The Second Macabre Megapack

by Various Writers

  “I have bound my body and soul so firmly to him there is now no possible redemption. And know you what the niggard gave me for it? 100,000 gold pieces a year. This is too little, and for that reason I will buy your ‘gallows man,’ that I may play the old curmudgeon a trick. He has my soul fast, and now the little black devil shall come back without winning one more soul to Hell. This will make the green dragon curse.” At this he laughed so loud that the rocks re-echoed it, and even the motionless black horse appeared to join. “Now,” said he again turning to Richard, “companion, do you bring the half farthings?”

  “I am not your companion,” said Richard, half in scorn, half in fear, yet opening his purse.

  “Ah!” said he, “who hunted the prince with that monster, that you might conquer him?”

  “It was not necessary,” said Richard, and told how the prince had already thirds of farthings in circulation.

  The red man seemed vexed to think he had had the unnecessary trouble of a conflict with the monster—then he changed a good farthing for three of Richard’s bad ones, and gave one of these to Richard in exchange for the ‘gallows man.’

  Again the buyer laughed loudly. “Thou canst not help it, Satan. Now gold here, as much as my black horse can carry.” Soon the monstrous animal groaned under his heavy burden, then he took his master up and went straight over the rocky wall, high up the perpendicular rocks as if he was flying, but yet with such terrible contortions and motions that Richard went into the cavern to avoid seeing any more. When he again came out, on the other side of the mountain, the wholly happy feeling of freedom filled his soul, he felt that he had done penance for the sins of his youth, and that the ‘gallows man’ could no more belong to him. In the fulness of his joy, he lay on the green grass, caressed the flowers, and kissed his hand to the sun.

  An entirely light heart beat again in his breast, but not, as formerly, light from thoughtlessness and frivolity. Though he might have boasted of outwitting the devil himself, he did not boast—but preferred to devote his whole youthful strength to leading a useful and honorable life. In this he succeeded so well, that, after a few years, he returned a successful merchant to his own country—married a wife, and often the happy grey-headed old man told his children and grandchildren the story of the cursed gallows man,’ as a useful warning to them.

  THE ROCK OF HANS HEILING, by Theodor Koerner

  A Bohemian Tale from the German.

  Many years ago, there lived a rich farmer in a village on the Eger. Tradition does not mention the name of the village; but it is presumed to have been situated opposite the village Aich, known to all those who visit the watering-place of Carlsbad, on the left shore of the river Eger. Veit, that was the name of the farmer, had a lovely and charming daughter, the joy and ornament of the whole country.

  Lizy was indeed very pretty, and besides, so good and well educated, that it was difficult, indeed, to find her equal.

  Near the house of Veit stood a little cottage, belonging to young Arnold, whose father had just died. Arnold had learned the trade of a mason; and after a long while, he had returned the first time to his home, when his father died. As a good son, he shed many a tear upon his father’s grave; for although he did not leave him any thing but a miserable hut, Arnold had in his bosom a precious inheritance—honesty and faith, and a lively sense of the noble and beautiful.

  At the time of his arrival in the village, his father was already sick, and the sudden joy of seeing his son again, operated disadvantageously upon the old man. Arnold, who nursed him, did not leave his bed; and thus it happened that, after the death of his father, he had not yet seen one of his old acquaintances and friends of infancy, who did not come to see him by the sick-bed of his father.

  Arnold was especially anxious to see Veit’s Lizy; for they had grown up together, and he always recollected with pleasure the lovely little girl, who loved him so, and wept so much, when he had to part with her, and to go to Prague to learn his trade.

  Young Arnold was a slender and good-looking lad; and he could not but suppose that Lizy had grown too, and become very pretty.

  On the third evening after his father’s death, the son sat, plunged in melancholy dreams, upon the fresh grave, when he heard somebody behind him, stepping gently into the grave-yard. He turned, and beheld a lovely girl, with a little basket full of flowers, walking among the graves.

  An elder tree hid Lizy; for it was she, who came to strew flowers upon the grave of her good neighbor.

  With tears in her eyes, she bent down, and joining her hands, she said softly: “Rest in peace, good man! may the lap of the earth be easier to thee, than life has been. Thy grave shall not be without flowers, as thy life has been!” Arnold rushed from behind the bushes. “Lizy!” he exclaimed, and took the frightened girl in his arms; “Lizy! do you know me.”

  “Arnold, is it you?” she said, blushing: “it is a long time we have not seen each other.”

  “And you have become so pretty, so sweet, so lovely, and have loved my father, and remember him so friendly. My dear, lovely girl!”

  “Yes, dear Arnold, I have loved him dearly,” she said, and wound herself softly from his arms; “we have often talked together of you; delight in his son was the only happiness he had.”

  “Has he really delighted in me.” replied Arnold quickly, “Oh! then I thank thee, God, for having preserved me honest and good!—But, Lizy, only think how every thing is changed. Formerly, when we were children, and my father sat before the door, we played upon his knees; you were so affectionate towards me, we could not be without each other, and now!—The good old man slumbers here below us; we are grown; but even if I could not be with you, I have, nevertheless, thought very often of you.”

  “I also of you,” whispered Lizy, and looked at him with her large, sweet eyes.

  Arnold exclaimed enthusiastically: “Lizy, we have loved each other early; I had to leave you, but here, where I find you again, on the grave of my father, here we are both in holy remembrance of him, it is to me as if there had been no separation for us. The childish feeling has grown a manly passion within me.

  “Lizy, I love you; here, upon this holy place, I confess to you, for the first time, I love you! And you?” But Lizy hid her burning face on his bosom and wept heartily. “And you?” asked Arnold a second time, in a sad and beseeching mood. She raised her head gently, and looking at him, in tears, but joyfully, she said,

  “Arnold, I am very fond of you, and I have loved you always, always!”

  He drew her back to his breast, and kisses sealed the confession of their hearts.

  After the first blissfulness of happy love, they remained a long time, in sweet delight, upon the grave of the father. Arnold told how he had been, and that he always had a longing for his home: Lizy talked again of the father and their infancy, those happy days. The sun was down long ago, and they were not aware of it.

  At last, some noise in the neighboring street awoke them from their dreams, and after a hasty parting-kiss, Lizy went quickly home. Absorbed in happy thoughts, Arnold remained upon the grave of his father until late at night, and the morning dawned when he entered the paternal cottage, with an easy heart.

  The next morning, when Lizy served the breakfast, old Veit began to talk of Arnold.

  “I am sorry for the poor fellow,” said he; “you will remember him, Lizy; you used to play together.”

  “How should I not,” replied the blushing girl.

  “I should not like if you did not; it would look as if you were too proud to think of the poor fellow. ’Tis true, I have grown rich, and the Arnolds are still very poor; but they have always been honest, at least the father, and also of the son I hear much good.”’

  “Certainly, father,’ replied Lizy hastily, “young Arnold is very honest.”

  “Indeed, Lizy,” said the father, “how did you get so sure of it?”

  “They say so in the village,” stuttered Lizy.

  “Well, I am glad of it;
if I can help him, I certainly shall do it.”

  Lizy, in order to end this talk, for she was blushing all the time, went in the kitchen on some business, and escaped the scrutinizing looks of the suspecting old man.

  Arnold found his girl before noon in the garden, near her father’s house, as she had promised him. She told him all that had happened, and he took from it the best hopes for his happiness.

  “Yes,” said he, at last, “I have thought of it the whole night; the best is for me to go today to your father and confess to him sincerely that we love each other, and should like to get married; I will show him my certificate of apprenticeship and the recommendation of my master, and beg him for his blessing. He will like my sincerity, and give his consent;—I will then go away, make some money, return as soon as possible, and we will be happy. Don’t you think so, my sweet and lovely Lizy?”.

  “Yes,” exclaimed the transported girl, and clung to his bosom; “yes, my father will certainly consent; he loves me dearly!” They parted full of cheering hope.

  Towards evening, Arnold dressed himself the best he could, went once more to his father’s grave, prayed for a blessing, and anxiously went to Veit’s.

  Lizy, trembling with joy, received him, and led him immediately to her father.

  “Neighbor Arnold,” exclaimed the old man, “what do you bring me?”

  “Myself,” he replied.

  “What does that mean!” asked Veit.

  “Neighbor,” commenced Arnold, first with a trembling voice, but afterwards firmly and cordially: “Neighbor, allow me to go a little back—you will understand me better. I am poor, but I have learned something, as my certificates will show you. The whole world is open for me; for I will not be satisfied with the trade, I will learn the art; I will become a skilful architect, as I have promised to my dear father. But, sir, every thing in the world must have its centre, and the work its end. As the houses which I construct are not merely built for construction’s sake, but for use; the same it is with my art. I do not practice it simply to be an artist; I should like to acquire something by it, and what I strive for, you have to give. Promise me that I shall have it, when I have done something useful, and I will aspire with all my power for the highest.”

  “And what have I,” replied Veit, “that is of such importance to you.”

  “Your daughter, sir! we love each other. I have come right away to the father, as an honest man, and I have not much courted the girl, as many do. No, after the good old fashion, I came to you to beg for your consent, and to request, that in three years, when I return from my period of travelling, and have learned something substantial, you will not refuse to me your blessing, and allow the girl to remain to me, during those three years, a faithful betrothed one.”

  “Young man,” said the old Veit, “I have listened to you, listen to me also, I will give my answer plainly. I am glad you love my daughter, for you are an honest fellow, and that you come sincerely to the father, I like still better, it does you great honor. Your masters call you skilled in art, and entertain the hope you will accomplish something great; I wish success to you, but hope is an uncertain foundation, and you want me to build upon it the happiness of my daughter. During those three years somebody might address her, whom she likes better, or, if not so, whom I like better; shall I refuse that one on your account. No, young man, that won’t do. But if you return, and Lizy is still free, and you have succeeded in your business, I will not be in your way; but have done with it now.”

  “But, neighbor Veit,” said Arnold, in a faltering voice, and seizing the hand of the old man, “just think!”

  “There is nothing to think,” replied Veit, “and so God bless you; if you will still remain, be my welcome guest, but not a word more on that subject.”

  “Is that your final resolution?” asked Arnold.

  “It is,” answered the old man coolly.

  “Then God have mercy on me,” exclaimed the other, hastening to the door; but Veit seized his hand and kept him.

  “Young man, don’t commit any folly. Are you a man, and have you strength of mind and courage, show yourself so, and bear your affliction. The world is large, return to the bustle of life, and you will be calm. Farewell now; good luck for your journey.”

  At these words, Veit left Arnold, and the latter returned to his cottage.

  Weeping, he made his packet, took leave of his paternal inheritance, and went towards the graveyard, to take leave also of the grave of his father. Lizy, who had heard nearly all of the conversation, wept also. She had entertained such happy dreams, and now all hope seemed lost to her!

  Once more she must see her Arnold; she went to the window of her bed-room and waited until he left the cottage and went to the grave-yard. She ran quickly after him, and found him praying upon the grave of his father. “Arnold! Arnold! will you go away?” exclaimed she, and embraced him. “Alas! I cannot leave you!”

  Arnold rose as from a dream: “I must, Lizy, I must. Let not thy tears break my heart, for I must!”

  “Do you return, and when?”

  “Lizy, I will work as hard as a man can; I will be covetous with every minute of time; in three years I shall be here again. Will you remain faithful to me?”

  “Faithful until death, my dear Arnold!” replied she, sobbing.

  “But if your father will force you you?”

  “They shall drag me to church, and even before the altar, I will exclaim, no! Yes, Arnold, we will remain faithful to each other here and there above. Somewhere we will find each other again!”

  “Then let us part,” said Arnold, whose eyes were brightened by a beam of hope, “let us part! I do not fear any impediment, nothing will be too great or too bold for me. With this kiss I pledge myself to you, and now farewell! in three years we shall be happy.” He wound himself out of her arms.

  “Arnold,” she exclaimed, “Arnold, don’t leave your Lizy!” but he was already gone. From afar he waved his white handkerchief as a last farewell, until he disappeared in the shade of the forest.

  Lizv sank down upon the grave and prayed fervently to God. Convinced of Arnold’s faith, she was calmer, and could appear more collected in mind before the father, who observed her always and examined the most trifling circumstance.

  Every morning she went to the place where she had embraced her Arnold the last time; the old father perceived it, but let her alone, and was satisfied that Lizy could appear so calm and often even gay.

  A year passed in this way, and no suitor had appeared who pleased the father. At the end of the second year there returned, after a long absence, to the village, a man who had left it on account of bad tricks, and had a great experience.

  Hans Heiling left the village as a poor wretch, and returned as a wealthy man. He seemed to have come to the village in order to show himself to his former enemies as a rich man. At first it seemed as if he intended to stay only for a short time; he talked about business of importance; but it was soon visible that he was prepared for a long sojourn.

  They told wondrous things about him in the village; many an honest man shrugged his shoulders, and others said clearly, they knew very well from whence his wealth came.

  Be it so; Hans Heiling visited old Veit daily, told him of his travels, that he had been even in Egypt, and still farther beyond the sea; the old man was much pleased with his conversation, and he was not satisfied if Hans Heiling did not enter the room in the evening.

  He heard indeed many things from his neighbors, but incredulously shook his head; only one thing appeared singular to him, that Hans Heiling locked himself up every Friday, and remained the whole day at home alone. He asked him what he did at this time. “A vow,” he answered, “binds me to spend every Friday in fervent prayer.” Veit was satisfied, and Heiling came and went as before, and showed clearly what design he had upon Lizy.

  But Lizy had an inexplicable abhorrence for the man; it was to her as if her blood coagulated in her veins in his presence.

  N
evertheless, Heiling asked formally her hand from her father and received the answer: “he should first agree with the daughter.” For this purpose he made use of an evening, when he did not find old Veit at home.

  Lizy sat on the spinning-wheel when he entered. Afraid, she started, announcing to him that her father was not at home. “Then let us chat a little together, my lovely lass!” was his reply, and he sat down by her side. Lizy moved off from him. Heiling taking this only for maidenly bashfulness, and having the principle that, with women, one ought to be bold in order to succeed, he took her round the waist, and said flatteringly: “will fair Lizy not sit near me?” Disgusted, she wound herself from his arms.

  “It is not becoming for me to be alone with you,” she said, leaving the room; but he went after her, and embraced her more boldly.

  “Your father has given his consent, my pretty Lizy, will you become my wife? I will not let you go until you promise me!”

  She struggled in vain against his kisses, which burned dreadfully upon her cheeks; in vain she called for help; his passion was roused, he became bolder, until he perceived a little cross, which Lizy wore round her neck, since her youth, as a remembrance of her mother, who died early. Strangely struck, he let her go; he seemed to tremble, and hastened out of the room. Lizy thanked God for her rescue, and she told her father, when he came home, the mean behavior of Heiling. Veit shook his head, and seemed very angry.

  The next time he saw Helling, he reproached him with his behavior, which he excused by the violence of his love; but the occurrence had, for Lizy, the fortunate consequence, that Heiling exempted her, for a long time, from his addresses. Since then she wore the cross, which, (she did not know how,) had saved her at that time, openly on her neck, and she perceived that Heiling did not say a word to her, as soon as he found her decorated in this manner.

  The third year was soon at an end. Lizy, who always knew how to keep in suspense and to interrupt her father, when he talked about marrying her, became gayer. Daily she went still to the grave of the old Arnold, and then she crossed the Eger, walking the road to Prague to the hill, in hope soon to see her beloved one arriving from thence.