When I returned to the public room, all eyes examined me with curiosity. I seated myself as if I remarked nothing. Yet I was tormented to discover wherefore any one had made such particular inquiries about me. I led the discourse to the weather—from the weather to travelling, and from thence to the inquiry, if any more strangers were in the house. I was informed that there was a noble family from Germany, consisting of an old gentleman and a very.beautiful and sick young lady, an elderly lady, probably the mother of the young one, a physician, two servants and two maids. The party arrived at mid-day, and had been detained, partly by the badness of the weather and partly by the weakness of the young lady. I learnt, besides, that both the physician and the old gentleman had come into the public room, in great haste, and had inquired with some anxiety and astonishment about me. The host was certain that the party knew me well. He urged me to go up, as I should certainly meet old friends and acquaintances, since they appeared to expect me. I shook my head, convinced that there was some mistake. In the whole world I had no noble acquaintances, and least of all could I claim any of the German nobility. What confirmed me still more in this belief, was that an old servant of the Count came in, seated himself at the table near me, and in broken Italian called for wine. When I addressed him in German, he was delighted to hear his native tongue. He now related to me all that he knew of his master. The gentleman was a Count Hormegg, who was carrying his daughter to Italy for change of air.
The more the old man drank, the more talkative he became. At first, he had seated himself gloomily by me; at the second flask, he breathed more freely. As I said to him, that I thought of going back to Germany, he sighed deeply, looked towards Heaven, and his eyes filled with tears. “Could I only go with you! could I only go!” said he sorrowfully and softly to me. “I can bear it no longer. I believe a curse rests on this family. Strange things occur amongst them. I dare confide them to no one, and if I dare, sir, who would believe me?”
THE MELANCHOLY COMPANY OF TRAVELLERS.
By the third flask of wine, Sebald, for so he was called, became openhearted. “Countryman,” said he, and he looked timidly round the room; but no one was present but ourselves; we were sitting alone by the dim burning candles. “Countryman, they cannot blind me. Here is a curse under the veil and abundance of riches—here rules the bad spirit himself; God be merciful unto us! The Count is immensely rich, but he creeps along like a poor sinner; he is seldom heard to speak, and is never gay. The old lady, companion, governess, or something of that kind, to the Countess Hortensia, appears to be in constant fear, from a bad conscience. The Countess herself—truly a child of paradise—can scarcely be more beautiful; but I believe her father has united her with the devil. Jesu Maria! what was that?”
The frightened Sebald started from his seat and became deadly pale. It was nothing but a window shutter, dashed violently to by the wind and rain. After I had tranquilized my companion, he continued:
“It is no wonder; one must live in constant fear of death. One of us must and will shortly die! That I have heard from the young woman Catharine. God be merciful to me! May I not, in the mean time, with my comrade Thomas, refresh myself with wine? Sir, there is no want of what we desire, to eat, to drink, nor of money; we fail only in a happy mind. I should long since have run off.”
Sebald’s fable appeared to me to be full of his wine. “From what do you infer that one of you must die?”
“There is nothing to infer,” replied Sebald: “it is only too certain. The Countess Hortensia has said it, but no one dares speak of it. Look you—at Judenberg, fourteen days ago, we had the same story. The young Countess announced the death of one of us. Being all in good health, we did not believe it. But as we were proceeding on the highway, Mr. Muller, the secretary of the Count, a man generally beloved, suddenly fell, together with his horse and baggage, from the height of the road, over the rocks, into the abyss beneath, ten times deeper than the church steeple. Jesu Maria! what a spectacle! Hearing and sight left me. Man and horse lay shattered to pieces. When you pass through the village where he lies buried, the people will relate it to you. I dare not think of it. The only question now is, which of us is to be the next victim? But if it comes to pass, by my poor soul, I will demand my discharge from the Count. There is something wrong here; I love my old neck, and do not wish to break it in the service of the God-forsaken.”
I smiled at his superstitious distress, but he swore stoutly, and whispered: “The Countess Hortensia is possessed by a legion of devils. For a year she has frequently run over the roof of the castle Hormegger, as we scarcely could do on level ground. She prophesies; she often, unexpectedly, falls into a trance and sees the heavens open; she looks into the interior of the human body. Dr. Walter, who is certainly an honest man, affirms that she can not only see through people as if they were glass, but also through doors and walls. It is horrible. In her rational hours, she is very sensible. But, oh God, it is in her irrational hours that she governs us, when those evil spirits speak out of her. Could we not have remained upon the high road? But no, immediately upon leaving Villach, we must go on sumpter horses and mules over the worst roads and most frightful precipices. And wherefore? Because she so willed it. Had we remained on the great road, Mr. Muller (God be merciful to him!) would still today have drunk his glass of wine.”
ATTEMPT FOR AN ENGAGEMENT.
The return of the people of the house, with my spare evening’s meal, interrupted Sebald’s gossip. He promised when we were again alone to disclose many more secrets. He left me. In his place, a small, thin, gloomy looking man seated himself, whom Sebald, on going away, called Doctor. I knew, therefore, that I had before me another member of the melancholy travellers. The Doctor looked at me at my supper, for a while silently. He appeared to be watching me. He then began to ask me in French, from whence I came, and where I thought of going? When he heard I was a German, he became more friendly, and conversed with me in our native tongue. In answer to my questions, I learned that Count Hormegg was travelling with his sick daughter to Venice.
“Could you not,” said the Doctor, “give us your company, since you have no particular object in going to Germany? You are more familiar with the Italian language than we are—know the country, the manners and the healthy parts. You could be of great service to us. The Count could take you immediately in the place of his late secretary. You will be free of expense, have a comfortable life, six hundred louis d’ors salary, and to that added the known liberality of the Count.”
I shook my head and remarked, that neither did I know the Count, nor the Count me, sufficiently to foresee whether we should be agreeable to each other. The Doctor now made the Count’s eulogium. I replied in return, that it would be very difficult to say so much to my advantage to the Count.
“Oh, if that is all,” cried he hastily, “you are already recommended; you may therefore rely on it.”
“Recommended! By whom?”
The Doctor appeared to be seeking for words, in order to rectify his hastiness.
“Eh, why, through necessity—I can promise you, that the Count will pay you an hundred louis d’ors down, if you—”
“No,” replied I, “I have never in my life labored for superfluities; only for what is necessary. From childhood I have been accustomed to an independent life. I am far from being rich, yet I will never sell my freedom.”
The Doctor appeared to be irritated. In truth, I was serious in what I said. Add to this, that I particularly desired not to return to Italy, in order that my passion for the arts should not resume its power. I do not deny, also, that the sudden importunity of the Doctor and the general behavior of these travellers, were disagreeable to me, though I certainly did not believe that the sick Countess was possessed by a legion of devils. As all his persuasions had no other effect than to make me more unwilling, the Doctor left me. I then reflected on all the different little circumstances—weighed my poverty against the comfortable existence in the train of the rich Count, and play
ed with the little money in my pocket, which was all my riches. The result of these reflections were—“Away from Italy; God’s world stands open before you. Be firm! Only peace in the breast—a village school and independence! I must first endeavor to recover my individuality. Yes, I have lost all—the whole plan of my life—gold cannot replace it.”
NEW OFFERS.
My surprise was not a little increased, when, scarcely ten minutes after the Doctor’s departure, a servant of the Count appeared, and begged me, in his name, to visit him in his room. “What in the world do these people want with me?” thought I. But I promised to go. The adventure began, if not to amuse, at least to excite my curiosity.
I found the Count alone in his room; he was walking with great strides up and down—a tall, strong, respectable looking man, with a dignified appearance, and pleasing, though melancholy features. He came immediately to meet me, and apologized for having sent for me—led me to a seat, mentioned what he had heard of me through the Doctor, and repeated his offers, which I as modestly, but firmly declined. He went thoughtfully, with his hands thrown behind his back, to the window, returned hastily, seated himself near me, and taking my hand in his, said, “Friend, I appeal to your heart. My eye must deceive me much if you are not an honest man—consequently sincere. Remain with me, I entreat you—remain only two years. Count upon my deepest gratitude, You shall have, during that time, whatever you need, and at the expiration of it, I will pay you a thousand louis d’ors; you will not repent having lost a couple of years in my service.” He said this so kindly and entreatingly, that I was much moved, more so by the tone and manner, than by the promise of so large a sum, which secured me, with my trifling wants, a free and independent fortune. I would have accepted the offer, had I not been ashamed to show, that at last I had yielded to vile gold. On the other side, his brilliant offers seemed to me suspicious.
“For such a sum, my lord, you can command much more distinguished talents than mine. You do not know me.”
I then spoke to him openly of my past destiny and occupation, and thought by that means, without vexing him, to put aside his offers, as well as his desire to have me.
“We must not separate,” said he, as he pressed my hand entreatingly. “We must not, since it is you alone that I have sought. It may astonish you; but on your account only, have I undertaken this journey with my daughter; on your account have I chosen the worst road from Villach here, that I might not miss you; on your account have I stopped at this inn.”
I looked at the Count with astonishment, and thought he wished to jest with me.
“How could you seek me, since you knew me not? Since no one knew the road I wandered? I, myself, three days ago, knew not that I should take this road to Germany.”
“Is not this a fact?” continued he: “This afternoon you rested in a wood; you sat, full of sorrow, in a wilderness; you leaned on a rock, under a large tree; you gazed at the mountain torrent; you ran on impetuously in the rain. Is it not so? Confess candidly—is it not so?”
At these words, my senses almost forsook me. He saw my consternation, and said, “Well, it is so! you are indeed the man I seek.”
“But,” cried I, “I do not deny that some superstitious horrors seized me,” and I drew my hand out of his. “But who watched me? Who told you of it?”
“My daughter—my sick daughter. I can easily believe that to you it appears wonderful. But the unfortunate one says and sees many strange things in her sickness. Four weeks since, she declared, that only through your means could she be restored to perfect health. As you now appear before me, so did my daughter describe you four weeks ago. Perhaps about fourteen days since she declared, that you came, sent by God, to meet us, and that we must break up and seek you. We set out. She directed the way we should take—at least the part of the world we should go to. With the compass in the carriage, and the map in hand, we travelled, uncertain where, like a ship at sea. At Villach, she pointed out the nearest way to you, described even the particulars, and that we must leave the high road. From Hortensia’s mouth, I learnt this morning how near you were, and at the same time the little circumstances which I have mentioned to you. Immediately after your arrival, Dr. Walter declared to me, that from the description of the host, you resembled exactly the person whom Hortensia, four weeks ago, and since that time, almost daily had described. I am now convinced of it, and since so much has already been fulfilled, I do not for a moment doubt that you and no other can save my daughter, and give me back my lost happiness.”
He was silent, and waited my answer. I sat long, uncertain and silent. I had never in my life met with so singular an adventure.
“What you tell me, my lord, is somewhat incomprehensible, and therefore, with your permission, somewhat incredible. I am, or rather I was, nothing but an artist; and Iknow nothing of medicine.”
“There is much in life.” said he, “that is incomprehensible to us, but all that is incomprehensible is not therefore incredible, particularly when we cannot put aside the reality, and the phenomenon stands before us, whose cause lies hidden from us. You are no physician; that may be. But the same power which discovered to my daughter your existence in the world, has, without doubt, destined you to be her saviour. In my youth I was a free thinker, who scarcely believed in God, and can now, in my mature age, even go as far as any old woman, and consider as possible the existence of devils, witches, spectres and familiar spirits. Hence is explained both my importunity and my offers. The first is pardonable in a father who lives in constant anxiety about his only child, and my offers are not too great for the saving of so precious a life. I see how unexpected, extraordinary and romantic it must all appear to you; but remain with us, and you will be a witness of many unexpected things. Do you wish for an occupation exempt from the care and trouble of a journey? It depends upon yourself to choose. I will impose no labor on you. Remain only as my confidential companion, my comforter. I have now before me a heavy hour, perhaps it is very near: one of our company will suddenly, and if I rightly understand, in an unusual manner, die. It may be myself. My daughter has foretold it, and it will happen. I tremble to meet the fatal moment, from which my whole fortune cannot redeem me. I am a very unhappy man.”
He said still more, and was even moved to tears. I found myself in a singular dilemma. All that I heard, excited sometimes my astonishment, sometimes my just doubts. Sometimes I had a suspicion of the right understanding of the Count, and sometimes supposed the error was my own. At last I made the courageous resolution to attempt the adventure, come what would of it. It appeared to me unjust to consider the Count as an impostor; and in God’s wide world I had no employment or living.
“I renounce all your generous offers, my lord,” said I; “give me only so much as I have need of. I will accompany you. It is sufficient for me, if I may hope to contribute to your happiness and your daughter’s recovery, though, as yet, I in no way comprehend the how. A human life is of much value; I shall be proud if I have it in my power, one day, to believe that I have saved the life of a human being. But I release you from all that you promised me; I do nothing for money. On the contrary, I will, moreover, maintain my independence. I will remain in your retinue as long as I can be of service to you, or can find my life comfortable in it. If you agree to these terms, then I am in your service. You can introduce me to your invalid.”
The Count’s eyes shone with joy. He enclosed me silently in his arms, and pressed me to his heart, whilst he merely sighed, “Thank God.” After a time he said, “Tomorrow you shall see my daughter. She has already gone to rest. I must prepare her for your presence.”
“Prepare her for my presence?” exclaimed I, surprised. “Did you not tell me a few minutes since that she had announced my arrival and described my person?”
“Your pardon, dear Faust; I forgot to inform you of one circumstance. My daughter is like a double person. When she is in her natural state, she is in no way conscious of what she hears, sees, knows and says in her state o
f trance, if I may so call it. She does not recollect the smallest trifle that occurred during that period, and would herself doubt that she had spoken and acted as we related to her, if she had not every reason to place confidence in my words. But in her trance she remembers all that has passed in a similar state, as well as what she has experienced in her usual and natural life. It is only during her trance that she has seen and described you, but out of that knows nothing of you, except what we, by repeating her own expressions, have been able to inform her; you are, therefore, entirely unknown to her. Let us only wait for one of her extraordinary moments, and I have no doubt she will immediately recollect you.”
In a conversation of some hours, I learnt from the Count, that his daughter had had for years, even from a child, an inclination to sleep-walking. In a state of somnambulism, she had, without being able to recollect it afterwards, with closed eyes, left her bed, dressed herself, written letters to those present, or played the most difficult pieces on the piano, and executed a hundred other trifles, with a skill, which she not only did not possess when awake, but which she could not afterwards acquire. The Count believed that that which he now sometimes called a trance, and sometimes transfiguration, was nothing more than a higher grade of somnambulism, but which enfeebled his daughter almost to death.
A FRIGHTFUL EVENT.
It was late when I left the Count’s apartment. There was no one but old Sebald, in the public room, who was still enjoying his wine.
“Sir,” said he, “speak a little German with me, that I may not entirely forget my noble language, which would in truth be a shame. You have spoken with the Count?”
The Second Macabre Megapack Page 16