Hanns Heinz Ewers Volume I (Collected Short Stories by Hanns Heinz Ewers)

by Hanns Heinz Ewers

  A lieutenant intervened and disturbed our amusement; then in medium hard confinement we all three had time to think over our love and our folly. When we came out our excitement had cooled noticeably, and we realized that it was mighty stupid to quarrel about a girl that only one of us could have. So we determined to leave the choice to Sibylla herself and, to arrange this, we would travel together to Val di Scodra during our September furlough.

  In the meantime, it was agreed that no one was to write to her separately; so we always wrote to her together and sent her a common present at Christmas and Easter. It wasn’t much, to be sure, a silk scarf and a silver buckle—but Sibylla has kept them to this day and the letters, too. Very well. Spring came and then summer, and none of us felt very happy. Each distrusted the other two and every few days one of us had to swear to the others that he had quite certainly not written a letter behind their back. Finally the fall maneuvers came, and then the day on which we received our leave of absence.

  It was hard enough for the three of us to get off at the same time, since Raimondi and I were in the same company. But finally it was accomplished. I’ll never forget the journey in all my days. No one spoke a word and each looked as if he wanted to devour the others alive. I believe it was only the uniform which still kept us together; otherwise we would have gone for each other as we did that evening in the canteen.

  In those days no stagecoach came to the valley, but if one had come we would not have waited for it. We marched along and arrived late at night. Raimondi went to his parents; I went home with Ussolo. I didn’t sleep a wink all night; I was constantly afraid one of my comrades might get up and go to the Madruzzo house. They fared no better. It was scarcely light when we started to go for Raimondi, out of fear that he might get ahead of us. We had scarcely reached the house when he came out too—evidently with the same idea as ourselves. Now we realized that it was far too early to go to Sibylla, especially as it was Sunday. We went back again into Raimondi’s house, cooked our coffee, and breakfasted.

  Then Ussolo stepped up to the mirror. We had been in such a hurry to get up that we had scarcely combed our hair! He dressed his hair and made himself handsome—and then it came out that we had remained very good friends and comrades after all. Raimondi fetched all he had: shoe polish, brushes, combs, even wax for our mustaches, and we helped one another get ourselves up as finely as possible. An Emperor’s Rifle must be sharp, mustn’t he, Raimondi? So the time passed more quickly than we thought. Then Raimondi’s parents came and we had to drink coffee once more with them.

  Finally we started, stopped in the garden to cut a few roses for our caps, and then went on to the Madruzzo house. And before we even got there Ussolo cried:

  ‘Here she comes!’

  And there, as a matter of fact, she stood before us in the garden of olives and laughed. She was in her Sunday best and she was so neat and pretty that my very heart was glad. And yet it kept thumping so, and I felt so afraid, that I scarcely dared to approach a step. But my two comrades fared no better and stopped short too.

  Raimondi said, ‘Friends, I am the oldest!’

  ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘You are that indeed—and yet—’

  But he whispered, ‘Keep still and listen to what I say! We have agreed that she is to have the one that she wants. But the other two are not to be his enemies on that account, but good friends as before!’

  ‘Are you so sure of yourself?’ I thought.

  But I was sure of myself too, for I believed with assurance that her laugh had been meant for me and not for the others.

  Therefore I said, ‘Your hand on it!’ and agreed.

  Ussolo said nothing at all, but he, too, gave his hand in pledge.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Raimondi. ‘Forward march!—and I’m going to speak first because I’m the oldest and a sergeant-major!’

  That didn’t please me the least bit, but there was no more time for discussion, for he went ahead with long strides, and we had to keep up with him. We saluted with our hands to our caps and Raimondi was about to begin a speech, but nothing came out. We stood silently before her and stared at her. Then the dark Sibylla laughed and stretched out her hands and asked how we were, and said how pleasant it was that we had all three come here on leave. She thanked us for the letters and the present and said that she had plaited a watch-fob for each one of us out of her own hair. So we talked, but we really said nothing and only Sibylla laughed and chattered and we stood there like three country oafs and stared at her.

  I realized that all this was shameful for the Emperor’s Rifles and nudged Raimondi that he should speak to her. But he acted as if he hadn’t noticed anything.

  Then I whispered to Ussolo: ‘You talk then!’

  Ussolo did talk—but what! He told her, stammering, where we had been at our maneuvers. Then I was going to speak, but that didn’t work either. If only the others hadn’t been there, I could have spoken easily enough; I felt that.

  On this fact I founded my plan. I told Sibylla that we three wanted to speak to each other privately for a moment. She laughed and was about to go home again at once, but I begged her to wait a little while; so she stepped aside into the olive grove. Then I said to the other two that they were asses and I another: that we were asses all three! And that we couldn’t proceed in this way.

  I took three blades of grass and held them in my hand: whoever drew the longest—he was to be permitted to speak to her first and alone. To this the others agreed: The sergeant-major tried first, then Ussolo; he drew the longest blade; I had the shortest of all, and so my turn came last. Well, I consoled myself, for I was convinced that the two Italians would get a refusal and that she would wait for me. In the meantime, Ussolo went to Sibylla and we two sat down in the grass, turned our backs to them and waited.

  A soldier, you see, is accustomed to waiting; one learns that on sentry duty. But although there were two of us, never did waiting seem as long as this time.

  ‘Aren’t they done yet?’ I thought.

  Neither of us spoke a word; I saw how Raimondi stared straight ahead of him.

  Suddenly he said, ‘Well, I can’t bear it any longer. Ussolo ought to have been through long ago!’

  We turned around, but the two had disappeared. We got up and went a little further into the olive grove, looked to the right and to the left, but saw no one. I called, softly at first, and then louder:

  ‘Ussolo! ’

  But no one answered. Then Raimondi roared as if he were commanding three regiments:

  ‘Ussolo! Ussolo!’

  Then the fellow answered:

  ‘Yes! Yes! We are coming now!’

  And immediately after that they came running up to us. Ussolo’s entire brown face laughed and he stretched out both of his hands.

  ‘Forgive me, comrades, but we had both really quite forgotten you!’

  Then, when he saw our vexed and confused expression, he stood at attention, put his hand to his cap and said:

  ‘Sergeant-major, I respectfully beg to announce the betrothal of Sergeant Ussolo and Sibylla Madruzzo! And the girl made a very serious face and a deep courtesy. Later I asked Sibylla which of us had had the most stupid expression, Raimondi or I. But unfortunately she hadn’t observed, and so we’ll never be able to ascertain. But we both looked very foolish, you may be sure!

  Raimondi recovered himself first. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a pretty purse, set with silver, which he gave to Sibylla, and congratulated them both. Then I, too, took out the earrings that I had bought for her, and gave them to her as a bridal gift. Ussolo struck his forehead and cried:

  ‘Good heavens, and I entirely forgot to give her my present!’

  At that he pulled out a pretty little watch. So we had all three secretly brought something for her, but it now profited Ussolo alone. Poor fellow, if he had only known how brief his happiness would be!

  Then we left those two alone and I went home with Raimondi. We were both a good bit cast down, an
d yet we both felt eased that, at least, the intolerable uncertainty was at an end. We determined to be very brotherly to both of them, as became genuine comrades who had been true friends for so many years. But it wasn’t as easy as we thought, each time we saw Ussolo and Sibylla in their great happiness we grew jealous, and it was easy to see how at the bottom we grudged it to them. So we thought that perhaps it would be best to travel back to Bozen even before our furlough expired.

  If only we had done that! But Ussolo pressed and urged us to stay at least until the following Sunday. There was to be a church festival in the neighboring village—in Cimego, you know, seven hours distant across the hills toward the border. There is a headquarters of border guards there now, and it’s my home.

  Ussolo had invited us to go there; he had relatives there, and he wanted to show them his lovely betrothed—and us, too, his friends from the regiment. We cared very little about it; our minds were not in the mood for merrymaking and festival. But Ussolo would not desist and Sibylla joined her prayers to his, so we permitted ourselves to be persuaded. We planned, then, to have our parting feast at Cimego and then to return to the regiment. We determined to start at night, and to rest at a charcoal burner’s hut on the way, in order to arrive in the village early in the morning.

  Now I must tell you that Ussolo was fond of drinking. Not that he was a drunkard, but he could tolerate very little, and even after a few glasses he grew very merry and sometimes unruly. And now in his delight as a man about to be married, and at home on leave among his old acquaintances and friends who invited him to take a glass with them, he was merry every evening and noisy and rowdy in the street. Sibylla didn’t like that in the least; she had known the evil of drink from her childhood on. For her father, old Carlo Madruzzo, had the most seasoned gullet in the village, and scarcely a day passed in which she didn’t feel the drunken weight of his fists. So it was no wonder that she should hate to see her betrothed’s fondness for the bottle. She reproached him and he promised her not to touch another glass—but in the evening he was drunk again.

  So it came about that Sibylla hated the wine which Ussolo drank even more than that which flowed down her father’s throat. The Saturday night on which we started—it was dark and there was not a star in the sky—Sibylla arranged it so that I walked with her, while Ussolo and the sergeant-major preceded us by a few paces. Raimondi and Sibylla carried lanterns; her betrothed dragged a heavy basket, in which he had laid upon fresh foliage the fishes which he had caught in the lake that evening and wanted to take to his uncle in Cimego. I carried the knapsack, which Ussolo had packed too; there was bread in it, ham and sausage, and in addition, five bottles of good wine.

  When we came to a spring at the end of half an hour, she stopped and asked me to give her the knapsack. She waited a little, until she thought the other two were far enough away, and then took out the bottles and opened them. She asked me whether I wanted to drink once more, and I took a few hearty draughts. Then she poured out the wine, one bottle after another. I wanted to prevent her but she laughed and said that for this one night I might easily do without wine, since there would be enough of it tomorrow at Cimego. She filled the bottles to the top with water and carefully corked them again. We were both amused at the thought of Ussolo’s expression when he would discover that his wine had turned into water.

  We went ahead vigorously and soon caught up with the others. We shouted our soldier songs and between them the lovely Sibylla sang. So the hours passed. Several times Ussolo proposed that we should drink a glass of wine; but I would not hand out the wine, and told him he must wait till we reached our resting place in the charcoal burner’s cottage.

  We had marched off at nine o’clock and could have comfortably reached the cottage by three o’clock in the morning. We wanted to take some refreshments there and lie down for a while; we had our great-coats, and for Sibylla there was a warm cover which Raimondi carried. Then we intended to climb down for a couple of hours the last bit of the way into the Cimego valley. It was cold enough on the road and Ussolo put his great-coat around the girl. But we were all merry and in high spirits and as we marched along thus, either one behind the other or arm in arm wherever the path grew broader, it seemed to us as if this lovely rose did not belong to Ussolo alone, but was the common property of us three comrades of the Emperor’s Rifles.

  One o’clock had passed when we went through the ravine of the Boazol. Raimondi walked ahead with the lantern, I behind him. Then came Sibylla, and Ussolo brought up the rear. Suddenly I heard him curse; he had slipped and lay on the stones. But he jumped up again at once. I turned and looked toward him; Sibylla’s lantern shed sufficient light on him.

  ‘The damned beast!’ he cried.

  And I saw by the light of the lantern that he was holding a little snake in his hand. He grasped it by the tail and shattered its head against the rock.

  ‘Did it bite you?’ the girl asked anxiously.

  He laughed and said that in all events he had noticed nothing. We had all stepped up to him and saw that in falling he had scraped both his face and his hands a little. Sibylla dusted him with her kerchief. Then he took up his basket again and we went on; this time he walked behind Raimondi and I came later.

  “But scarcely five minutes had passed when Ussolo stopped with chattering teeth; he was shaking with cold and begged Raimondi to lend him his great-coat. He put it on and in addition wrapped the cover, which was meant for Sibylla, around his shoulders, but he was still freezing cold. I called out to him to walk ahead vigorously and he did so. After a while I saw how he was supporting himself with his hand against the rock; it was as if he were drunk. But he said nothing, and so I was silent too in order not to frighten the girl. We walked that way for a space; then dizziness came over him again; he stumbled and would have fallen flat had not Raimondi supported him. He put down the basket and stood up with difficulty, clinging to the wall of the cliff.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ cried Sibylla.

  He shook his head and tried to laugh.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know—’

  The sergeant-major held the lantern to his face. Then he grasped his left hand and looked at it closely on both sides.

  ‘There, you donkey,’ he cried, ‘of course it’s bitten you!’

  We pressed around him and I noticed a tiny wound in his wrist; a little drop of blood came out, scarcely larger than a pinhead. The hand and joint were swollen, and continued to swell swiftly and almost visibly. Raimondi, who had taken the hospital assistant’s course, at once put his hand in his pocket and took out a cloth. Then his glance fell on the knapsack. He put back the cloth and ordered me to cut off the cords. We made a tourniquet above the wound, and pulled the cord as tight as possible, so that it cut deep into his skin. In the meantime Ussolo reeled to and fro and we had to lay him flat on the ground.

  Raimondi said:

  ‘That is the first thing necessary. Now we must suck out the wound.’

  Sibylla at once threw herself over her betrothed, but Raimondi pulled her back. He threw the light into her face, and then pushed her away: she had a little break in her lip, he said, and might easily poison herself too. Then he pulled me up, bade me open my mouth and examined it with his lantern.

  ‘You can do it!’ he cried.

  I took Ussolo’s hand and sucked with all my might. The saliva ran in my mouth and when I spat it out, it seemed as if I tasted the poison on my tongue. But it was probably only my imagination. I continued until Raimondi tore me away.

  ‘Now he must drink,’ he said. ‘And the more the better. All we have. That keeps up the activity of the heart.’

  He reached into the knapsack and uncorked the first bottle. I heard Sibylla give a low cry as she clung tightly to my arm.

  She stammered softly, ‘O Madonna—Madonna!’

  And I understood and I realized that she was praying to the Mother of God and beseeching her to perform a miracle. I was so frighten
ed and confused that I prayed with her, and even today I know that, at that moment, I really entertained the hope of the water changing back into wine. But, unhappily, miracles no longer happen nowadays, as in the time of the marriage feast at Canaan!’

  Ussolo put the bottle to his lips and drank greedily—but at once spat it all out again.

  ‘Water!’ he groaned.

  Raimondi himself took a swallow, shook his head and threw the bottle down the ravine. He believed it was a chance error and opened the next bottle. Sibylla trembled but dared to say no word in her awful dread; and I, too, was so depressed by my share of the guilt that I couldn’t utter a syllable.

  Again Ussolo took a swallow and again spat it out. Raimondi took the next bottle, struck off its neck, saw that it held water too, and threw it away. Then I took hold of my heart and told him what had happened. But I said that it had been a poor joke of my own and spoke no word of Sibylla—and I am glad to this day that I acted so. Raimondi cried out that I was a criminal; but Ussulo said weakly that he knew well that I had meant no evil. He stretched out his other hand to me in a sign of forgiveness, and said that it wasn’t so bad and that he would probably be better presently. I talked too and tried to console him, but Raimondi pulled me away and exclaimed that this was no time for chatter. He took his pocket-knife, held the sharpest blade into the flame of the lantern and ordered me to take mine and do the same. When his knife was red-hot he cut into the wound and enlarged it. Then he took my knife and I had to hold the other into the flame; in this way he changed off and cut and cauterized the wound.

  Poor Ussolo suffered frightfully. But, like a good soldier, he strove to give no evidence of it. It was pitiable how we tormented him—and all in vain. Sibylla kneeled beside him and held his head and he moaned and gnashed his teeth.

  At last the sergeant-major was done. We realized that we could not go one step further with Ussolo and that it would be best for one of us to hurry to Cimego and get help. I didn’t know the way, and so Raimondi went; he hoped that the priest would have caustic potash and spirits of ammonia. He took his lantern and strode rapidly ahead; in a little while he had vanished.