CHAPTER XXV.
When I reached home it was one o'clock--a fact which I could scarcely comprehend. It seemed to me as if not hours but weeks had elapsed since I parted from Hermine. I went on tip-toe to her room and bent over her bed, where she lay sleeping, one arm beneath her head, like a slumbering child. And like that of a child was the expression of her face, as though a happy dream were passing through her spirit. It seemed to me like a crime to sit watching, with a world of sorrow and anguish in my soul, by the side of this blessed peace; and yet slumber was impossible to me. So I put the shade before the night-lamp again, and went to my own bed-chamber where I had already lighted a lamp.
In the dim light of this lamp which only made a few objects in the room visible while the rest were plunged in darkness, I sat for hours before the hearth in which the last spark had long died out from the ashes, revolving in my breast thoughts indescribably painful. In vain did I endeavor to recall my old cheerful courage; it seemed to have died out, like the embers in the ashes before me, which had once glowed as brightly and sparkled as cheerfully: in vain did I try to bring to my memory all the goodness and kindness that life had brought me hitherto, and in which it still was rich; nothing would appear to me in the old light: all was empty, gray, and dead, as though the world were but a scene of devastation and decay, and I were wandering comfortless and alone, among the ruins of splendors long passed away.
A reaction from my excessive excitement must have overcome me at last. I dreamed that there was a gray twilight that was neither night nor day. I was wandering alone upon the bleak ridge of the promontory at Zehrendorf, and a bitter piercing wind was blowing from the sea. All was waste and desolate, and there was nothing to be seen but the ruin of the old Zehrenburg, which rose dumb and defiant in the twilight. But when I looked at it, it was not the old castle, but a gigantic statue of stone, which was the Wild Zehren looking with dull glazed eyes towards the west, where his sun had set forever in the eternal sea. And though no light illuminated the gray twilight, a bright glitter flashed from a golden chain which was on the neck of the stone giant who was the Wild Zehren, and spurs of gold gleamed upon his feet of stone, and brightly flashed the bare blade of the broad knight's sword which lay across his knees of stone. And as, full of inward terror, I watched the statue, a small figure came through the tall broom and drew near the stone giant, which it crept lurkingly around, and watched from all sides. And the queer small figure was the commerzienrath, and he made the oddest faces and cut the strangest capers when he found the giant was so fast asleep. Suddenly he began to clamber up the knees, then stood upon tip-toe and took the golden chain from the giant's neck and hung it around his own, then sprang down and took the sword, and lastly the golden spurs, which he buckled on. Then with ridiculous pomposity he strode backwards and forwards in the knight's accoutrements, and tried to brandish the sword, but could not lift it, while his spurs kept catching in the high broom and tripping him, and the heavy chain upon his shoulders pressed him down, so that he suddenly became a decrepit and bowed old man who could scarcely stand upon his feet, and still tried to balance himself like a rope-dancer, upon the sharp edge of the precipice where the chalk-cliff fell perpendicularly to the sea. I strove to call to him to have a care for Hermine's sake, but I could neither speak nor move; and suddenly he fell over the cliff. I heard the heavy fall of his body upon the pebbly beach, and the giant begun to laugh, a laugh so loud, so terrible that I awakened in fright, and with wildly-beating heart looked around the room, into which, through the curtains, there fell a gray twilight which was neither night nor day, just as it had been in my dream, and I still heard the resonant peals of laughter, but they were blows with which some impatient hand was battering at the house-door. I hastened to open it myself.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"A message for Herr Hartwig, and--and--ah! you are there yourself, Herr Hartwig, I see."
It was a servant from the hotel at which for many years my father-in-law had been in the habit of stopping whenever he came to the town.
"Yes; what is the matter?"
"My master sends his respects, and--and the Herr Commerzienrath has just been found dead in his bed."
I stared aghast into the face of the man: he probably thought that I had not understood him, and stammered out his awkward message again; but I had perfectly well understood him at first; that is, I had understood the meaning of his words. The commerzienrath has been found dead in his bed. That is very easily said, and as easily understood. The commerzienrath had been found dead in his bed.
"I will come at once," I said.
The man hastened off; I went back to my room, put on my overcoat and hat, took a pair of dark gloves instead of the light ones I had worn the previous evening--all quite mechanically, as if I were going out about some ordinary business. "The commerzienrath has been found dead in his bed," I repeated, as I would have repeated a report brought to the office that a belt had broken in such and such a shop.
Then suddenly a pang darted through me as if a dagger had been thrust into my breast.
"Poor child!" I muttered, "poor child, how will she bear it? But there is so much misfortune in the world; so much misfortune, and he was an old man."
Thus I left the house, in which the inmates already began to be stirring.
"You are going out early this morning," said the porter, coming out of his lodge. "Anything happened at the works?"
I did not answer: not until I had reached the street did I comprehend the meaning of the man's words. It was now near seven o'clock, and already clear daylight. The wind had hauled to westward, and was blowing hard. It was raining: streams of water poured from the roofs, and the heavy snow that had fallen in the night was mostly changed into gray slush, through which the bakers' and milkmens' carts were toiling heavily. I was shivering, and said to myself that it was a very disagreeable morning; but no other feeling awakened in me. At a corner I met a hearse with no following of carriages; the driver upon his high seat had pulled his cocked hat down over his face; the broken-down horses were going at a half-trot; the hearse slipped about in the slush, and the threadbare black pall that was hung over the hearse flapped to and fro in the wind.
"That cannot be the commerzienrath," I said, looking after the hearse with a vacant mind.
Thus I reached the hotel.
"Number eleven: first door to the right at the top of the stairs," said the porter.
He accompanied me up the stairs, more, no doubt, from curiosity than sympathy, and told me that the Herr Commerzienrath had arrived in the last train yesterday evening, and he had been ordered to wake the commerzienrath at half-past six this morning, as he had a note to send to Herr Hartwig. He knocked at the door punctually to the minute, and the Herr Commerzienrath had called out quite plainly: "Very well; let Louis bring my coffee;" and when ten minutes later, Louis took the coffee up, the commerzienrath did not answer, and they found he was dead. Who would have expected it? Such a robust old gentleman! And they sent off at once for Doctor Snellius, because he was Herr Hartwig's family physician, and the doctor would certainly be here in a minute. "This door, Herr Hartwig, this door."
The door was ajar. The landlord, the head-waiter, and another man, if I remember rightly, were standing in the large room, into which the dim light fell through the half-drawn curtains. At the farther end of the room was a bed, before which two lights were burning on a small table.
"We left everything as we found it," said the landlord in a low tone, as he went with us to the bed. "It is a rule with me in such cases to exercise the greatest discretion. One has then no reason to reproach oneself, and avoids much inconvenience. The Herr Commerzienrath is lying precisely as Louis found him; and there lies the tray with coffee where Louis put it down."
There lay the tray with coffee where Louis had put it down, and there lay the commerzienrath as Louis had found him. The light from the two candles, their long wicks unsnuffed, fell brightly enough upon his face into which I now gazed. It was the third time in my life that I had looked closely into the face of the dead. And naturally the other two faces rose in my memory; that of the Wild Zehren, that of my dear and fatherly friend, and now here was this. In the sombre features of the Wild Zehren had lain gloomy defiance, like those of an Indian chief, who, bound fast to the death-stake, sings taunting songs at his tormentors; upon the mild face of his noble brother had lain a sublime calm, as upon the face of one who dies for the sake of others. How different was the face before me! About the large mouth hovered something like the mocking smile which he usually wore when he thought he had overreached any one; his eyes half shut, as he used to shut them when he wished to hide his real meaning: over all the old, wrinkled, yellow face was spread the deceitful cloud in which he loved to hide himself, only that the cloud was drawn now a little closer than usual, and it was not his old cuttle-fish manœuvre, but death.
"And we were so cheerful last night," whispered the host. "We sat in the dining-room until half-past one, and drank three bottles of champagne. The Railroad Director Schwelle was with us. I have warned the old gentleman often enough; at his years one should be more prudent. And such a clear head! Such a head for business! And here lies the note that was to be sent to you this morning."
It was a leaf apparently torn from his pocket-book, with half a page of writing on it; the pencil with which he had written, lay by it. I took up the paper; the characters were very legible, even firmer than his writing usually was of late:
"Dear Son: I arrived here yesterday evening, and would like to speak with you before you go home from the works. May I ask you to wait for me? I must first go on 'Change, where I shall meet many envious faces to-day. They will see to-day how soon an old hand can grind little notches out of his blade. But more of this when we meet. If you are engaged out, please excuse yourself, as I should like to sit at your table once more. But no preparations for me, I beg. Only, if you can manage it conveniently, my favorite dish, Magdeburg cabbage, and a little----"
The bill of fare was broken off, and here lay the guest.
"Death overtook him while he was writing," said the landlord, whose discretion had not hindered him from looking over my shoulder into the paper. "How sudden it comes, sometimes!"
At this moment the doctor stood among us: I had not heard him enter. He nodded to me without speaking, and leaned over the dead man. Thus he remained sometime and then he raised himself up and said to the landlord:
"I wish you would heat for me about a wine-glassful of pure Jamaica rum. It must be perfectly pure rum, and must be brought to a boil. You would probably do better to look after it yourself."
"Certainly, certainly," said the landlord. "It is my duty in such cases to do everything that lies in my power."
"And do you go and see that I get it at once; and you, young man, tell my driver to wait for me."
"Yes sir," said both the waiters at once, and hastened after the landlord.
"Have you any hope?" I asked.
The doctor did not answer. He gave a hurried glance at the door, then stepped again to the bed, threw back the coverlid which the dead man had drawn up over breast and arms as high as the chin, and then I saw that he took out a small phial which he had probably found under the cover in the stiffened hand of the corpse. He smelled its contents cautiously for a moment, then wrapped it in a piece of paper and put it in his waistcoat pocket.
"Unless there is some especial reason for it," he said, "your wife need not know that her father has poisoned himself."
I groaned aloud.
"Courage! courage!" said the doctor; "this is a world in which things are often desperately dark. But this cannot be helped now, and you have to think of your wife and children."
As I went home an hour later, the wind was howling as furious as ever through the rainy streets, and at the same corner I met the same hearse, now coming back in a slouching trot as before. I looked at it without the least emotion or feeling, which seemed indeed to have perished forever in my breast. Yes, yes, the doctor was right: it was often desperately dark in this world; and I do not know that it would have seemed darker to me had I known what I did not know, that in the palace of the prince, which I had to pass on my way home, behind the lowered curtains, the last of the male line of the princes of Prora-Wiek, counts of Ralow, was giving up his young life under the hands of the surgeons.