AT MOTHER HECHT'S
Recollection of the witches of Macbeth and the witches' kettle, in
which they mixed wolves' teeth and hemlock-roots and tigers'
intestines, was awoke in all who entered Mother Hecht's house and saw
herself and her companions creep mysteriously round the large kettles
that boiled upon the hearth. But no tigers' intestines were boiled
there; they were those of peaceable domestic animals which were being
prepared in a herb soup for the enjoyment of night wanderers.
An oil lamp shed a gloomy light throughout the kitchen, which at the
same time served as the inn parlour. The flickering gleam of the flames
assisted it in its melancholy efforts.
The Hecate, who urged the subordinate witches and night-fiends to feed
the fire and to stir the kettles with all their might, was the _fleck_
preparer herself, as _fleck_ is the name given to the intestines which
were being prepared as a dainty morsel.
The little witches were somewhat more attractive than those of the
Walpurgis night, although even they, to some extent, like Kaetchen of
Warnicken, peered into the world with stupid, gruesome frogs' eyes.
It was a singular company in that witches' kitchen. Any one who was not
acquainted with its secrets must have imagined that some magic was at
work, which should transform people now into a state of wild frenzy as
if they had partaken of henbane, now vampire-like suck the blood out of
their veins, for some of the guests were incessantly shaking, while
others possessed corpse-like countenances of a ghostly pallor.
A few members of the Albertina had almost succumbed to this magic, and
with hollow eyes stared into the flames which were hissing around the
kettle.
The witches' kettle, it is true, was quite innocent; the magic did not
proceed from it, but rather the counter-charm against oblivion of the
world, against the internal conflict, against the weariness of life,
which was written in all those features.
Blanden, in these surroundings, felt like Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner"
upon the ship of death, where nothing but masks and visors grin at him.
Kaetchen had perceived him enter, and hastened towards him.
"As soon as I can get away for a moment I will beckon to you."
Blanden was obliged to be patient. Meanwhile the room became still more
full of the most divers nocturnal wanderers, who before cock-crow would
be tired of drinking, or have fallen victims to intoxication.
A merry swarm of students of undaunted courage, coming from a drinking
party, crowded in with merry songs, pushing before them a lame
gentleman with a beard, whom they had met upon the threshold.
"The first dish for Spiegeler--he has done his part well."
"Ho, Kaetchen, the first intestines for the reporter, because he is the
priest who offers up the sacrifice."
"Bravo, Spiegeler, lame, divine messenger of fame, Mercury without
wings."
Thus the voices resounded in confusion, and Spiegeler did, indeed,
receive the first _fleck_ that was produced from the kettle.
Blanden became attentive. These speeches concerned the critic who had
attacked Giulia.
"My dear Herr Spiegeler," one voice could be heard saying, in whose
precocious, instructive tones he soon recognised the wise Salomon of
the sea side, "I grant you all possible laurels, and also the first of
the intestines; because critics are like the Roman _haruspices_ who,
after the contemplation of entrails, can prophecy or speak the truth."
"Hush, Salomon is speaking."
"I also remark that I have not the honour of sharing your views as a
critic, but still you are a man of intellect, and nothing is more
interesting than when such men defend false views."
"Excuse me," said Spiegeler, as he laid his fork aside, "I must beg for
a proof that my view is false."
"I am not in the humour now to prove anything," continued Salomon, "and
you never are, for in your criticisms all proofs are wanting, as,
indeed, in all such cases, it is just as Schiller says--
'The Almighty blew
And the Armada flew to every wind.'
"Not of this, however, would I speak, but merely express an objection
to your last sharp criticism; it had one trifling fault, it contained
the opposite of what it had formerly said. But when a critic acts the
part of a priest at the sacrifice, then, like the latter, he must also
exhibit the most perfect purity. The Roman priests, when sacrificing,
were obliged to be washed, sprinkled and perfumed so as to be worthy of
their office."
"Well, and what more," said Spiegeler; stamping angrily with his
crutches, he rose and adjusted his spectacles.
"Criticism is not infallible, but it has the privilege of acknowledging
its faults; to-day it can blame what yesterday it praised; it suddenly
looks upon things from another point of view, and all, gentlemen,
depends upon the point of view! Everything advances and undergoes
metamorphosis--and yet criticism should always remain stationary like a
sculptured saint! What doctor does not alter his diagnosis after closer
observation? To-day he discovers an organic disease where yesterday he
only perceived a slight cold. Who would turn that into a reproach
against him? We are deceived and bribed; the delusion disappears, it is
no fault, it is progress. Criticism does not squint, it only sees more
clearly to-day than yesterday."
"There we have it," cried Salomon, "that is exactly fitted for this
witches' kitchen! Do not the witches in 'Macbeth' say--
"'Fair is foul, and foul is fair
Hover through the fog and filthy air.'
"And to Mephistopheles the witch says--
"'And nine is one
And ten is none
That is the witches' one times one.'
"I have commenced an album of witches' poetry, these verses taken from
it also apply to criticism."
"I protest against any such remarks," cried Spiegeler, in whom the
effects of deep potations became more apparent; "besides which I can
praise and blame what I choose and as I will--criticism is absolute.
Signora Giulia dazzled me at first--I do not deny it; I deemed her art
to be an apple of Paradise; now I recognise it as one of Sodom, which
crumbles to ashes in my hand, and that which I have recognised I must
express. Criticism does not lie; whoever says it does, I declare to be
a liar."
Blanden had risen, indignant at the man's daring behaviour and the
daring calumniation of his Giulia; but before he had time seriously and
sharply to rebuke the reporter, it had been done very effectually from
another quarter.
A resounding box on his ears roused the astonishment of the lookers-on,
who did not know whence it came so suddenly, and also roused the
boundless rage of the victim.
"_Bugiardo, bugiardo_, you are a liar yourself," cried a powerful
voice, and by Spiegeler's side stood the Italian, drawn up erectly, and
with proud gladness in his features at the lynch-law which he had just
carried out. Suddenly a solemn silence reigned around.
"_Corpo di bacco_," cried the stranger, whose singular appearance
inspired the students with respect, "to cut off a singer's fame,
curtail her receipts, ruin her credit, is honourable, worthy of a
_gentiluomo_! The _giornale_ that hisses forth such venom should be
made into spills, and he who boasts of producing it deserves to be
chastised by every honest man."
Spiegeler had let the one crutch fall, he held his burning cheek while
his lips quivered convulsively. Big and little witches stood drawn up
in a line with their kitchen spoons, and with quiet enjoyment watched a
scene not unusual in that house.
"That was rude, sir!"
"Laying on of hands is no refutation."
"The man is lame and a cripple."
Thus spoke the somewhat timid defence of the disciples of the
Albertina; but Salomon exclaimed--
"Sir, it is an ambuscade, a species of _brigantaggio_! Intellect is our
only stiletto, with which we have been favoured by nature. You appear
to be a foreigner, for you curse in the language of the _Inferno_, but
we do not tolerate such attempts here, we protest!"
"We protest," cried several students, waving their little liqueur
glasses.
Spiegeler now stood foaming with rage before the _signor_, who with
folded arms bid defiance to public opinion.
"You shall not escape me, there are judges in Prussia; we are not in
the inn at Terracina, my _Signor Fra Diavolo_, and do not permit
ourselves to be attacked."
And as he let his second crutch fall, and caught his opponent by a coat
button, he cried as loudly as his hoarse squeaking voice would permit
him--
"Your name, sir--your name!"
Baluzzi, bowing politely, gave him a card.
"Then our _prime-donne_ are allied to Italian _bravi_? They possess a
little robber's cave close to their drawing-rooms? Is truth to be
cudgelled? You are mistaken, sir! We shall not allow ourselves to be
intimidated, we will even expose the matter in a trenchant article, and
as far as Signora Giulia is concerned--you have broken my eye-glasses,
sir! I shall now make use of a magnifying lens, which not the smallest
failing can escape, and if hitherto I have beaten her with rods, I will
now scourge her with scorpions."
Salomon meanwhile had picked up the crutches for the critic, who during
his angry speech had supported himself upon the table; he now limped
out of the room, followed by the students, whose cries of "Bravo
Spiegeler" accompanied him, for they looked upon the critic as a
species of clown, who first in newspapers, then in inn parlours,
performed somersaults for the general amusement.
Blanden had looked on at the scene in a divided frame of mind; the
reporter's remarks had roused his indignation, but the Italian's
brutality not less so, and indeed he had always felt the most decided
aversion for the amber merchant. Especially odious did the man appear,
because he stood in some dark relation to Giulia, as the violence
proved with which he had maltreated one of her opponents.
As Blanden stood there lost in thought, and weighed his intention of
questioning the Signora about this person, who even on the Lago
Maggiore had followed her like a shadow, Kaetchen stepped up to him, and
whispered she had now a moment's time, he should go with her.
They groped their way along a gloomy corridor into the yard, whose dark
square was not illuminated by any reflection of light from out the dull
little windows, which opened into it on four sides. Kaetchen looked like
a night-goblin in the dim snow-light, she sprang on in advance, and
danced as if in insane gladness.
Suddenly she moved the pump handle: some time elapsed before the pump
awoke out of its winter sleep. Kaetchen then, however, did not merely
wash her hands, she bent down and let the icy cold water trickle over
her head, and dried herself with the shawl which she had thrown about
her neck. Then she led her companion up the stairs of the building at
the back, it was a break-neck staircase, uneven steps, unusual
windings; she counted the steps, gave her hand to Blanden, and he
remarked that she squeezed his, and pressed it to her heart, and in one
of the narrow bends nestled up to him, and her still dripping hair
wetted his bosom.
They ascended three flights; he had to stoop beneath the beams of the
sloping roof. Kaetchen opened a creaking door that moved with difficulty
upon its hinges. Then she begged Blanden to wait until she had struck a
light, yet she hesitated in doing so, nestled beseechingly against him,
stroked his hair until he shook the caressing witch angrily from him.
"Wait a moment longer," said she, "not in the light shall you see where
the locket is hidden."
A pause ensued, and Blanden perceived that her laced bodice became
looser.
Soon the dreary ray of a tallow candle, whose wick was but meagrely fed
by some guttered masses of fatty substance, lighted the tiny room in
which by the window alone Blanden could find one spot on which to stand
uprightly beneath the sloping roof. That attic with the moss overgrown
beams was a melancholy sight; the melting snow penetrated the badly
closing windows, into the wood were nails driven, on which some clothes
and a fishing net hung. The bed was most peculiar, of a shape
resembling a boat, the coarse straw mattress seemed to be bedded in a
skiff.
And in the midst of these poverty-stricken surroundings stood the
sea-maiden banished into the country, with dripping hair, her bosom
half bared, and gazing at her guest with her protruding eyes, while she
held the locket in one hand.
"The paper--the paper," cried Blanden impatiently.
"I have carried it about with me, always upon my heart, have squeezed
the lines into this locket. I was searched before the authorities at
the institution--nothing was found! Ha, ha, it was too well taken care
of."
And at the same time she commenced to dance about like a wild woman,
holding the locket high in the air. She appeared like one of the
Nikobar island girls, who once, when upon his voyage round the world he
had been cast upon their shore, surrounded him in such dizzy tumult.
He was fain to confess that Kaetchen was no longer the half-witted seal
of former days, that a remarkable transformation had taken place, but
that her mind, far from having found its proper balance, had now passed
from moody absorption into a wandering will-o'-the-wisp-like frenzy.
"And why did you not show this paper to the judges? Its contents are
still unknown to me, but I surmise that it might have spared you the
long confinement and detention in the institution."
"To be sure; oh, to be sure! I should have been free as the sea-gull in
the air; I only needed to press this. Snap! the case would fly open,
and they would all have known what they wished. They pressed all around
it, too, but the good spring did not move; they believed at last that
it was merely a senseless amber ornament and gave it back to me."
"And you preferred to be tortured and locked up?"
"Of course; it was not intended for the judges. Oh, the clever
people--judges and doctors! How they exerted themselves; how they
thought, and consulted and questioned! And what faces they made over
it--it was enough to kill one with laughing! Ha-ha! half-witted Kaetchen
outwitted them all."
"And who gave you this locket?"
"The man down below, who was so liberal to-day; he dispenses good and
evil. Once I brought him safely to shore through a storm that had
suddenly arisen, and he rewarded me with this."
"And for whom are these lines destined!"
"You still ask! Any other man would have guessed long since; for you,
for you! She wrote them out at sea, before she sprang into the water."
"Then it is the truth! I was convinced of it long since," said he to
himself; "but yet moments came in which I was glad to doubt again--what
is not possible upon the lonely waves between heaven and earth, with a
half-witted--or evil-minded girl?" and then suddenly starting, he
cried, as he held Kaetchen firmly with his strong arms--
"And yet you are her murderess--why did you not save her?"
"It was not possible," said she, stuttering and shaking; "a wave washed
her away from my side--she was buried."
"And the paper--unhappy girl, when were you to give me the paper?"
"She did not say--I could do it at once."
"And you did not do it?"
"I would not."
"Out with the paper!" cried Blanden, enraged.
"I have kept it securely in my bosom for so long, I want my reward for
it."
"Your reward for having kept it from me for years! It is my property--I
shall obtain it by force."
He began to struggle with Kaetchen, who held the locket convulsively in
her hand, and uttered a piercing shriek, followed by a wild laugh.
"Ha-ha, and if you have it in the net, it will escape again through the
meshes! It will avail you nothing, absolutely nothing--without the
secret."
"Give it me, then."
"I love you--love me in return!" cried she, stretching out her arms
towards him.
"Lunatic," cried Blanden, retreating, as though a sea polypus would
Lave encircled him with its arms.
She caught at the empty space, then knelt down, crying and sobbing.
"Poor Kaetchen has nobody in the world; her father is dead--he was
always hard and stern. Ah, the sea is so wide, so wide--and the boat
drifts farther and farther out--and who cares for me? You were good to
me--you gave me the boat--oh, it does not lie on the shore by the
post! Here--that is your boat! I had it made into my bed, my sole
possession--and there I dream of you."
Blanden was moved; he drew nearer, he stroked her wet hair and said
kindly--
"Poor child."
Thereupon she gave him the locket, after having opened it with a quick
pressure and sobbing aloud, hid her face.
Blanden went up to the light that was burning low into its socket, and
cast a gloomy flickering dense shadow upon the half-effaced letters.
Already he doubted whether he should be able to decipher them here, but
Kaetchen came to his assistance, saying in a hollow voice--
"I will be your light; I know what stands there, I have read it many
thousand times--
"'I do not desire to live any longer--love my mother!
"'Eva.'"
Blanden was struck to his heart; he had imagined this connection, but
now that he saw it in black and white, written with the trembling hand
of death, so that all soothing doubt had become impossible for
evermore; that these half-faded characters, as did the _Mene Tekel_ of
Belshazzar, announced to him in fire how Eva had merely sought death
because he had loved her mother, he was terribly shaken, as with a new
unexpected blow. He felt as though a hurricane whirled up all the
withered leaves of his life and dashed them into his face.
He struggled for composure, one hand propped upon the window-ledge in
the wet snow, the other covering his eyes.
There was a long pause. Kaetchen still lay upon her knees; in her face
an expression of silent beatitude--he had spoken kindly and lovingly to
her. All the more was she alarmed when Blanden suddenly sprang upon her
in violent anger and dragged her up roughly.
"And this message from the dead you have withheld from me for years,
not from idiotcy, not from mental stupidity--I see through you now. It
was all pretence or deceit, who can tell; or else such God-forsaken
creatures have a cursed instinct that is as cunning as much vaunted
reason. You would not save Eva, merely because I loved her. You did not
give me her words of farewell, because they urged me to love her
mother; you only gave me these lines now when her mother is also dead!
I was to love nothing in the world excepting yourself! Rather would I
tarry at the North Pole with senseless seals than with such a creature
as you! Certainly, they, too, possess the power to kill men! Away, out
of my sight, you horror!"
And he dashed her from him, so that she fell upon her straw couch.
A short pause ensued; the light faded into smoke. Blanden groped for
the door. Then he heard Kaetchen's voice from the bed; it sounded quite
changed--ghostly and hollow--
"Yes, none of them shall have you; none, none--only I alone! Ha-ha, I
save no one--whosoever seeks death may have it--there will be room,
there will be room. May they all die, all-- Hark! the sea rises--come
into my boat, come, come!"
Blanden had reached the door; he had begun to feel it gruesome with the
love-mad girl.
In his haste to escape he had not thought of the obstacles which would
impede him; now here, now there, knocking against them he felt for the
stairs, down which he stumbled in the dark without caring that he had
hurt his foot by frequent false steps.
Below in the witches' kitchen the kettle was simmering as before; but
Mother Hecht, her elbows planted on her hips, stood surrounded once
more with her unoccupied subordinate witches and a new troop of
students who had arrived, gazing at the spectacle which was afforded
them, the hero being once again none other than the Italian, only that
this time he could not display himself to the crowd in the elevated
consciousness of having performed a daring deed.
On the contrary, he appeared very dejected and disconsolate before the
officer of justice, who, in all the pride of his position, laid his
hand upon the man's shoulder.
"At last I have you, my Herr! It has cost me trouble enough, and my
night's rest also. Boeller and Co. knew that the time for the bill had
run out; why did you make our task harder and let yourself be sought
for everywhere!"
"I will pay to-morrow, or the day after."
"It is too late! You follow me to the debtor's prison. No resistance!
You know the laws!"
The students felt pity for the victim of the laws concerning bills of
exchange.
"A misunderstanding, Signori!" cried Baluzzi, quickly recovering. "I am
in a position to pay all my debts. I have only to write a few lines. He
who incurs no debts may cast the first stone."
"Good, very good," shouted the students after the Italian, as he
followed the officer with a defiant mien.
Blanden, standing at the side door, had watched the episode. It
confirmed him in his intention of warning Giulia against a man who
certainly did not merit her confidence, if she were infatuated enough
to grant it him.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: "To receive the basket" signifies to be rejected.
(_Translator's note_.)]
END Of VOL. II.
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