Selected Prose of Heinrich Von Kleist

by Heinrich von Kleist

  Here ends this legend. The woman, whose ongoing presence in Aachen was completely pointless, after leaving the court a small sum of money for the care of her poor sons, returned to The Hague, where, the following year, deeply moved by all that had happened, she forthwith returned to the lap of the Catholic church; her sons, for their part, gave up the ghost at a ripe old age, succumbing to a serene and joyous death after having, as was their wont, sung the Gloria in excelsis yet again.

  THE BEGGAR WOMAN OF LOCARNO

  · · ·

  At the foot of the Alps, near Locarno in northern Italy, at the descent of the St. Gotthard, stood an old castle belonging to a marquis, which nowadays the traveler finds lying in rack and ruin, a castle with high-ceilinged and spacious rooms, in which a sick old woman found begging at the gate was once bedded down in straw by the merciful lady of the house. Returning from the hunt, the marquis, who happened to enter the room in which he was wont to store his powder box, demanded that the woman rise against her will from where she lay and move herself behind the oven. Standing upright with the aid of a crutch, she promptly slipped on the slick floor and seriously injured herself in the small of the back; she was so badly hurt that, making an unspeakable effort, she managed to get up again, and as commanded by the marquis, crossed the room to the oven, but collapsed there, moaning and groaning, and died.

  Many years later, his financial circumstances strained by war and crop failure, the marquis welcomed a Florentine cavalier who wished to buy the castle from him on account of its splendid site. The marquis, who set much store by this transaction, bid his wife put up the stranger in the aforementioned, now empty, room, which was quite lovely and lavishly appointed. How taken aback was the couple, when, in the middle of the night, the cavalier came stumbling down, troubled and pale, swearing on his honor that the room was haunted, that something invisible to the naked eye arose in a corner, with a sound as though it had been lying in straw, and with clearly audible steps, slow and tottering, crossed the room and dropped itself down behind the oven, moaning and groaning.

  Frightened for reasons he could not tell, the marquis laughed at the cavalier with feigned amusement, and declared that he would get up then and there, to put his mind at rest, and spend the night in the room with him. But the cavalier begged leave to spend the night on an easy chair in their bedroom, and in the morning had his horses bridled, bid farewell and rode off.

  This incident, which sparked a considerable stir, scared off many potential buyers and greatly vexed the marquis; indeed, so much so that, to still the rumor, however strange and incomprehensible, circulating among his own domestic servants, that something went walking around the room at midnight, and to once and for all put an end to this regrettable business, he decided to look into it himself the following night. Consequently, at sunset he had his servants make his bed in said room, and awaited midnight without shutting an eye. But imagine his dismay when, in fact, at the stroke of the witching hour, he heard the inconceivable sound; it was as if a person lifted himself from the straw that crackled beneath him, traversed the room at a diagonal, and sank down behind the oven, rattling and groaning. The next morning the marquise inquired how the investigation had gone; and when, with fearful and uncertain glances, and after shutting and locking the door, he assured her that there was indeed a spook, she flinched as never before in her life and asked him, before making the matter public, to carry out another cold-blooded inspection in her company. But the following night they and a faithful servant whom they took with them did, indeed, hear the same inconceivable ghastly sound; and only the pressing desire to rid themselves of the castle, whatever the cost, enabled them to hide the horror with which they were gripped from their servant, ascribing the sound to some inconsequential and coincidental cause that would surely be established in due time. On the evening of the third day, when, with throbbing hearts, the two of them once again climbed the stairs to the guest quarters to get to the bottom of the matter, their unleashed dog scampered along to the door to said room; and since both of them, without admitting it to themselves, shared the instinctive desire to have yet a third living entity accompany them, they took the dog with them into the room.

  At about eleven o’clock, the couple sits down, each on his and her own bed, the marquise not undressed, the marquis with dagger and pistols he’d taken from the closet beside him; and they try as best they can to distract themselves with conversation, while the dog lies down with head and legs folded in the middle of the room and falls asleep. Whereupon, at the stroke of midnight, the terrible sound is once again heard; someone invisible to the naked eye raised herself on crutches in the far corner; you could hear the sound of the straw crinkling beneath her; and at the first footsteps: tap! tap!, the dog awakened, suddenly raised itself off the floor, with ears pricked up, and growling and barking, as though someone had approached, slipped back toward the oven. At the sight of this, with her hair standing on end, the marquise stormed out of the room; and while the marquis, grasping for his dagger, cried: “Who’s there?” and receiving no reply, slashed the air in all directions, like a lunatic, she ordered the horses harnessed, determined to drive off post-haste to the city. But before she managed to pack a few things and rush out the door, she already saw the castle bursting into flame all around her. The marquis, numb with terror and weary of life, had taken a lit candle and with it set fire to the four wood-paneled walls of the room. To no avail, she sent people in to save the wretched man; he had already perished in the most miserable way, and to this very day his white bones, gathered by the country folk, lie in that corner of the room from which he had forced the beggar woman of Locarno to rise.

  THE MARQUISE OF O…

  (Based on an actual occurrence, the scene of which has been

  transposed from the north to the south)

  In M . . . , a major city in northern Italy, the widowed Marquise of O . . . , a woman of peerless reputation and the mother of two well-brought-up children, let it be known in the newspaper that she had, unbeknownst to her, been gotten in the family way; that the father of the child that she was about to bear had best make himself known; and that, for family considerations, she was resolved to marry him. The lady who, without the slightest hesitation, driven by unalterable circumstances, took such a singular initiative sure to arouse universal ridicule, was the daughter of Colonel von G . . . , the commandant of the Citadel at M . . . . About three years previously she had lost her husband, the Marquis of O . . . , to whom she had been deeply and dearly attached, on a trip he took to Paris on family business. Heeding the express wishes of Madame von G . . . , her worthy mother, she left the country estate in V . . . , where she had lived until then, and moved back with her two children to her father’s quarters in the commandant’s residence. Here she had spent the next few years in the greatest seclusion, engaged in art, reading, the education of her children and the care of her parents, until, on account of the . . . War, the region was suddenly teeming with the troops of all the warring powers, including the Russians. Colonel von G . . . , who was in charge of the citadel’s defense, ordered his wife and daughter to take refuge at the latter’s country estate, or at that of his son, also in V . . . . But before considerations of the dangers of remaining in the fortress could be fully apprehended by female intuition and weighed against the atrocities they might face in the country, the citadel was surrounded by Russian troops and ordered to surrender. The colonel informed his family that he would now have to act as if they were not there, and replied to the Russians’ demand with bullets and grenades. The enemy likewise bombarded the citadel. They set the arms depot on fire, scaled an outer wall, and when the commandant wavered in the face of a repeated call for capitulation, ordered an attack at nightfall and stormed the fortress.

  Just as the Russian troops came pouring in, backed by heavy howitzer fire, the left wing of the commandant’s quarters caught fire, obliging the women to flee. Rushing along behind the marquise and her children, the commandant’s wi
fe cried out that they had best stick together and take refuge on the lower floors; but at that very moment a grenade exploded in the house, causing total chaos. The marquise and her two children stumbled out into the front yard, where shots had been ringing out all night long through the thick of battle, chasing the poor, bewildered woman back into the burning building. Here, unfortunately, wanting to slip out again through the rear door, she ran into a troop of enemy sharpshooters, who, at the sight of her, suddenly went silent, slung their rifles over their shoulders, and with the crudest gestures dragged her away. The marquise cried out in vain to her trembling ladies-in-waiting, who shrank back, as she found herself dragged along now here, now there by the terrible rabble, who were fighting among themselves. They pulled her off to the rear courtyard where, having to endure the most abominable abuse, she was on the verge of collapse, when, overhearing the woman’s pitiful cries, a Russian officer suddenly appeared, and with wild thrusts of his saber scattered the dirty dogs who lusted after her. To the marquise he seemed like a heavenly angel. With the handle of his dagger he struck full in the face the last filthy scoundrel who had his arms around her slender body, so that the latter tumbled backwards, blood pouring from his mouth; then, with an obligatory French salutation, he offered his arm to the lady, herself rendered speechless by all that had happened, and led her to another wing of the palace, one that had not yet caught fire, where she promptly collapsed in a faint. “Here” – he called for a doctor, once she’d been joined by her terrified ladies-in-waiting; and after assuring them that she would soon revive, he plunked his hat back on his head and returned to battle.

  In a short time the yard was completely overrun, and the commandant, who only continued to resist because his request for a reprieve had been declined, drew back with waning strength into the portal of his burning castle just as the Russian officer staggered out, flushed in the face, calling on him to surrender. The commandant replied that he had been awaiting this request, handed over his dagger and begged permission to go back inside to search for his family. The Russian officer, who, judging from the role he played, appeared to be one of the leaders of the assault, accorded him this liberty, under the accompaniment of a guard; proceeded with some dispatch to lead a detachment to where the battle still raged and quickly took control of the last holdout positions of the fortress. Soon thereafter he returned to the yard, gave orders to put out the flames that had begun to rage wildly all about, and pitched in with startling effort when his orders were not followed with adequate zeal. Now he clambered, hose in hand, amongst the burning gables, directing the jet of water; now he poked his head into the arsenal, making his Asian troops tremble, and rolled out powder kegs and loaded bombs. The commandant, in the meantime, upon entering his residential quarters and learning of the attack on his daughter, was deeply upset. The marquise, who had already, just as the Russian officer had promised, completely revived from her faint without the aid of a physician, overjoyed to see her nearest and dearest gathered safe and sound around her, only stayed in bed to assuage their concerns, assuring her father that she had no other wish than to be allowed to get up and express her thanks to the man who had saved her. She had already learned that he was the Count F . . . , lieutenant colonel of the T . . . n Riflemen’s Corps, and a knight decorated with the Order of Merit and many other medals. She asked her father to implore him not to leave the citadel without first making a brief appearance in the castle. Honoring his daughter’s request, the commandant promptly returned to the fort, and as the Russian officer was engaged in a never-ending deluge of orders relating to the war, and no better moment could be found to talk, right then and there on the ramparts, from which the latter surveyed the state of his wounded troops, the commandant conveyed his daughter’s ardent wish. The count assured him that, as soon as he had a free moment following the completion of his duties, he would pay his respects. He was still waiting to hear how Madame la Marquise was faring when the formal report of several officers dragged him back into the melee of battle. At daybreak, the commanding officer of the Russian troops arrived and visited the fort. He conveyed his respects to the vanquished commandant, expressing his regret that fortune did not favor his courage, and accorded him, on his honor, freedom of passage to go where he willed. The commandant assured him of his appreciation and declared what a great debt of gratitude he owed on this day to the Russians in general, and in particular, to the young Count F . . . , lieutenant colonel of the T . . . n Riflemen’s Corps. The Russian general inquired as to what had happened; and upon being informed of the shameless attack on the commandant’s daughter he was outraged. He called for Count F . . . by name. And after first briefly praising him for his own noble behavior – whereby the count turned red in the face – he concluded that he intended to have the scoundrels who besmirched the czar’s good name shot by firing squad; and he ordered the count to tell him who they were. Count F . . . replied in a rambling statement that he was unable to give their names, since it had been impossible to recognize their faces in the dim light of reverberating gunfire. The general, who had heard that the castle was in flames at the time of the attack, expressed his surprise; he remarked that even at night one could well recognize familiar people by the sound of their voices; and ordered the count, who shrugged his shoulders and looked askance, to make haste to investigate the matter rigorously. At that moment someone who pushed his way forward from the rear reported that one of those scoundrels wounded by the count had collapsed in the corridor, and that the commandant’s people had since dragged him to a holding cell, where he could still be found. The general had the latter brought up by a guard for a brief interrogation; and after the knave had named the whole gang, five in all, the general had them shot. This having been accomplished, and after leaving behind a small occupying detail, the general gave orders for the decampment of all remaining troops; the officers hastily dispersed among their various corps; amidst the confusion of the scattering soldiers, the count approached the commandant and expressed his regrets that, under these circumstances, he was compelled to respectfully bid farewell to Madame la Marquise; and in less than an hour the entire fort was once again free of Russians.

  The family pondered how in the future they might find an occasion to show some expression of their gratitude to the count; but how great was their horror upon learning that on the very day of his departure from the fort he met his death in an engagement with enemy forces. The messenger who brought this sad news back to M . . . had with his own eyes seen him mortally wounded in the breast, carried to P . . . , where, according to an irrefutable source, at the moment the stretcher-bearers lowered him from their shoulders he gave up the ghost. The commandant, who personally went to the guardhouse to confer with the messenger and inquire as to the specific circumstances, learned that on the battlefield, at the moment he was hit by the shot, he was said to have cried out: “Julietta! This bullet avenges your dishonoring!” whereupon his lips shut forever. The marquise was distraught that she had let the opportunity pass to fling herself at his feet. She heaped the bitterest blame upon herself that, in light of his heart-stirring hesitation to make an appearance in the castle, due, no doubt, in her view, to his modesty, that she had not taken the initiative to seek him out herself; she felt profound pity for her unlucky namesake, of whom he had thought at the moment of dying; she sought in vain to find out where the woman lived so as to inform her of this sad and stirring occurrence; and many months passed before she herself could put him out of her mind.

  The family was obliged to quit the commandant’s residence to make room for the Russian commanding officer. They considered at first retiring to Colonel von G . . . ’s country estate, to which the marquise felt a great attachment; but since the colonel did not like country life the family moved into a house in the city, fitting it out as a permanent residence. Everything returned to normal. The marquise resumed the long-interrupted education of her children, brought out her easel and books for leisure moments, whereupon, heretofore the e
pitome of good health, she felt herself beset by repeated indispositions, taking her out of circulation for weeks at a time. She suffered from bouts of nausea, dizziness, and fainting, and did not know what to make of her curious condition. One morning, as the family sat at tea, and the father had for an instant left the room, the marquise, as though awakening from a long, drawn-out daze, said to her mother: “If a woman told me that she had the kind of feeling I just had as I reached for the cup, I’d think to myself that she was anticipating a blessed event.” Madame von G . . . replied that she did not understand. The marquise explained again that she had just felt the same sensation she had felt back when she was pregnant with her second daughter. Madame von G . . . said she would perhaps give birth to a fantasy, and laughed. Morpheus, at least, or one of the dream knights in his retinue, would be his father, she joked. But the colonel returned to table, the conversation was interrupted, and since in a matter of days the marquise was well again, the subject was forgotten.