“It must be because I am thirsty and in want of sleep,” she said to herself, She went into her hut, struck a light and lighted her lamp.

  Then she opened her cupboard and took from it some bread.

  She ate only a mouthful. She was not hungry. Besides, it seemed to her that the bread still had that strange taste which she had already noticed the previous evening.

  She had put some sour milk aside in one corner of the shelf. She began to drink thirstily.

  Suddenly she put down the bowl. There was a curiously bitter flavour in the milk. But she was so parched that this did not deter her.

  “Bah!” said she, “I am mad!”

  And she drank to the last drop. She felt somewhat refreshed, and lay down fully dressed on her bed of bracken.

  But she could not sleep. After a while, she felt more restless than ever. The milk she had drunk, instead of allaying her thirst, seemed to have further stimulated it. She felt choking in this close room, there was fire in her veins, fire in her brain.

  She could not endure it, and got up to go outside.

  On reaching the door, her foot slipped on something. Looking down, she saw some shining object. She stooped and picked up a tiny phial in some metal which was neither gold nor silver, and which was unknown to her.

  Who had left that little phial there?

  Gretchen had locked the door on leaving. She felt sure of it.

  The phial was empty; but the odour of what it had contained still remained. Gretchen recognized the same odour as she fancied she had noticed in her bread and in the milk.

  She put her hand to her head.

  “Surely I must be mad,” she said to herself in bewilderment. “Herr Schreiber was right after all. Solitude is not good. Oh! God!”

  She compelled herself to think and to remember. She looked round the rooms, and fancied that her few belongings were arranged differently to when she left. Could anyone have been in the room?

  She went outside. Night had fallen more than two hours since, and the air should have been growing cooler.

  And yet it seemed to her hotter than before. She felt as if she were inhaling fire.

  She stretched herself on the grass, but the grass seemed to her burning hot.

  She lay down on the rock; but the stone was as hot as the ground; the granite, like a stove that remains hot after the wood is consumed, had retained the heat from the sun.

  “Whatever had she drunk? what was that philtre? who had brought, that phial?” Suddenly she shuddered from head to foot; the thought of Samuel, dispelled until then by the thought of Gottlob, had just flashed across her mind. Samuel! oh yes! it must be he. Instantly all her superstitious fears returned. Samuel was certainly the devil. Yes, that was it, he had threatened her, he was keeping his word, he had laid hold of her, he had taken possession of her, he was coming to claim her. The devil had no trouble to get into houses without a key; no locks could withstand him. Gretchen felt she was lost.

  And, infernal mystery! although terrified and in despair, she was at the same time almost glad. She felt a bitter joy at the thought that the devil had her in his power. She was certain that Samuel was coming, and expected him with mingled impatience and horror. One part of her said, “I cannot escape!” and the other part: “So much the better! “Some terrible frenzy took hold of her imagination. The vertigo of hell began to seize her. She longed to hurl herself into damnation.

  Presently the thought of Gottlob returned to her. But now she saw him with different eyes. Instead of thinking longingly of him, he became repulsive to her. What was he to her, this peasant with coarse red hands and rough manners, more stolid than his oxen. She, jealous of Rose! Ah! likely indeed! The husband, the lover she wanted, was not a rustic with hands only fit for the plough, but a young man with a broad forehead, shapely hands, keen piercing eyes; clever man with an intimate knowledge of plants, conversant with the remedies needed for wounded roes, — and wounded souls, knowing how to cure and how to kill. The sound of a footstep on the gravel made her start to her feet.

  She opened her eyes to their fullest extent.

  It was Samuel.

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  SIN IS NEVER TO BE TRIFLED WITH.

  ON seeing Samuel, Gretchen drew herself up, and stepped back; but by some instinct stronger than her will, in retreating she held out her hands to Samuel.

  Samuel stood still, his pallor further heightened by the rays of the moon. In the expression of his face there was neither mockery, triumph, nor hatred; his look was grave, almost melancholy. Gretchen thought he looked taller than usual.

  She still retreated towards the door, struggling between two impulses, frightened, yet fascinated, her feet turned towards her cottage, her face held out to Samuel.

  “Do not come near me!” she cried. “Begone, devil! I am afraid of you! I hate and I loathe you, do you hear? In the name of the Holy Virgin, begone, reprobate!”

  And she made the sign of the cross.

  “Do not come near me!” she repeated.

  “I do not mean to,” Samuel slowly replied. “Not one step will I go towards you. It is you who will come to me.”

  “Ah!” she said, despairingly, “that’s very possible. For I do not know what you have made me drink. You have brought it from that hell of yours. It is poison, is it not?”

  “It is not poison. It is the essence of certain flowers which you are very fond of, and with which you have dared to insult me. It is an elixir in which the concentrated forces of nature waken the slumbering forces of life. Love was asleep in you, I have wakened it, that is all.”

  “Ah! the flowers have betrayed me!” Gretchen exclaimed, in heart-broken tones.

  Then, looking at Samuel with sadness, rather than anger:

  “I see that you speak the truth,” she went on, “for my mother used to tell me that love means suffering and I do suffer.” And she still tried to flee from him. Samuel did not stir. He stood motionless, and, but for the fire in his burning, passionate eyes, he might have been mistaken for a statue.

  “If you are suffering,” said he, “why do you not ask me to cure you?”

  He said these words in a sweet, persuasive voice which stirred Gretchen to the inmost fibres of her being. She made one step towards him, then another and yet another. But suddenly she started away, terrified; “No, no, no! I will not! You are a terrible and a cursed man. You want my ruin. But you have no hold over me.”

  “I repeat,” said Samuel, “that I shall not take one step towards you. You see very well that I do not move. If I wished, could I not with three strides compel you to my will? But I prefer to wait your pleasure.”

  “I am thirsty,” said Gretchen. Then in a humble, caressing voice, she asked:

  “Is it true that you can cure me?”

  “Perhaps,” said Samuel. She drew a knife from her pocket, opened it, and approached Samuel, armed and reassured.

  “Do not touch me,” said she, “or I shall strike you. But make me well again.”

  Suddenly, however, the poor child flung the knife from her.

  “Am I mad?” said she. “I want him to cure me and I threaten him! No, my Samuel, I no longer threaten you. See, I have thrown away my knife. I entreat you. My head aches so terribly. I ask your forgiveness. Make me well, — save me.”

  She fell at Samuel’s feet and clasped her arms about his knees.

  It was a marvellous picture to see, under the wan light of the moon and amid such wild surroundings, the girl, dishevelled and in tears, twining her arms round the knees of this statue. Samuel, with arms folded, watched with a sinister look the fire, which he had set alight in this young virgin blood, flame up and consume her. Passion beyond description animated Gretchen; sparks flashed from her eyes and lighted up her dark skin. She looked beautiful thus. Samuel, against his will, felt the fire in this child’s veins communicate itself to him. The fever which consumed her and radiated from her began to affect him.

  “Ah! so you are still angry with me,” said the beautiful girl. “Why do you hate me?”

  “I do not hate you,” Samuel replied. “I love you. It is you who hate me.”

  “Oh! not now,” she softly said, raising her sweet face to his.

  Then, changing her mind in a moment:

  “Yes! I always hate you!” she went on, harshly. And she attempted to fly from him. But, after taking three steps, she fell rigid and as if dead.

  Samuel did not stir a muscle.

  He simply called, “Gretchen!”

  She rose to her knees, and without speaking, held out imploring arms to him.

  “Well! come!” said he.

  And she dragged herself to him, grovelling on her knees.

  “I have no strength left,” she said; “help me up.”

  “You yourself ask me to do so.”

  He stooped, and raising her by both arms, helped her to rise.

  “Oh! you are strong!” said she, as if proud of him. “Let me look at you.”

  She placed her hand on Samuel’s shoulder and drew a little away from him as if to gaze at him more easily.

  “You are beautiful,” she said, “you look like the King of night.”

  All this was said and done with bewitching grace, and with indescribable suppleness in her every movement with irresistible magnetism in her voice. Up to the present there had been more terror than temptation in the struggle of this poor innocent soul. But Samuel felt his sang-froid forsaking him, and his composure melting away at the furnace of this flaming heart.

  Suddenly Gretchen threw her two arms round his neck, and, standing on tip-toe, brushed her cheek across his forehead. Seized by the passion he had aroused in her, he pressed his lips to hers.

  The moment she felt him touch her, Gretchen shuddered. Instantly her languor turned into rage, she bit Samuel violently on the cheek, disengaged herself from his arms and started back with a harsh indignant cry.

  But just as quickly appeased, a shiver ran through her, and she looked at Samuel trembling, repentant, asking forgiveness.

  “Oh! I have hurt you, have I not?” she said.

  “No!” he replied, and at last the marble statue seemed stirred into being and thoroughly active; “no! on the contrary, I thank you. That very pain is what is sweet. That it is which mingles the horrible and the beautiful, danger and joy, love and hate, heaven and hell; that is the infinite. That is what I love in you.”

  “Ah well! so much the worse, I love you too,” exclaimed Gretchen.

  But changing suddenly:

  “Ah! how hateful I am! shall I be false to my vow? No, rather let me die.”

  With a movement quicker than lightning she snatched up her knife which lay glistening in the grass, and plunged it in her bosom.

  But Samuel had seized her arm. The blade did not penetrate far, but the blood spurted out.

  “Unhappy child!” said he, taking possession of the knife. “Luckily I caught hold of your arm in time. It will be nothing.”

  Gretchen seemed unconscious of the wound. She looked vaguely in front of her, as if thinking of something else. Then she passed her hand across her brow.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “No; on the contrary, that has done me good. I am coming back to my senses. Now I understand. I see what I must tell you.”

  She burst into tears and clasped her hands tightly together.

  “Listen to me, sir,” said she. “You must spare me. You must take pity on me, for mercy’s sake. I crawl at your feet. I am conquered, you are the stronger, I am yours if you so wish it; well! spare me! It is more mighty to spare than it is to yield. Oh! with all my heart and soul, I do entreat you! What good would it do you to carry out your evil intentions towards me? For a moment’s gratified vanity, you would ruin a whole existence? What would become of me afterwards? Reflect. Do not be afraid that once out of danger, I will defy you again. Ah! there is no fear, this is a lesson that I shall never forget. I shall even tell Madame Christiane about it. Whatever you command, I will do. Surely what I say is reasonable, and you see for yourself that there is no need to torture me further, and you will be merciful to me. What more could I do, since I am at your feet? You are a man, and I, I am not even a woman, I am only a child. Does one give any heed to what a child may say or think? Does one ruin her for a word she may have said? Oh! sir, have mercy!”

  Her tone was so pitiful, her abandonment so complete, that even Samuel was touched. For the first time perhaps his resolution faltered. An uncontrollable wave of emotion swept over him, before the deep despair of this snow-white purity upon which he in his pride was about to inflict a perhaps mortal stain. Besides, was she not sufficiently tamed, sufficiently conquered, sufficiently possessed? Was she not entirely in his power? Did not she herself admit that she was absolutely dependent upon him? Then, he could afford to be generous. The moment that she was willing to give herself, why take her?

  Unfortunately, Gretchen was very lovely, and the potion still continued to do its work. Little by little her despair relaxed into vague feverish languor, she had taken Samuel’s hands in hers and was covering them with kisses, which breathed already of something besides entreaty, she looked at him with eyes full of melting tenderness.

  “Oh!” she said, in a strange tone, “make haste to cure me, soon it will be too late.”

  “Yes,” he answered, gazing at her with burning passionate eyes, “yes, I shall soon cure you; I am going to fetch another philtre, which will calm and quiet your blood. I am going.”

  But instead of going, his gaze remained riveted on her beauty, as, lost in some vague ecstasy, she clung voluptuously to him.

  “Yes, go,” she said.

  But instead of thrusting him from her, she retained his hand. She did not relax her hold of him. Her voice said “go!” her eyes said “stay!”

  Samuel made a violent effort.

  “Am I no longer master of my will? You are wholly subdued, tell Christiane so. That is enough; useless to commit unnecessary crime. Farewell, Gretchen.”

  He tore himself away from Gretchen’s clinging hands and rushed towards the rock.

  “You are going!” Gretchen cried sadly and tenderly.

  “Yes, farewell!”

  But scarcely had Samuel reached the entrance and the shadow of the rock, ere two nervous arms were thrown round his neck, burning lips were pressed to his, and, horror stricken, he in turn felt himself seized, overpowered, mastered by his sin.

  CHAPTER XLV.

  CHRISTIANE IS AFRAID.

  THE next day at about four o’clock in the afternoon, Julius and Christiane left the castle to take a walk.

  “Where shall we go? “Julius asked.

  “Wherever you like,” said Christiane.

  “Oh! it is quite immaterial to me,” rejoined Julius, with lazy indifference.

  “Well! let us go and see Gretchen. She did not come this morning. I had to send to fetch the goat, so I am rather anxious about her.”

  They climbed the ascent leading to Gretchen’s cottage. Christiane turned back to look at the valley.

  “What a glorious view,” said she to Julius, pointing to the river and to the hills on the horizon.

  “Yes,” said Julius, without turning to look. Christiane feigned not to notice her husband’s listlessness. She walked on towards Gretchen’s hut.

  The door was locked.

  “Probably she is up the mountain with her goats,” Julius remarked.

  Christiane walked on a few steps to the hollow in the rock where Gretchen’s goats were usually penned. The goats were there.

  “That’s strange,” she thought.

  And coming back to the door, she called:

  “Gretchen! are you there? Gretchen!”

  There was no answer.

  Just at this moment, a great noise arose far off in the valley. Julius and Christiane looked in the direction from whence this sound proceeded. The road from Neckarsteinach seemed a black moving mass. A cloud of dust prevented one from distinguishing what it was. Shouts and a medley of songs broken by the wind, that was all could be heard. All that could be seen, was that there must be a throng of five or six hundred people.

  This confused mass was approaching rapidly. Suddenly Julius clapped his hands.

  “Yes,” he exclaimed, “Samuel is keeping his word.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Christiane.

  “I mean,” Julius repeated, “that there is Heidelberg coming to Landeck. Samuel had promised to do this for you, and whatever he promises he performs. But to have done that in so short a time! Yes, they are indeed my comrades. Now that they are nearer I can distinguish the students from the University. Do you hear their Viva vallera? Oh! what a glorious surprise!”

  And Julius who, a few moments since, had been apathetic, was now eager and alert. Christiane grew thoughtful.

  The road wound round the base of the rock on which Christiane and Julius stood, about a thousand paces away. The troop advanced lightly and quickly. Soon Julius was able to recognise Samuel at the head of the procession. He was on horseback, grave as the general of an army.

  Behind him was borne the great banner of the University.

  The students approached nearer, soon they were opposite to Julius and Christiane.

  As he passed, Samuel looked up, saw them and bowed.

  The students recognised Julius. Every cap was flung up in the air, and every voice thundered out the most heart-stirring refrain which had ever burst on human ears.

  “My sweet little Christiane,” said Julius, “my comrades have seen me, and I think it would be advisable for me to go and do the honours of our part of the country. You are quite near to the castle, and will not mind going home without me; for, I am somewhat impatient, I must admit, to renew acquaintance with my friends and to know what this means. I shall be back soon.”

  “Go by all means,” said Christiane, a sense of sadness coming over her, she could not tell why.

  Julius did not wait to be told twice. He kissed Christiane on the forehead, pretended to walk quietly until he reached the turning in the road, then when he was round the corner and Christiane could no longer see him, he took to his heels, and, in a few moments had joined the crowd.

 

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