What the Swallow Sang: A Novel

by Friedrich Spielhagen

CHAPTER XXIII.

Herr Wollnow and his wife now spent days and nights of ceaseless care. It had proved possible to move the Assessor, in spite of his serious injuries, to their house, where he was much more comfortably situated in every respect, while Gotthold, who in comparison was scarcely considered wounded, they were obliged to leave at the Fürstenhof. He had lain for hours, either unconscious or tossing in the wildest delirium, a prey to violent fever; the doctor shook his head gravely, and spoke of a concussion of the brain, which was not impossible, or some internal injury, which was extremely probable. Herr Wollnow was very anxious, and spent every moment he could spare by the bedside of the invalid.

"The Assessor's case is really very simple," said he; "he has broken his left leg, and put his right arm out of joint; the arm has been set, and the leg is going on admirably. I'm not anxious about the Assessor, whom you ladies will soon set to rights; but with Gotthold it is different; we don't yet know exactly where we are; I can't be spared there."

Ottilie thought he would have believed it impossible for him to be spared from Gotthold's side, under any circumstances, but she had nothing to say against a preference she herself shared; Gotthold already seemed like her own son.

Herr Wollnow received this remarkable confession with a smile, and the same rather melancholy smile flitted over his grave face again and again, as he sat beside the sick man's bed, stroked the soft wavy hair from his burning brow, and compared the delicate features, now deadly pale and anon flushed with fever, with those of another face, which had once seemed to him the type and expression of all beauty, and whose memory his faithful heart had kept so loyally.

And many strange thoughts, evoked by this recollection, passed through his mind as he sat in the quiet room through the long silent hours,--thoughts which approached caressingly, and he repelled because they sought to remove him from the firm ground on which he had placed himself and his house, and where he must stand resolutely if he did not wish to become the sport of the winds and the waves, with all that had been entrusted to his care. No, no; it beseems not only God to pronounce what He has created good, but man must also be permitted to say so of his works, must be able to say so, if he is to preserve the strength and courage needed to guard what he has made. He had chosen his own part; no matter whether he had taken the worse or better, he had chosen it, and in those words all was said. Those are not the best, but the worst men, who wish to decide for themselves what has been settled long ago.

But for him, who, according to the number of his years, might be his son--whom he would so gladly--no no! not that, not that; but he loved him because he was so good and noble, loved him as an older man can and may love a younger whom he sees tottering along the same intricate mazes of the path of life, which once drank his own heart's blood--for him nothing was yet decided. Could not the determination be made so that the heart need not pour forth its best blood, ere it was calm enough to understand the lessons of wisdom? How gladly would he have procured him a happiness of which he had himself been deprived! It could no longer be a perfect happiness, under any circumstances--too much had already happened which would cast its shadow athwart the fairest future--but perhaps to him it was the only one possible. After all, there was something in the race, in the old habits of thought and feeling transmitted to their descendants by those ancient Germans, who did not try to improve their wretched homes, but simply gave the matter up, who knew of no other stratagem in battle except that of binding themselves together with chains, and in gambling preferred to be ruined, rather than make any concession to ill-luck. And now he too! the son of such a father, such a mother, who both had been destroyed by this excess of feeling, which will suffer no bargaining and trading. Here also the case was essentially different; a force was involved here which was entirely lacking then, a force which almost seemed to make what he would otherwise condemn as a crime against society, an act of philanthropy--a necessity, and yet in his eyes a sad one.

To be sure, almost everything in regard to this question was still and must remain mere conjecture, at least so long as those who had been the victims of this--accident on the moor were unable to tell what they knew, or what observations they had made before and after. True, at best it was probable that very little weight could be given to the Assessor's statement, since from the little Gotthold had communicated on that first evening, it was evident enough that the former had been incapable of judging of anything; and even now, when he could think and speak clearly again, he persisted in the assertion that he knew nothing, and must have slept until the catastrophe happened. But Gotthold, who, with the delicate perceptions of an artist, must have seen, heard, and noticed everything, could undoubtedly supply materials which a clever investigator would know how to prize.

To be sure, Justizrath von Zadenig, in the neighboring capital of the island, to whose district the case belonged, could hardly be included in this category. The Herr Justizrath saw nothing at all unusual in the event. That carriages might be upset in more or less dangerous places, and pocket-books or such things lost, everybody must admit; and that the road across Dollan moor contained such places was well known, at least to him, Justizrath von Zadenig, who knew the story of the two Wenhof cousins, part of which was connected with Dollan moor, very well, as everybody else did, who, like him, was descended from one of the old island families. The Brandows were not an old family, and the way in which they had got possession of Dahlitz was not exactly justifiable; but they no longer owned it, and Carl Brandow ought not to be called to account for the condition of the Dollan roads, over which three or four generations of Wenhofs had passed to and fro unmolested. That was a thing he, Justizrath von Zadenig, considered quite inadmissible, the more so as the brunt of the trouble would not come upon Brandow, but on his own brother-in-law, the Herr Landrath von Swantenit, of Swantenit, who at the last session of the court had been made responsible for the condition of the high-roads and by-ways. If, however, Herr Wollnow, of whose wisdom and judgment he held the highest opinion, thought that the matter ought to be thoroughly investigated, he would send at once for the Herr Referendar von Pahlen, and even despatch a gensdarme with him, which, always looked particularly official and serious. Surely Herr Wollnow would be satisfied with that.

Herr Wollnow was satisfied, because he had obtained all he could get from the indolent, but in other respects worthy old gentleman; and after he had settled a few other business matters, returned to Prora, where, at the door of the Fürstenhof, he met Carl Brandow, who had ridden in to-day, as usual, to inquire in person about the condition of the invalids.

"Things are going on admirably," he cried, as he saw Herr Wollnow. "His head has been perfectly clear for the last hour. I have not tried to see him, because I thought all excitement ought still to be avoided; but I spoke to Lauterbach, who looks very solemn. He had made up his mind to an inflammation of the brain, and now sees that he'll pull through. Sellien, too, is getting along as well as can be expected; so I can ride home today with a lighter heart than usual. How delighted my wife will be! Perhaps I shall bring her in with me tomorrow. I have Frau Wollnow's permission to do so. Good-by until to-morrow, Herr Wollnow, good by."

"That chestnut gelding's a fine horse," said the groom, looking after him as he galloped away; "but it's nothing at all in comparison to the one he rode Sunday night. That was a splendid animal."

Wollnow's glance had also followed the slight figure, whose seat in the saddle was so firm and graceful. "If he is really the scoundrel I think him, it will be difficult to outwit him at all events. And I must not let Gotthold notice anything; it would excite him terribly, and, for the present, without due cause; at least I must have firmer ground. It would certainly be no child's play: the snare which could catch the knave would need very small meshes."

As his friend entered, Gotthold extended his hand, which, though very white, was entirely free from fever.

"There," said he, "feel it yourself; and now with this clasp let me thank you for your kindness, your affection. I have not been so entirely out of my mind as not to see your face distinctly from time to time, amid all the delirious fancies that oppressed me, and always with the grave pitying expression, which I shall gratefully remember as long as I live."

Gotthold's voice trembled, and tears glittered in his eyes--"It is not the weakness of sickness," said he: "I will frankly confess the truth: it is the power of an emotion which is entirely new to me. I have had so little opportunity to be grateful for the services of love. The person who to others, during their whole lives, stands forth as the image of unselfish, self-sacrificing devotion--my mother--died so early, I scarcely knew her; I was separated from my father by an--as I must believe--impassable gulf, and for ten years have wandered about the world amid a thousand events, a thousand relations, ever in the bustle of society, constantly among, and often even the centre of a large circle of friends, and yet in the inmost depths of my soul alone--alone, and longing for a love which so late in life has been given me by a man whom I saw a few days ago for the first time, and between whom and myself no relations had previously existed save those of the most ordinary business transactions."

The merchant's grave dark face expressed keen emotion, and his deep voice sounded strangely low and gentle as he said after a short pause:

"And suppose that we did not meet a few days ago for the first time; suppose I had held you in my arms when you were a boy four or five years old; suppose the interest I took in you sprang from a much deeper source than our business relations, was connected with all the poetry and beauty of my life: what then, my dear young friend, what then?"

"Did you know my mother?" asked Gotthold, with a sudden presentiment; "you must have known her."

"I knew and--loved her. To know and love her was in those days the same thing to me, nay, even at this moment they still seem to belong together, like light and warmth."

"And my mother--loved you. Speak frankly, and explain the mystery that has always rested upon the relations between my parents."

Wollnow shook his head. "No, no," said he, "that is not it; even if it seemed so for a moment, it was only seeming, and it is the sorrowful pride of my life that I did not allow myself to be dazzled by this semblance; that through it I perceived the rugged path duty and honor commanded me to tread."

"You increase the mystery instead of dispelling it," said Gotthold.

"So many things in this drama have remained mysterious, even to me," replied Wollnow, covering his eyes with his hand; "but one fact is plain, that a man of your father's stamp, so highly gifted, so glowing with the holy passion of truth, could not fail to arouse an overmastering love in the heart of your no less gifted, no less enthusiastic mother. I assure you, my friend, if ever there was a love such as you described a short time ago, it was that which impelled these two rare, beautiful natures towards each other, like two flames which rush together into one. Any one who witnessed the spectacle stood in silent admiration, saying: No other conclusion is possible. My poor dear friend said so, though it was a death sentence to him; I said so too, and thought my heart would break; but it was stronger than I believed, and then--I was determined to live! With that determination one can do so, my friend, although it is at first a very wretched, pitiful fragment of life."

Wollnow paused, for he felt that he could not go on calmly. After a short time he continued:

"I am not now in a condition to judge whether I have erred in allowing myself to be led on to make this confession to you, but I should certainly wrong the memory of your parents, you, my dear young friend, nay, myself, if I did not now tell you all, although the all is but little, and this little terribly significant of the sad uncertainty of human destiny.

"The handsome young couple came here. I saw them again by accident a few years after, when business chanced to bring me into this neighborhood, for I would have gone out of my way to avoid a meeting which could only cause me pain. But as I drove through Rammin, one of the wheels of my carriage broke directly in front of the parsonage. I was thrown out so violently that I dislocated my arm, and was compelled to claim your parents' hospitality for several weeks. You cannot remember me, but I can still see the curly-haired, large-eyed little boy, who played so happily at his mother's side among the beds of asters in the garden in the autumn sunlight, and, thank God, had no suspicion of the meaning of the mournful expression with which the beautiful young mother often gazed over the child's head into vacancy. Alas! for her the flowers did not bloom, the sun did not shine; everything around her was dark, and darkness was within her, in her warm young heart. And it was the same in the ardent heart of the man whom she had once so passionately loved, and who had loved her with equal fervor, who, I am perfectly sure, loved her with no less devotion at that moment, when they already seemed to hate each other, perhaps fancied they did. Oh! my dear friend, I won't preach--I won't begin our late dispute again; but how can I help touching the wound, and saying: 'Here again it was--and in a fatal manner--the want of moderation, which will not be satisfied with things as they are, will not try to make the best of circumstances, but releasing itself from commonplace conditions, strives to realize an ideal vision'? These two beautiful natures, which could offer so much, be so much to each other, considered it nothing because it was not all. She expected him to be not only the champion of the Church before whom she had at first knelt in admiration, but also to possess every virtue the intelligent, much-courted young girl had ever admired in any man. He expected her to wear, in addition to all the charms with which nature had so lavishly endowed her--I know not what mystic crown, without which all earthly beauty was valueless in the eyes of the enthusiastic apostle. And instead of trying to lessen the necessary differences between their natures as much as possible by gentleness and patience, and overlook the remnant which would still be left, out of respect for the Great Power of which we are only an infinitesimal part, both with fatal defiance increased their special gifts; he wanted to do nothing but see and read obscure writings by a glass; she, who had always been far too proud to be vain, declared that the glass told her nothing except that she was young and beautiful, as the world was, in spite of all fanatics and devotees. And now this strange conflict went on in the quiet parsonage of a little village, on an island which in those days was almost entirely secluded from all intercourse with the outside world--what marvel was it that the two unhappy combatants bled from painful wounds--and must bleed to death if they are not separated in time, the world thinks and says in such cases. I am well aware of it, but I did not think so. I said to myself: 'These two cannot forget or lose each other, even if they should place a world between them, and next to themselves the person would suffer most who might be mad enough to aid this separation.' I said this also to the young wife, who could not or would not conceal her misery from me. I spoke to her--as I thought my duty required me to do--with earnest entreaty, and I must confess that in so speaking I drowned, not the voice of my conviction, but of my own heart, which during this strange scene seemed as if it would burst my laboring breast. Now, for the first time, I learned that before the right man came I had been dearer to the beautiful girl than I had ever ventured to hope or suspect--learned it in broken words and hints which rose from her glowing, passionate heart like sparks from a blazing fire. How can I deny that I was touched by this fire, that it became inexpressibly difficult for me to withstand it? Yes, my friend, I struggled like the patriarch of old on that wondrous night, and from my heaving breast, like his, the magic words were gasped forth, 'I will not let thee go, except Thou bless me.'

"And was it no blessing that some trace of the repose I had won by so fierce a conflict seemed to calm the soul of the despairing young wife, that she--which in such a situation is everything--found time to regain her self-control, to remember what she had once possessed, to ask herself whether she might not possess it again if she desired. I can still see the look with which she extended her hand as she bade me farewell, the earnest, expressive glance in which a gleam of hope still sparkled. I can still hear her sweet voice utter the words which were the richest reward to me for all I had done and suffered, the words: 'I thank you, my friend.'"

"And I thank you," said Gotthold, seizing the hand of the deeply-agitated man, and pressing it warmly, "thank you with all my heart, for you have acted according to your sincere conviction, and what can a man do more? But you did not save my poor mother from dying of a broken heart."

Wollnow looked gloomily at the floor. Gotthold, smiling sadly, continued:

"To be sure, it is better to die so, to die young, than to live on with a broken heart, to the torment instead of the joy of one's self and others, as was the fate of my poor father. And he cannot have become reconciled to my mother's shade. Else why, when he pushed me from him in anger, did his pale lips murmur: 'You are just like your mother'? No, no, my friend, I honor your wisdom, but I think one must be born wise--it is not to be learned."

"At least in one lesson," said Wollnow, with grave kindness, "and this has lasted long enough--too long, when I consider the condition of the pupil."

Gotthold protested against this decision; he felt perfectly well, and strong enough to continue the argument a long time; besides, the subject had a demoniacal charm for him.

"And for that very reason we will drop it," replied Wollnow, "and instead, if you are really strong enough, I will request you to answer a few questions in relation to your unlucky drive. I will confess that I put them partly at the desire of a prominent magistrate. At least, Justizrath von Zadenig declares that no farther steps can be taken in this disagreeable matter without your deposition, and has begged me to take it down in a legal form."

Gotthold looked up in astonishment--"What is the point in question?"

"It concerns, in the first place, the lost money, which must, if possible, be recovered," replied Wollnow.

"Poor Sellien! I am sorry for him," said Gotthold; "but I don't see how your questions and my answers can aid in its recovery."

"Let us see. Do you know that Sellien had the money with him when you left Dollan?"

"I am sure of it; as he did not suspect it came from me, he told me in a walk we took after dinner that Brandow had paid him, and showed me the packet, which he took out of the breast-pocket of his coat. I also saw it there during the whole evening--not without some little anxiety. I feared he might be tempted to stake the money. Fortunately he always won."

"So he was gambling. Who was the loser?"

"Brandow."

"Did he lose much?"

"I think he lost five thousand thalers to Redebas, who was the only person that had the courage to make a stand against so rash an adversary."

"Of course he did not pay him on the spot."

"Certainly not; and from that very circumstance arose the quarrel which ended in the others leaving the house in a rage."

"Did you take any part in the dispute?"

"Oh, no; Sellien perhaps was a little mixed up with it; at least Brandow made it the pretext for the rudeness that drove us also from the house."

"Drove you out of the house! Very good," said Wollnow, when he had made a written record of the words. "And Sellien still had the money when you went away?"

"I felt the packet when I buttoned his overcoat; he was then partially intoxicated."

"And the overcoat was still buttoned when Lauterbach wanted to bandage his injuries here. So you said a short time ago, and Lauterbach confirms it. Did you make no attempt to remove his clothes at the smithy?"

"No. Old Prebrow wanted to do so, but Sellien, who came to his senses for a moment, begged so earnestly to be let alone, that we desisted, and contented ourselves with making him as comfortable a bed as we could on some straw and hay in the bottom of the wagon the Prebrows had already prepared."

"And did you feel the pocket-book there too?"

Gotthold reflected a moment. "No," said he, "he did not have it there. I remember now, because first the old man and then I myself felt his breast, as he complained of severe pain in his left ribs. I could not have helped feeling the packet. That is certainly strange."

"It is indeed," replied Wollnow, "since neither of the worthy Prebrows, father and son, who carried him from the place where the accident occurred to the smithy, can have taken it out of his pocket."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Gotthold.

"And it is almost equally impossible, though in another sense, that during his fall he can have lost it out of the pocket of a closely-buttoned coat, over which another was buttoned."

"Yet there is no other supposition."

"So it seems. But let us go back a few steps. You had the impression throughout, that Brandow was driving you from the house. Did not that seem strange?"

"No and yes."

"We will suppose that the no refers to your relations with Brandow, and the yes to the Assessor's, whose favor he certainly had the most urgent motives to keep. I confess it is incomprehensible to me. And on such a night too--as King Lear says, 'In storm and rain and darkness'--to drive you out of the house and give you a carriage with no lamps to convey you over such notoriously bad roads."

"All that is true," said Gotthold in an embarrassed tone; "but recurring to Brandow's unfriendliness--which, moreover, he instantly regretted, and tried to make amends for the same evening--will scarcely help us to the recovery of the money."

"You see what an unskilful inquisitor I am," replied Wollnow, passing his hand over his brow. "Let us leave the master, and without regard for the old adage, turn to the man. Was he not the same one who drove you out in the morning?"

"The same. Brandow's trainer, and as you see, occasional coachman, steward also, in a word, factotum."

"Factotum, very good," said Wollnow. "A do-everything, in contrast to always doing right, for this Signer Do-everything seems to fear nothing and no one, at least that was the impression he made upon me. What do you think of the man?"

"That he is a remarkable fellow, so far as this, that any one who had seen him once would hardly forget him. I remember him perfectly from the time I first knew him, years ago, till now: the square flat head, and low retreating forehead of the large animals of the cat tribe, to which his green squinting eyes also bear a resemblance, while his broad shoulders, short, thick-set figure, and clumsy bow legs are more like the dog tribe--a cross between the terrier and bull-dog, whose tenacity and faithfulness he also possesses. I believe he would go through fire and water for his master."

"And water," said Wollnow. "What wonderful eyes you artists have! How dear that description is! And now we have this estimable monster, this faithful Caliban, on the front seat of the carriage, driving through the darkness. What about the ride?"

"I have frankly confessed that, until just before the accident, I noticed little or nothing of what was passing around me. But I remember now that we ascended the hill with difficulty, probably because the wind was directly against us, and Hinrich Scheel, with his usual cruelty, violently lashed the poor horses, which seemed to have a presentiment of their fate, and would not move from the spot until Hinrich at last jumped out of the carriage."

"Jumped out of the carriage," repeated Wollnow; "that was very wise, very apropos; for the fall occurred directly after, didn't it?"

"It must have taken place at that very moment."

"Let us say a few moments after, otherwise the faithful Caliban would have been obliged to join the party. The fall you have already described to me, so far as you were conscious of the precise moment--and it is astonishing how far an artist's observation extends to the gates, nay, I might say across the very threshold of death. And how long did this terrible moment, when you were so near your end, last?"

"I can hardly say; I became unconscious without pain or struggle, as quickly and imperceptibly as the lid falls over the eye; and in the same manner, without the slightest struggle, my senses returned, and I lay with my eyes fixed upon the moon, watching the yellowish brown clouds over her face grow thinner and thinner--as if I had nothing else to do--until her rays suddenly pierced the last transparent veil, and shone in their full brilliancy. At the same moment the consciousness of my situation returned, and I knew as well as if some one had told me that I had remained lying on a ledge about half way down the slope, while the carriage and horses, sliding down the precipice to the edge of the morass, were lying in one confused, terrible heap, amid which I could distinguish nothing. After this, I must have again fallen, not into an unconscious condition, but a sort of delirious state. I had a distinct vision of a horseman, who, with a speed that only occurs in dreams, dashed away from me across the marsh in the direction of Neuenhof. Like the traditional ghostly rider, he had his head bent far over the long thin neck of his flying steed, and wore a tall hat. A ghost in a tall hat, isn't it ridiculous?"

"Very ridiculous!" said Wollnow. He had risen from his seat again, and gone to the window to conceal his agitation from Gotthold. What was that the groom had said just now about the remarkable speed of the horse Brandow had ridden that night? And the spectral rider had dashed in the direction of Neuenhof, from whence Brandow had come!--Brandow, who strangely enough had worn a tall hat that night, and the tall hat was splashed with marshy water.

Wollnow turned to Gotthold again: "Do you think it impossible for any one, I mean any one of flesh and blood, to cross Dollan marsh, even on the best and fastest horse?"

"What put that into your head?" asked Gotthold in amazement.

"Oh! nothing, except that Brandow has been telling everywhere that one of the horses which broke away from the carriage and tried to make its escape across the morass was drowned in the attempt."

"Then that is surely the best proof of the impossibility."

"Certainly," replied Wollnow; "and now you must have perfect quiet, or Lauterbach will be very angry. I will come back again in two hours; until then you must sleep undisturbed."

Wollnow spent the two hours in a restless, impatient mood, of which the calm, self-possessed man would not have believed himself capable. He was expecting the young lawyer, who had promised to stop in Prora on his return from Dollan and tell him the result of his investigations. Herr von Pahlen had left B. two hours before him, and might surely have executed his commission by this time. The expected visitor arrived at last, but without the gendarme Herr von Zadenig had ordered to attend him to give a suitable coloring to the affair.

"This is a very strange business," said Herr von Pahlen. "You know I went ostensibly to take the deposition of the man who drove the gentlemen, Hinrich Scheel; at least he was the principal person, and now would you believe it--"

"The man had disappeared," said Wollnow.

"How did you know?"

"I only thought so; but go on."

"Had actually disappeared," continued Herr von Pahlen, "although half an hour before our arrival he had been seen by the laborers on the estate, and also by Herr Brandow, who had just returned home. He had disappeared and could not be found, although Herr Brandow was kind enough to send men in every direction, who as Herr Brandow himself said, must have found him if--"

"The man had wanted to be found."

"Exactly, but how stupid in the fellow, who, after all, is not to blame, except for having taken for the journey the two worst beasts among the many good ones, in order to spare the carriage-horses. It is from this cause Brandow says, as he now looks at the matter, that the whole misfortune arose. To be sure, if the fellow has really fled--I have left Rüterbusch there for the present, who will arrest him if he makes his appearance--the case assumes a very different aspect. The fellow will suggest the inference that he either found the money, God knows how, or took it out of the Assessor's pocket while he was senseless, and now, being conscious of his guilt, fled when he saw us coming--and one can see a long distance over the moor. Brandow, who was very much astonished, said that he should have attributed such a crime to any one rather than this man, who had always been highly esteemed by his father, and since his death had served him faithfully and honestly, but admitted that the sudden disappearance was very mysterious; and after all everything was possible; at any rate, the possibility could not now be denied that the poor devil might have yielded to the great temptation of becoming a rich man at one stroke."

"A devil always feels tempted to do evil, even if he is not poor," said Wollnow.

"So you think he has stolen it," asked the lawyer eagerly.

"I have nothing to do with the matter," replied Wollnow evasively, while his dark eyes flashed with an expression that seemed to say that for all that he did have an opinion in regard to the affair, and a very decided one.