The count had become thoughtful. The calm, solemn language of Baron apparently did not fail to impress. But soon his nature regained the upper hand.
“No! No! “He shouted, rising from the chair impetuously. “I can not let go so easily!”
“They are not rejected. It is your free decision to make a change.”
“But how shall I do it?” Cried the afflicted man, stamping his foot angrily. “Can I be so bang and fall -? What would you say below - in the circle of comrades? It would cause a stir - yes, one could even speculate -”
“I do not care about assumptions.”
“And anyway, you would send another officer up. They might just get out of the rain!”
The Freiherr moved on the sofa, but he said with icy calm, “I'm not afraid of that. Repetitions do not happen so quickly one after the other.”
The count looked at him half astonished, half contemptuously, and returned nothing. Because suddenly heavy, powerful kicks were heard, which came up the stairs under spurs clinking.
“It's someone from my people,” he said now. And there was already tapped with shy plumpness at the door: “Come in!”
A handsome NCO stepped into the room, his helmet on his head, the service bag hanging over his shoulder. He took a position and saluted automatically. Then he produced a large sealed letter and handed it to his superior, who vomited it. While reading, the count's features took on a peculiar expression.
“It is good. Tell my sergeant he Let the people come to the command. “When he was alone with the Freiherr, he turned to this. “Chance suits you, Mr. Baron. Do you know what this sheet contains? The marching order. We must join the Hungarian army immediately. Tomorrow with the earliest we leave the castle.”
Without a sign of surprise or satisfaction, the baron rose and said with a bow: “Then our conversation is over. If the paper had arrived yesterday, it would not have been necessary.”
No sooner had he turned to leave than the dog already shot out from under the sofa and fastened to his heels with angry barking. A kick of his master made him howl painfully. “Damned beast!” Cried the Earl in a suppressed voice as the animal flitted, whimpering, into an angle. Alone, he moved up and down in the room with visibly unpleasant thoughts and sensations. “Oh, what!” He finally said, snapping his fingers and strapping on his saber.
* *
*
Meanwhile, Klothilde had lain on the couch of her room, closed by closed blinds. “I have to leave you alone for some time,” the Baron had told her as he went down to the table. “Maybe you are welcome. Do not worry, everything will be fine.”
But scarcely alone, she immediately felt again that it could never be good. For a moment she had breathed at the mild, tender consolations of her husband; for a moment, as bright as before, life had emerged from the dark night of desperation that surrounded her-but now it sank again. She felt that something inside her had been broken and destroyed, not again could be produced. Yes, the clear peace, the serene peace of her soul was lost - lost forever. What was it that made her husband apologize and forgive what she would never forgive herself? Today was not erased in her memory. Since time immemorial she had been able to breathe only in the purest air of life; the slightest cloudiness threatened to suffocate her. She had been like this from an early age. A small mistake that made her owe, no matter how gentle her father's blame-the mother had lost her very early through death-or from her teachers filled her with such remorse and self-blame that she often spent weeks childish grief and grief did not come out. With what anxious shyness she had avoided her as a girl, and later as a woman, which might have brought her into danger and temptation; an inner voice told her that she lacked the strength of resistance. Therefore, she was also considered spiritually limited in society, and despite her beauty nobody came closer to her; for her helpless restraint inspired pity rather than interest. That's why she loved the silence and privacy; then she could unfold her being freely and fearlessly, then she could flourish; - She felt that she was no match for any intricacies and conflicts - they brought her death... and, in spite of her beauty, no one came closer to her; for her helpless restraint inspired pity rather than interest. That's why she loved the silence and privacy; then she could unfold her being freely and fearlessly, then she could flourish; - She felt that she was no match for any intricacies and conflicts - they brought her death... and, in spite of her beauty, no one came closer to her; for her helpless restraint inspired pity rather than interest. That's why she loved the silence and privacy; then she could unfold her being freely and fearlessly, then she could flourish; - She felt that she was no match for any intricacies and conflicts - they brought her death...
She shivered. How cold it was in the room despite the hot summer day! She spread a light blanket over herself and closed her eyes. And as she lay there, she came to a peculiar state. It hurt her so much - and yet so well. Just as at the beginning of a serious illness, where the world begins to dull in vague outlines - where everything is brought nearer and farther into the distance. Only sometimes a nameless pain shot through her chest. For then she thought of her noble husband, the happy years she had spent with him - thought of the beautiful one quiet park, to the Tirolerhaus - to their landscape - their beloved books...
She pulled the blanket up higher. A strange, dull pressure, which she had felt now and again in the last few days, weighed heavily on her forehead now, and closing her eyes, she sank into a paralyzing half-sleep, which entangled her with confused dream-faces. It was nothing monstrous, nothing frightening. The most varied figures appeared and disappeared again or went over one another. She saw her father, saw her mother, from whom she could not otherwise form a clear picture; she saw herself as a very little girl with a birthday bouquet in her hand; her husband as a very young man in a green tuxedo with yellow buttons, as depicted on a miniature painted by Daffinger; saw the count on a fire-spraying horse,
Now she was startled. Her husband, leaning over her, had kissed her gently on the forehead. “You have slept?” He asked softly.
“Yes - it seems,” she replied, feeling the full force of her misery lately.
And now he told her what had happened. He had hoped she would breathe easier, more and more freely. But she breathed only soundlessly: “My God! My God! This one day!”
“Yes,” he said shakenly and reassuringly at the same time, “it is sad that all human happiness and unhappiness in the end mostly depends only on such fate. But comfort you: it's all over now.”
She took the hand he handed her; but the heart was like ice in her breast.
VIII.
The following afternoon the Baron sat at his desk and addressed the following letter to Mrs. Charlotte Nespern in Vienna:
“I write to you in the greatest anxiety, dear Aunt Lotti! My dear Klothildes, who already felt uncomfortable yesterday, were attacked today in the early morning hours by a shake-freeze, in which I immediately suspected the harbingers of a serious illness. Nevertheless, I omitted to send for a doctor at their objection, for the attack passed, and only a certain amount of restraint had lingered, which induced Klothilde to stay in bed, where she later turned into one, as it seemed. quiet and refreshing sleep fell into disrepair. But at noon she awoke with renewed symptoms of fever-and now I did not hesitate for a moment to send for the doctor, who, as is already the case, was not present since he had gone to a patient outside the village. It could only be left the order that he would appear immediately after his return in the castle. It is not there yet (four o'clock) - and I'm already counting the minutes; for the fever is on the increase, and the beloved patient, though she does not complain, seems to suffer the most painful headache. In this desperate state of mind, I conclude my letter with the heartfelt request, if circumstances do not make it completely impossible for you, you will hurry here and will probably be in difficult time with your tender loving niece and your faithful and the beloved patient, though she does not complain, seems to suffer the most painful headache. In t
his desperate state of mind, I conclude my letter with the heartfelt request, if circumstances do not make it completely impossible for you, you will hurry here and will probably be in difficult time with your tender loving niece and your faithful and the beloved patient, though she does not complain, seems to suffer the most painful headache. In this desperate state of mind, I conclude my letter with the heartfelt request, if circumstances do not make it completely impossible for you, you will hurry here and will probably be in difficult time with your tender loving niece and your faithful
Günther home.”
The Freiherr hastily completed the letter and then had it rushed to the post office by a servant. At that time there were no telegraph connections, nor any railroads that branched off the main lines, and so on At least four days had to elapse before the long-awaited person could arrive. The anxious husband began to feel deeply the state of utter abandonment in which he was now with the patient.
But now the appearance of the doctor was reported. The baron approached him quickly and led him into the room where Klothilde lay, his face heated, his forehead covered with a cooling envelope.
The doctor, a high fifties with a reddened pock-marked face, leaned on his cane-for he had a lame leg-with a clumsy bow to the bed, and regarded her attentively. Then he removed the cold pad and felt his forehead. “These envelopes do not help - ice! Ice! “He sat down on a chair and checked the pulse of the sick, to whom he addressed a few brief questions.
“Hm” - he did after a pause. “I'll prescribe a little thing.” With that he got up and limped out of the room.
The Freiherr had followed him and now anxiously asked: “Well, dear Doctor - well?”
“Cerebral fever,” he replied dryly as he looked around for writing supplies.
“I'll bring you what you need right away. - But do you say: do you consider the condition very dangerous?”
“It can be a brain infection. Has Mrs. Baronin been in a lingering mood lately?”
Despite his self-control, and although he had been prepared for the question, the baron felt himself flushing. “She took an incident to heart, but -”
“HM Yes. Childless women of such age and- “he cast a peculiar glance at the Freiherr. “By the way, who knows how things are related. Excellency have had accommodation here up here as well? Not true?”
The baron could not suppress a gesture of dismay. “Yes certainly -”
“So now. I can only tell you that there have been typhus cases in places for a few days now. Maybe the dragoons have brought in something and left it as a keepsake.”
To conceal his excitement, the Baron entered the next room and brought in a small dainty inkwell with pen and paper.
“Well,” said the doctor, after writing a quick recipe, “that's all I can do. For the rest: continued ice packs, cooling drinks. In any case, I would advise you to consult a doctor. In such cases I do not like to take on the sole responsibility. Because I apply, although I have my diploma in the bag “he hit it on the hip” in the eyes of many people but only as Landbader. It is too late, of course, to reserve a capacity from Prague - or even from Vienna.”
“Too late!” Cried the baron anxiously.
“Yes; because the crisis often comes in very quickly.”
“But a favorable turn is possible?”
“Possible, yes. Send a car to Trautenau - to Dr. Lederer. A pupil of Oppolzer. He is indeed a strange saint and will spread - but finally come. However, he can barely be there twelve hours ago, “the doctor added thoughtfully.
“They scare me to the limit!”
“N / A! N / A! Excellence does not lose its head. One thing I have to say to you, so that you do not frighten too much: it is likely to occur even today delirium. Anyway, I'll be back in the evening. Good day!”
With this thoughtless spoken greeting that has become a habit for him every time he comes and goes, he went away, leaving the baron to a mute despair.
“My God! My God! Should it be so far - and no longer be a rescue? “Whispered finally the agonizingly oppressed and went back with quiet steps in the hospital room. He leaned over Klothilde, who seemed to be lying in restless slumber, and took her hand lightly. At the touch, she opened her eyes and looked at him like a stranger. But then she smiled, and he felt her fingers close to gentle pressure.
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
“Oh, not worse,” she replied in a languid voice. “Only tired, very tired - I want to sleep in a future.”
“Well, sleep, my child, sleep,” said the Freiherr tenderly. “But we'll have to make ice packs.”
“That will do me well,” breathed Klothilde, while she had already closed her eyelids.
In the meantime ice had been brought and the Freiherr met even the first institutions. Then he left the chambermaid the further care to be able to arrange now the dispatch of the car to Trautenau. He did it, as he confessed to himself, without comforting expectation. For with that foreboding gloomy foresight, which mature and well-tested people own, he already doubted a happy outcome. “I rely on your prudence,” he said to the valet he entrusted to the doctor with the message, “and know that you will not fail.”
Then he returned to the sick man, the girl was called away for a while, and sat down close to the bed. Klothilde slumbered. But she moved her head and arms back and forth; her white fingers seemed to be picking up flakes from the blue satin coverlet.
Slowly, heavy metals passed the hours while the sun sank lower and lower and their last reddish gold shimmered through the cracks in the blinds.
What was that suddenly? Klothilde had moved her lips and mumbled incomprehensible words. He thought they were his, and bowed his head low to hers. But she did not notice it.
“Do you want something, Klothilde?” He asked softly.
No Answer; only renewed, stronger mumbling - incomprehensible words.
His heart froze. The beginning delirious! it spoke in him.
The sick became increasingly restless; She tossed her head back and forth, moaning and groaning, seeming to speak to invisible people.
If only he could understand! And now a few words had penetrated his ears. They were French words! They had seldom used each other in the intercourse of this language; yes, Klothilde had a kind of aversion to it, for she had learned it very hard and laboriously in her youth and later mastered it only imperfectly. And now - in her illness - in the unconsciousness of her mind she reached for it!
“Le cheval! Le cheval!“She exclaimed now, screaming terribly, and half-wrenched herself upright. Suddenly she sank back, stretched out and remained motionless.
The Baron perceived all this in the uncertain darkness of the room. “Klothilde!” He cried in horror. “Klothilde!”
She remained silent.
“My God!” Groaned the Freiherr. “If only doctor -”
But now, too, as quietly as he could, he came through the door, followed by the anxious-looking girl, who cupped the light of a candle with her hand.
“Oh, doctor, just look...”
He took the light off the girl and dropped the full glow on Klothilde. She was still very stiff; her beautiful face was distorted, the corners of her mouth pulled down.
“My God, Doctor, what's that?”
This one seemed startled himself; he obviously had not expected this sight. ” Trismus - Trismus,” he finally said. “Is mustard flour in the house? Quick!”
The girl hurried away.
But something already occurred which made the Freiherr shudder. A sudden shudder passed through his wife's body; his eyes opened wide, his fingers clenched, and with a hissing breath the patient suddenly sprang up in bed.
“Convulsive attack!” Shouted the doctor. “Such an acute course has not occurred to me in my entire practice. As soon as there is some reassurance, I will immediately apply a venous incision. But now, Excellency, it is time to send for the clergyman.”
The baron flinched. He had not thought of that. According to the spirit of hi
s time, he was not an infidel; however, he had always placed little importance on religious customs and ceremonies, as well as on his wife, who preferred to do her quiet worship in the small castle chapel on the ground floor. But now Klothilde was to be provided with the death-sacraments, and the most profound significance of the moment struck him on the soul.
It so happened that the parish priest, who had been informed by a servant, had himself for some days been unwell and therefore had to send his co-operative; This also appeared in a short time.
The Freiherr had walked down the stairs to meet a very young cleric, who recently stepped out of the alumnat. A thin, tall figure with blond hair and a delicate, almost girly face expressing embarrassment and embarrassment. When the baron now trembled with him in a trembling voice, as the unforeseen and quickly the sad case had come-and that the patient was unconscious, he replied, blushing heavily, “Oh, I understand-I understand-I am going to do the sacred thing so quickly as possible.”
His eyes lowered to the ground, he entered the dimly lit room and did not raise his eyes until he was standing close to the patient, to whom the doctor had meanwhile used a slight blood-withdrawal. With a trembling voice and a trembling hand, while the others knelt in the background of the room, he accepted the ceremony of last rites; he scarcely dared to look at the motionless, pale young woman, and it was like escaping when, after a brief prayer, he left the room.
The Freiherr had hurried after him and gratefully took his hand outside: “God bless you!” Murmured the priest, hastily defending himself, and went away with the Messner, who was now ringing his bell in the courtyard.
When the Baron returned, he found the doctor by the bedside, his head lowered in sadness. Both now looked silently at Klothilde, from whose beautiful countenance the distortion had disappeared. But she had closed her eyes and breathed hastily and intermittently.
“Doctor!” Pleaded the Freiherr.
The other shook his head despondently. ” Collapsus! He said softly.
“So must I be prepared for the extreme?”
Short Stories From Austria- Ferdinand Von Saar Page 29
