III.
On the afternoon of the same day, a light one-horse cabriolet sped overthe common which extends across country for several miles northwards ofGromowo, and in the direction of the little town.
Dark and lowering, as if within reach of one's hand, the clouds layover the level plain. Here and there a willow stump stretched itsgnarled excrescences into the fog-laden air, all saturated withmoisture and glistening with the drops which hung in long rows on itsbare branches. The wheels sank deep into the boggy road, winding alongbetween withered reed-grass, and often the water splashed up as high asthe box-seat.
The man who held the reins took little heed of the surroundinglandscape; quite lost in thought he sat huddled up, only occasionallystarting up when the reins threatened to slip from his carelessfingers. Then the herculean build of his limbs became apparent, and hisbroad, high-arched chest expanded as if it would burst the coarse greycloak which stretched across it in scanty folds.
The man's stature was similar to that of old Hellinger, perhaps evensuperior, and the face, too, bore an undeniable family resemblance; butwhat had there remained pleasing and soft and undefined even in oldage, had here developed into harsh, impressive lines, testifying todefiance and gloomy brooding. A curly, terribly-neglected beard in darkdisorder encompassed the firm-set jaw, assumed a lighter dye near thecorners of the mouth, and fell upon the breast in two fair points.
This was Robert Hellinger, the owner of Gromowo manor, Olga'sbetrothed. Of the happiness that had come to him yesterday there waslittle written in his face. His grey, half-veiled eyes stared moodilyinto the distance, and the wrinkles between his eyebrows never for onemoment disappeared. He well knew that hard work was in store for himbefore he could lead home his bride--hours of bitterest struggle wereimminent, and even victory would bring him nothing but care andanxiety. His thoughts travelled back over the dark times that lay inthe past, and that had hardly ever been illumined by a ray of light.
It was now six years since his father had solemnly made over to him, aseldest son, the old family inheritance, the manor, and had himselfretired to a comfortable quiet life in the little town. On this dayhis period of suffering had commenced, for he was burdened with ayoke so heavy that even his herculean shoulders threatened to breakunder its weight; everything he gained by the work of his sinewyhands--everything of which he positively pinched himself--melted awayand was swallowed up by the claims which his family laid upon him. Hehad no right to complain. Was it not all according to strict law? Theinheritance had been exactly divided to the very last farthing amonghim and his six brothers and sisters, not counting the reserve whichhis parents claimed for themselves.
Every brick of his house, every clod of his land, was encumbered--onevery ear of corn ripening in his fields his mother's suspicious gazewas fixed, for she kept strict watch lest the interests should come ina minute late. And was she not justified in so doing? Had he a right toclaim more love from her than she gave to her other children? Therewere brothers who wanted to make their way in the world; sisters whohad only been married for the sake of their dowry: they all lookedanxiously and eagerly towards him as the promoter and preserver oftheir happiness.
The interests! That was the dreadful word that henceforth hour by hourdroned in his ears, that by night startled him from his sleep andfilled his dreams with wild visions. The interests! How often on theiraccount he had beaten his brow with clenched fists! How often he hadrun without sense or feeling through the loamy fields, to escape fromthis host of glinting, gleaming devils! How often in a blind fit ofrage he had smashed to pieces some tool, a ploughshare, a waggon-pole,with his fist, as if he did not mind with what weapon he fought them!But they did not leave him. All the more tenaciously did they fastenthemselves on to his heels; all the more thirstily did they suck themarrow from his young bones.
What good was it that he sometimes succeeded in mastering them? Thishydra everlastingly brought forth new heads; from quarter to quarter itstood there before his terrified gaze, more and more monstrous, moreand more gigantic, growing and swelling, ready to pounce upon him andcrush him with the weight of its body. Thus from one reprieve to thenext his life had dragged along since that day which was so merrilycelebrated at the "Black Eagle" with drinking of claret and champagne.
If only his mother had exercised some leniency! But she did not evenexempt him from the stipulated asparagus in spring, nor even from theloan of the carriage for drives during harvest-time when the horseswere so badly wanted in the fields.
"He that will not hearken to advice must suffer," she was wont to say,and he would not hearken; no, indeed not! With one short, simple "yes"he might have put a stop to all his misery, might have lived in the lapof luxury to the end of his days; and because he would not do it, outof sheer, inconceivable stubbornness, because all her wife-hunting hadbeen to no purpose--that was why his mother could not forgive him.
Thus two years passed away. Then he began to feel that such a life mustsooner or later make a wreck of him. This anxiety and worry wasexhausting him more and more; he decided to put an end to it all and todemand of fate that modest share of happiness which was pledged andpromised to him by a pair of faithful blue eyes, and a pale, gentlemouth. Then came a day when he brought home, as wife to his hearth, thelove of his youth, who had shortly become orphaned and homeless.
It was a dreary, sad November day, and dark clouds sped like birds ofill omen across the sky. Trembling and pale, in her black mourningdress, the frail, delicate creature hung on his arm and quaked beneathevery half-compassionate, half-contemptuous glance with which thestrange people examined her.
As for his mother, she had received her with reproaches andmaledictions, and a year had elapsed before tolerable relations wereestablished between the two.
Martha had kept up bravely, and in spite of her delicate health, hadworked from morn to night in order to set to rights what had all gonetopsy-turvy during the master's long bachelorhood.
And when, after three years of quiet, cheering companionship. Heavenwas about to bless their union, she had--even when her conditionalready required the greatest care--always been up and doing, workingand ordering in kitchen, attic, and cellar.
It almost seemed as if thus by labour she wanted to give an equivalentfor her missing dowry.
Then--two days after the birth of a child--Olga had suddenly arrived inGromowo. He had not seen her since his marriage. At first sight of herhe was almost startled. She came towards him with an expression of suchproud reserve and bitterness; she had blossomed forth to such regalbeauty.
And this woman he was to-day to call his own! Yet what a world ofsuffering, how many days of gloomiest brooding and despair, how manynights full of horrible visions lay between now and then!
He shuddered; he did not like to recall it any more. To-day everythingseemed to have turned out well; Martha's glorified image smiled down inpeace and benediction, and, like a flower sprung from her grave,happiness was blooming anew for him.
Nearer and nearer came the turrets of the little town; higher andhigher they stretched up behind the alder thickets. And a quarter of anhour later the carriage drove into the roughly-paved street.
Soon after entering the gates Robert made the discovery that people whomet him to-day behaved towards him in the most peculiar manner. Someavoided him, others in evident confusion doffed their caps and then asquickly as possible fled from his presence. On the other hand, thewindows of every house past which the carriage drove, filled with headsthat stared at him gravely and disappeared hurriedly behind thecurtains at his greeting.
He shook his head doubtfully. But as his mind was so full of theapproaching struggle, he took not much notice, and henceforth lookedneither to the right nor to the left. At the corner of the marketplace,where there used to be the little excise-office, stood his uncle's, thedoctor's, old housekeeper, holding her hands hidden under her blueapron, and with an expression on her face like that of an undertaker.
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nbsp; As the carriage approached, she signed to him to stop.
"Well, Mrs. Liebetreu," he said, amused, "you at least do not take toyour heels at my approach to-day."
The old woman gazed up at the sky, so that she might not have to lookhim in the face.
"Oh! young master," said she--he was always called "young master," todistinguish him from his father, though he was long past thirty--"thedoctor wishes me to ask if you will kindly just step round there first;he has something to say to you."
"Is what he has to say to me very pressing?"
The woman was very much terrified, for she thought the unhappyintelligence would now fall to her lot to tell.
"Oh, gracious me!" she said; "he only put it like that."
"Well, then, give my kindest regards to my uncle the doctor, and themessage, that I only just wanted first to have a little talk with myparents--he knows what about--and will then come round to him at once."
The old woman muttered something, but the words stuck in her throat.The carriage rolled on in the direction of old Hellinger's villa,that lay there under mighty old lime-trees, as if resting beneath acanopy. The bright plate-glass windows greeted him cheerily, theshining tiled roof gleamed in the light, the tranquillity of awell-provisioned old age rested, as usual, over all. He tied his horseto the garden-railings, and strode with heavy, noisy tread up thesmall flight of steps, on the parapet of which, in wide-bellied urns,half-faded aster plants mournfully drooped their heads.
The hall-bell sounded in shrill tones through the house, but no one putin an appearance to receive him. He threw down his rain-soaked cloak onone of the oak chests in which his mother's linen treasures were hiddenaway. Then he stepped into the sitting-room--it was empty.
"The old people are probably taking their afternoon nap," he muttered;"and I think it will be advisable to let them have their sleep outto-day."
He flung himself into a corner of the sofa, and gazed towards the door;for he privately hoped that Olga might have noticed his conveyance infront of the house, and would come down to shake hands with him.
He began to get impatient. "Can she have gone out to the manor?" heasked himself But, no--she would not do that; for she knew he wouldcome to speak to his parents.
"I will knock at her door," he decided, and got up.
He smiled anxiously, and stretched his mighty limbs. After havinglonged for her incessantly since yesterday evening, now, at the momentof beholding her again, he was filled with a peculiar fear of facingher. The feeling of humble reverence, which always took possession ofhim in her presence, now again made itself evident. Was it possiblethat this woman had yesterday hung upon his neck? And what if sheregretted it to-day--if she went back from her word?
But at this moment all his defiance awoke within him. He opened hisarms wide, and with a smile which reflected the memory of happy hoursrecently lived through, he cried:
"Let her but dare such a thing! With these hands of mine I will lifther up and carry her to my home! If Martha gives her consent, I wonderwho should object."
On tip-toe, so as not to wake his parents, he climbed up the stairs,which nevertheless creaked and groaned under the weight of his body.
Before Olga's door he started back, for he saw the gleam of light whichfell through the broken panel on to the corridor.
No one answered to his knocking. Nevertheless, he entered.
* * * * *
A moment later the whole house trembled in its foundations, as if theroof had fallen in.
The two old people, who had retired to their bedroom to recuperatetheir strength after those trying hours of the forenoon, started up interror. They called the maids. But these had run off, so that the townshould no longer be kept in ignorance of the newest details about thesad occurrence.
"You go up," said the energetic woman to her husband, and tremblinglyput out her hand for the little bottle of sulphuric ether which shealways kept at hand. It was the first time in her life that she feltfrightened.
When old Hellinger entered the gable-room, he saw a sight which frozethe blood in his veins.
His son's body lay stretched on the ground. As he fell he must haveclutched the supports of the bier on which the dead girl had beenplaced, and dragged down the whole erection with him; for on the top ofhim, between the broken planks, lay the corpse, in its long whiteshroud, its motionless face upon his face, its bared arms thrown overhis head.
At this moment he regained consciousness, and started up. The deadgirl's head sank down from his, and bumped on to the floor.
"Robert, my boy!" cried the old man, and rushed towards him.
With wide-open, glassy eyes, Robert stared about him. He seemed not yetto have recovered his senses. Then he perceived one of the arms, which,as the body dropped sidewards, had fallen right across his chest. Hisgaze travelled along it up to the shoulder, as far as the neck--as faras the white rigidly-smiling face.
Supported by the old man's two arms, he raised himself up. He totteredon his legs like a bull that has received a blow from an axe.
"Good God, boy, do come to your senses!" cried his father, taking himby his shoulders. "The misfortune has taken place; we are men, we mustkeep our composure."
His son looked at him vacantly, helplessly as a child. Then he bentover the dead body, lifted it up, and laid it across the bed, pushingthe fragments of the bier to one side with his foot.
Then he seated himself close to her on the pillow, and mechanicallywound a coil of her flowing hair round his finger.
The old man began to entertain fears of his son's sanity.
"Robert," he said, coming close up to him again, "pull yourselftogether. Come away from here; you cannot bring her back to lifeagain."
Then he broke into a laugh so shrill and horrible, that it froze thevery marrow in his father's bones.
All of a sudden his stupor left him; he jumped up, his eyes glowed, andon his temples the veins swelled up.
"Where is mother?" he screamed, advancing towards the old man.
He sought to pacify him.
"Good heavens! do have patience! We will tell you all."
The old lady, who had already been standing for a long time listeningon the stairs, at this moment put in her head at the door.
He rushed past his father and at her as if about to strangle her;but he had at least so much reason left as to be sensible of themonstrousness of his proceeding. His arms fell down limp at hissides--he set his teeth as if to choke down his pent-up rage. "Mother,"said he, "you shall account to me for this. I demand an explanation ofyou. Why did she die?"
The old woman came towards him with tender compassion, and made as ifshe would burst into tears upon his neck.
With a rough movement he shook her off.
"Leave that, mother," he said, "I claim her from you!"
"But, Robert," whined the old woman, "is this the way for a son totreat his mother? Adalbert, just tell him how he ought to treat hismother!"
He took hold of the old man's hands. "You keep out of the game,father," he said. "The account which I have to settle to-day with mymother concerns us two alone. Mother, I ask you once more: why didshe die?" He was leaning against the wall and stared at her withhalf-closed, blood-shot eyes.
Mrs. Hellinger had meanwhile commenced to cry.
"Do you suppose I know?" she sobbed; "do you suppose anybody at allknows? We found her in her bed, that is all. She has brought disgraceupon our house, the miserable creature, in return for----"
"Do not abuse her, mother," he said, wildly, speaking in an angryundertone; "you know very well that she was my bride!"
His mother gave vent to a cry of astonishment, and her husband too madea movement of surprise.
"What! you do not know that? Mother," he cried, and pressed both hisfists to his temples, "did she say nothing to you? Did she not come toyou last night, and tell you what had taken place between her and meduring the day?"
"Heaven forbid!" groaned the old woman.
"Scarce a syllable did shespeak to me, but went and locked herself up in her room."
"Mother," he said, and stepped close up to her. "When she had confessedall to you, did you not work upon her conscience? Did you not impressit upon her that if she truly loved me she must give me up, that shewould bring misfortune upon me, and Heaven knows what besides! Mother,did you not do this?"
"My own son does not believe me! My own son gives me the lie,"whimpered the old woman. "These are the thanks that I get from mychildren to-day."
He grasped her right hand. "Mother," he said, "you have done me many awrong in all these years. The worst and bitterest I ever experiencedcame to me through you."
"Merciful Heavens," shrieked the old woman, "these are thethanks--these are the thanks!"
"But all the evil you did to me and Martha I will forgive you, mother,"he continued, "nay, more even! On my bended knees I will ask yourforgiveness for ever having harboured a bitter thought against you; butone thing you must do for me--here by her dead body you must swear thatyou knew of nothing, that in all things you were speaking the truth."And he dragged her to the corpse that stared up at him with itsecstatic smile--a bride's smile to her bridegroom.
"That such a thing should be necessary between us," complained the oldwoman, and cast a glance of bitter hatred at him out of her swolleneyes. But she suffered him to lay her right hand on the dead girl'sforehead; she stroked it and sobbed, "I swear it, my sweet one, youknow best that I knew nothing and never required anything wrong ofyou." Thereupon she gave a sigh of relief, as if she had suddenly cometo understand what a gain this tragic deed would mean for her and herfamily. Sincere gratitude lay in the tender caress with which shefondled the dead face.
At this moment the old physician came rushing into the room. He hadhoped to overtake Robert and prepare him for the worst, and saw interror that he had come too late.
Old Hellinger hurried towards him and whispered in his ear: "Take himaway, he is out of his senses! We can do nothing with him here!"
Robert stood there clutching at the bed-posts, his chest heaving, hisface as if turned to stone with gloomy, tearless misery.
The old doctor rubbed his stubbly grey beard against his shoulder, andgrowled in that roughly compassionate way which goes quickest to thehearts of strong men.
"Come away, my boy; don't do anything foolish; do not disturb herrest."
Robert started and nodded several times.
Then suddenly--as if overpowered by his misery--he fell down in frontof the bed and cried out, "Wherefore didst thou die?"
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