The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories

by Émile Erckmann

  But a truly historical importance belonged to this chamber in the long series of family portraits, filling almost entirely one side of the ancient library. All were there, men and women; from Hugh the Wolf to Yeri-Hans, the present owner; from the first rough daub of barbarous times to the perfect work of the best modern painters.

  My attention was naturally drawn in that direction.

  Hugh I., a bald-headed figure, seemed to glare upon you like a wolf stealing upon you round the corner of a wood. His grey bloodshot eyes, his red beard, and his large hairy ears gave him a fearful and ferocious aspect.

  Next to him, like the lamb next to the wolf, was the portrait of a lady of youthful years, with gentle blue eyes, hands crossed on the breast over a book of devotions, and tresses of fair long silky hair encircling her sweet countenance with a glorious golden aureola. This picture struck me by its wonderful resemblance to Odile of Nideck.

  I have never seen anything more lovely and more charming than this old painting on wood, which was stiff enough indeed in its outline, but delightfully refreshing and ingenuous.

  I had examined this picture attentively for some minutes when another female portrait, hanging at its side, drew my attention reluctantly away. Here was a woman of the true Visigoth type, with a wide low forehead, yellowish eyes, prominent cheek-bones, red hair, and a nose hooked like an eagle’s beak.

  That woman must have been an excellent match for Hugh, thought I, and I began to consider the costume, which answered perfectly to the energy displayed in the head, for the right hand rested upon a sword, and an iron breastplate inclosed the figure.

  I should have some difficulty in expressing the thoughts which passed through my mind in the examination of these three portraits. My eye passed from the one to the other with singular curiosity.

  Sperver, standing at the library door, had aroused the attention of Knapwurst with a sharp whistle, which made that worthy send a glance in his direction, though it did not succeed in fetching him down from his elevation.

  “Is it me that you are whistling to like a dog?” said the dwarf.

  “I am, you vermin! It is an honour you don’t deserve.”

  “Just listen to me, Sperver,” replied the little man with sublime scorn; “you cannot spit so high as my shoe!” which he contemptuously held out.

  “Suppose I were to come up?”

  “If you come up a single step I’ll squash you flat with this volume!”

  Gideon laughed, and replied—

  “Don’t get angry, friend; I don’t mean to do you any harm; on the contrary, I greatly respect you for your learning; but what I want to know is what you are doing here so early in the morning, by lamplight? You look as if you had spent the night here.”

  “So I have; I have been reading all night.”

  “Are not the days long enough for you to read in?”

  “No; I am following out an important inquiry, and I don’t mean to sleep until I am satisfied.”

  “Indeed; and what may this very important question be?”

  “I have to ascertain under what circumstances Ludwig of Nideck discovered my ancestor, Otto the Dwarf, in the forests of Thuringia. You know, Sperver, that my ancestor Otto was only a cubit high—that is, a foot and a-half. He delighted the world with his wisdom, and made an honourable figure at the coronation of Duke Rudolphe. Count Ludwig had him inclosed in a cold roast peacock, served up in all his plumage. It was at that time one of the greatest delicacies, served up garnished all round with sucking pigs, gilded and silvered. During the banquet Otto kept spreading the peacock’s tail, and all the lords, courtiers, and ladies of high birth were astonished and delighted at this wonderful piece of mechanism. At last he came out, sword in hand, and shouted with a loud voice—“Long live Duke Rudolphe!” and the cry was repeated with acclamations by the whole table. Bernard Herzog makes mention of this event, but he has neglected to inform us where this dwarf came from, whether he was of lofty lineage or of base extraction, which latter, however, is very improbable, for the lower sort of people have not so much sense as that.”

  I was astounded at so much pride in so diminutive a being, yet my curiosity prevented me from showing too much of my feelings, for he alone could supply me with information upon the portraits that accompanied that of Hugh Lupus.

  “Monsieur Knapwurst,” I began very respectfully, “would you oblige me by enlightening me upon certain historic doubts?”

  “Speak, sir, without any constraint; on the subject of family history and chronicles I am entirely at your service. Other matters don’t interest me.”

  “I desire to learn some particulars respecting the two portraits on each side of the founder of this race.”

  “Aha!” cried Knapwurst with a glow of satisfaction lighting up his hideous features; “you mean Hedwige and Huldine, the two wives of Hugh Lupus.”

  And laying down his volume he descended from his ladder to speak more at his ease. His eyes glistened, and the delight of gratified vanity beamed from them as he displayed his vast erudition.

  When he had arrived at my side he bowed to me with ceremonious gravity. Sperver stood behind us, very well satisfied that I was admiring the dwarf of Nideck. In spite of the ill luck which, in his opinion, accompanied the little monster’s appearance, he respected and boasted of his superior knowledge.

  “Sir,” said Knapwurst, pointing with his yellow hand to the portraits, “Hugh of Nideck, the first of his illustrious race, married, in 832, Hedwige of Lutzelbourg, who brought to him in dowry the counties of Giromani and Haut Barr, the castles of Geroldseck, Teufelshorn, and others. Hugh Lupus had no issue by his first wife, who died young, in the year of our Lord 837. Then Hugh, having become lord and owner of the dowry, refused to give it up, and there were terrible battles between himself and his brothers-in-law. But his second wife, Huldine, whom you see there in a steel breastplate, aided him by her sage counsel. It is unknown whence or of what family she came, but for all that she saved Hugh’s life, who had been made prisoner by Frantz of Lutzelbourg. He was to have been hanged that very day, and a gibbet had already been set up on the ramparts, when Huldine, at the head of her husband’s vassals, whom she had armed and inspired with her own courage, bravely broke in, released Hugh, and hung Frantz in his place. Hugh had married his wife in 842, and had three children by her.”

  “So,” I resumed pensively, “the first of these wives was called Hedwige, and the descendants of Nideck are not related to her?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “I can show you our genealogical tree; Hedwige had no children; Huldine, the second wife, had three.”

  “That is surprising to me.”

  “Why so?”

  “I thought I traced a resemblance.”

  “Oho! resemblance! Rubbish!” cried Knapwurst with a discordant laugh. “See—look at this wooden snuff-box; in it you see a portrait of my great-grandfather, Hanswurst. His nose is as long and as pointed as an extinguisher, and his jaws like nutcrackers. How does that affect his being the grandfather of me—of a man with finely-formed features and an agreeable mouth?”

  “Oh no!—of course not.”

  “Well, so it is with the Nidecks. They may some of them be like Hedwige, but for all that Huldine is the head of their ancestry. See the genealogical tree. Now, sir, are you satisfied?”

  Then we separated—Knapwurst and I—excellent friends.

  CHAPTER V

  “Nevertheless,” thought I, “there is the likeness. It is not chance. What is chance? There is no such thing; it is nonsense to talk of chance. It must be something higher!”

  I was following my friend Sperver, deep in thought, who had now resumed his walk down the corridor. The portrait of Hedwige, in all its artless simplicity, mingled in my mind with the face of Odile.

  Suddenly Gideon stopped, and, raising my eyes, I saw that we were standing before the count’s door.

  “Come in, Fritz,” he said, “and
I will give the dogs a feed. When the master’s away the servants neglect their duty; I will come for you by-and-by.”

  I entered, more desirous of seeing the young lady than the count her father; I was blaming myself for my remissness, but there is no controlling one’s interest and affections. I was much surprised to see in the half-light of the alcove the reclining figure of the count leaning upon his elbow and observing me with profound attention. I was so little prepared for this examination that I stood rather dispossessed of self-command.

  “Come nearer, monsieur le docteur,” he said in a weak but firm voice, holding out his hand. “My faithful Sperver has often mentioned your name to me; and I was anxious to make your acquaintance.”

  “Let us hope, my lord, that it will be continued under more favourable circumstances. A little patience, and we shall avert this attack.”

  “I think not,” he replied. “I feel my time drawing near.”

  “You are mistaken, my lord.”

  “No; Nature grants us, as a last favour, to have a presentiment of our approaching end.”

  “How often I have seen such presentiments falsified!” I said with a smile.

  He fixed his eyes searchingly upon me, as is usual with patients expressing anxiety about their prospects. It is a difficult moment for the doctor. The moral strength of his patient depends upon the expression of the firmness of his convictions; the eye of the sufferer penetrates into the innermost soul of his consciousness; if he believes that he can discover any hint or shade of doubt, his fate is sealed; depression sets in; the secret springs that maintain the elasticity of the spirit give way, and the disorder has it all its own way.

  I stood my examination firmly and successfully, and the count seemed to regain confidence; he again pressed my hand, and resigned himself calmly and confidently to my treatment.

  Not until then did I perceive Mademoiselle Odile and an old lady, no doubt her governess, seated by her bedside at the other end of the alcove.

  They silently saluted me, and suddenly the picture in the library reappeared before me.

  “It is she,” I said, “Hugh’s first wife. There is the fair and noble brow, there are the long lashes, and that sad, unfathomable smile. Oh, how much past telling lies in a woman’s smile! Seek not, then, for unmixed joy and pleasure! Her smile serves but to veil untold sorrows, anxiety for the future, even heartrending cares. The maid, the wife, the mother, smile and smile, even when the heart is breaking and the abyss is opening. O woman! this is thy part in the mortal struggle of human life!”

  I was pursuing these reflections when the lord of Nideck began to speak—

  “If my dear child Odile would but consult my wishes I believe my health would return.”

  I looked towards the young countess; she fixed her eyes on the floor, and seemed to be praying silently.

  “Yes,” the sick man went on, “I should then return to life; the prospect of seeing myself surrounded by a young family, and of pressing grandchildren to my heart, and beholding the succession to my house, would revive me.”

  At the mild and gentle tone of entreaty in which this was said I felt deeply moved with compassion; but the young lady made no reply.

  In a minute or two the count, who kept his watchful eyes upon her, went on—

  “Odile, you refuse to make your father a happy man? I only ask for a faint hope. I fix no time. I won’t limit your choice. We will go to court. There you will have a hundred opportunities of marrying with distinction and with honour. Who would not be proud to win my daughter’s hand? You shall be perfectly free to decide for yourself.”

  He paused.

  There is nothing more painful to a stranger than these family quarrels. There are such contending interests, so many private motives, at work, that mere modesty should make it our duty to place ourselves out of hearing of such discussions. I felt pained, and would gladly have retired. But the circumstances of the case forbade this.

  “My dear father,” said Odile, as if to evade any further discussion, “you will get better. Heaven will not take you from those who love you. If you but knew the fervour with which I pray for you!”

  “That is not an answer,” said the count drily. “What objection can you make to my proposal? Is it not fair and natural? Am I to be deprived of the consolations vouchsafed to the neediest and most wretched? You know I have acted towards you openly and frankly.”

  “You have, my father.”

  “Then give me your reason for your refusal.”

  “My resolution is formed—I have consecrated myself to God.”

  So much firmness in so frail a being made me tremble. She stood like the sculptured Madonna in Hugh’s tower, calm and immovable, however weak in appearance.

  The eyes of the count kindled with an ominous fire. I tried to make the young countess understand by signs how gladly I would hear her give the least hope, and calm his rising passion; but she seemed not to see me.

  “So,” he cried in a smothered tone, as if he were strangling—“so you will look on and see your father perish? A word would restore him to life, and you refuse to speak that one word?”

  “Life is not in the hand of man, for it is God’s gift; my word can be of no avail.”

  “Those are nothing but pious maxims,” answered the count scornfully, “to release you from your plain duty. But has not God said, ‘Honour thy father and thy mother?’”

  “I do honour you,” she replied gently. “But it is my duty not to marry.”

  I could hear the grinding and gnashing of the man’s teeth. He lay apparently calm, but presently turned abruptly and cried—

  “Leave me; the sight of you is offensive to me!”

  And addressing me as I stood by agitated with conflicting feelings—

  “Doctor,” he cried with a savage grin, “have you any violent malignant poison about you to give me—something that will destroy me like a thunderbolt? It would be a mercy to poison me like a dog, rather than let me suffer as I am doing.”

  His features writhed convulsively, his colour became livid.

  Odile rose and advanced to the door.

  “Stay!” he howled furiously—“stay till I have cursed you!”

  So far I had stood by without speaking, not venturing to interfere between Father and Daughter, but now I could refrain no longer.

  “Monseigneur,” I cried, “for the sake of your own health, for the sake of mere justice and fairness, do calm yourself; your life is at stake.”

  “What matters my life? what matters the future? Is there a knife here to put an end to me? Let me die!”

  His excitement rose every minute. I seemed to dread lest in some frenzied moment he should spring from the bed and destroy his child’s life. But she, calm though deadly pale, knelt at the door, which was standing open, and outside I could see Sperver, whose features betrayed the deepest anxiety. He drew near without noise, and bending towards Odile—

  “Oh, mademoiselle!” he whispered—“mademoiselle, the count is such a worthy, good man. If you would but just say only, ‘Perhaps—by-and-by—we will see.’”

  She made no reply, and did not change her attitude.

  At this moment I persuaded the Lord of Nideck to take a few drops of Laudanum; he sank back with a sigh, and soon his panting and irregular breathing became more measured under the influence of a deep and heavy slumber.

  Odile arose, and her aged friend, who had not opened her lips, went out with her. Sperver and I watched their slowly retreating figures. There was a calm grandeur in the step of the young countess which seemed to express a consciousness of duty fulfilled.

  When she had disappeared down the long corridor Gideon turned towards me.

  “Well, Fritz,” he said gravely, “what is your opinion?”

  I bent my head down without answering. This girl’s incredible firmness astonished and bewildered me.

  CHAPTER VI

  Sperver’s indignation was mounting.

  “There’s the happ
iness and felicity of the rich! What is the good of being master of Nideck, with castles, forests, lakes, and all the best parts of the Black Forest, when an innocent looking damsel comes and says to you in her sweet soft voice, ‘Is that your will? Well, it is not mine. Do you say I must? Well, I say no, I won’t.’ Is it not awful? Would it not be better to be a woodcutter’s son and live quietly upon the wages of your day’s work? Come on, Fritz; let us be off. I am suffocating here; I want to get into the open air.”

  And the good fellow, seizing my arm, dragged me down the corridor.

  It was now about nine. The sky had been fair when we got up, but now the clouds had again covered the dreary earth, the north wind was raising the snow in ghostly eddies against the window-panes, and I could scarcely distinguish the summits of the neighbouring mountains.

  We were going down the stairs which led into the hall, when, at a turn in the corridor, we found ourselves face to face with Tobias Offenloch, the worthy major-domo, in a great state of palpitation.

  “Halloo!” he cried, closing our way with his stick right across the passage; “where are you off to in such a hurry? What about our breakfast?”

  “Breakfast! which breakfast do you mean?” asked Sperver.

  “What do you mean by pretending to forget what breakfast? Are not you and I to breakfast this very morning with Doctor Fritz?”

  “Aha! so we are! I had forgotten all about it.”

  And Offenloch burst into a great laugh which divided his jolly face from ear to ear.

  “Ha, ha! this is rather beyond a joke. And I was afraid of being too late! Come, let us be moving. Kasper is upstairs waiting. I ordered him to lay the breakfast in your room; I thought we should be more comfortable there. Good-bye for the present, doctor.”

  “Are you not coming up with us?” asked Sperver.