totally absorbed in my own thoughts that I had
passed through the gate towards Vintschgau before I knew what I was
doing: it is still as warm there as summer is at home, and one may
saunter on through the leafless vineyards and find every now and then a
bench inviting to rest. Where my thoughts were I know not, when
suddenly he seemed to emerge from the ground, and stood by my side
holding my hand. My fright was so great that I could not utter a sound
but I fixed my eyes firmly on his face and saw that he opened his lips
with an effort. He began first in broken German, and then fluently and
vehemently in French, to excuse himself for the scene on the bridge. He
had been blinded by pain and jealousy, and would willingly cut off the
hand that had seized the bridle of my mule, if by so doing he could
obtain my forgiveness. While he spoke I vainly tried to free my hand
from his grasp. I looked around but no one was to be seen, the road was
deserted. This roused my pride, and my courage; I drew back my hand,
and could at last ask him what authorized him to speak in that way to a
stranger. He was silent for some time, and a violent conflict seemed to
rage within him. Every nerve of his face twitched convulsively. What he
at last said I _will_ forget, I listened to it as if it were not
addressed to me. _Could_ it be addressed to _me_, whom he did not know,
with whom he had never exchanged a word? Is a passion that is roused by
a figure gliding past like a shadow, by one who is inwardly dead, and
only outwardly has a semblance of life; is not that passion but a freak
of madness; and is a madman responsible for the words he utters? Only
when he threatened Morrik, I began to think such an insanity dangerous,
and not merely to be pitied. I do not know what I said to him, but I
saw that it made a deep impression on him. Suddenly he took off his
high black cap with the feathers in it, and stood humbly before me;
"Vous avez raison, Madame," he said in a deep thrilling voice which
before had had a harsh hoarse tone in it. "Pardonnez-moi, j'ai perdu la
tete." Then he bowed and walked across the fields towards the level
part of the country, where I could for some time distinguish his dark
figure moving among the willows.
After having written all this, it seems to me that I look upon what has
passed with more calmness; and compassion gets the better of my
indignation. I looked at myself in the glass and could still less
understand it. It will also always remain a mystery to me how such a
scene could take place between two natures one of whom did not feel the
slightest inclination for the other, who on his part made impetuous
attempts to draw near. I know that not only affinities draw characters
towards each other but also contraries; but can indifference also have
that power? The longer I think of it the more clearly I perceive that
his mind must be deranged. I will, after all, mention it to Morrik, for
who can say to what I may not expose myself if I should a second time
encounter this madman, defenceless, and fright should paralyze the
self-possession which I need to subdue him.
Several days later.
The pain of mentioning this dreadful encounter to my friend has been
spared me. It would certainly have agitated him, the more so, that he
has been much less cheerful lately, and often walks quite absently
beside me.
The poor young man whom I dreaded will never again cross my path. His
clouded mind is now brightened by the light of heaven. This morning
when my landlady came to me, she told me that a young Pole had died in
the night. The description she gave me of his person is exactly that of
the poor madman. A hemorrage had carried him off in the night and he
was found dead in the morning. I now reproach myself with having spoken
too harshly to him, but I had no other weapon than my words. If they
were too sharp and wounded him more deeply than the offence demanded,
the alarm of that moment may excuse me, and the fact that I did not
immediately perceive the state of his mind.
Evening.
Tired, agitated, and in conflict with myself.
To-day when I met Morrik, I welcomed my dear friend with particular
pleasure, after these last painful days. He told me without laying much
stress on it--for here one is accustomed to the disappearance of some
known face--of the sudden death, and asked me if I remembered the
handsome young man. I said: no, and then felt heavy at heart as though
I had committed some crime. In vain I tried to persuade myself that by
this untruth, I had cut short any further conversation on the subject,
and perhaps the necessity of telling other falsehoods, I cannot get rid
of the painful feeling that I have wronged my friend who has so much
right to hear the truth. I shall again have a bad night, and shall not
be able to rest till I have confessed all to him, and begged his
pardon.
The next day--I believe it to be the 23rd,
cold and foggy.--