The mouth of hell, p.4
THE MOUTH OF HELL, page 4
The impression that Christiane had made upon Julius that morning, engraved itself more and more deeply upon him. Nothing fresher nor more animated than this sweet face in which could be read as in an open book all the innocence of maidenhood. Christiane’s glance was clear as water from a spring, and was the reflex of a warm trusting heart. Beautiful and good, hers was a nature as transparent as this day in May.
Lothario’s presence imparted both innocence and freedom to this sweet intercourse. Christiane showed Julius her flowers, her bees, her poultry-yard, her music, her books, that is to say, all her calm and simple life. Then she questioned him about himself.
“How comes it?” she said once, “how comes it that you, who appear so quiet, and so gentle, should have, as your friend, a man so proud and cynical?”
It had not escaped her notice that, when unobserved, Samuel laughed at her father’s simplicity, and this had at once made her dislike him.
Julius thought that Goethe’s Marguerite had said something very like this of Mephistopheles in the delicious garden scene. But already was he convinced that Faust’s Marguerite could not compare with his Christiane. By degrees, as they chatted together, he remarked that the girl’s frankness and charm concealed a fund of good sense and firmness due probably to the sadness of her motherless childhood. The child was fast merging into the woman.
Neither of them could repress a frank movement of surprise, when the pastor and Samuel coming back to them, reminded them that it was three o’clock and time to start.
Five hours seem like five minutes to the happy and forgetful time-keeper of the heart’s first throbs of love.
CHAPTER V.
THE FLOWERS AND HERBS MANIFEST DISTRUST OF SAMUEL GELB.
THEY had therefore to set out on their way. But, at least, an hour yet was theirs in which to be together.
Julius was glad at the thought. He relied upon continuing, as they went along, the conversation which he and Christiane had begun; but he was mistaken. Christiane instinctively felt that it were best for her and Julius not to be too much together. She slipped her hand through her father’s arm, who was still absorbed in his discussion with Samuel. Julius grew sad and walked behind them.
They went up a pleasant ascent through a charming wood where the rays of the sun laughed through the leafy shadows. The peacefulness of the afternoon was welcomed by the amorous notes of the nightingale.
Julius, as we said, held aloof, already vexed with Christiane.
He made this attempt:
“Lothario, come and see this,” said he to the pretty child, who walked beside Christiane, holding on to her hand and taking three steps for one.
Lothario ran up to his old friend of two hours’ standing. Julius showed him a dragon-fly that had settled on a bush, slender, quivering, splendid. The child gave a cry of delight.
“What a pity,” said Julius, “that Christiane does not see it.”
“Sister,” said Lothario, “come quick!”
And as Christiane made no response, well aware that it was not the child who had called her, Lothario sprang after her, pulled at her dress, compelled her to loose her father’s arm and triumphantly brought her to see the insect’s beautiful wings.
The dragon-fly had flown away, but Christiane had come.
“You called me for nothing,” said Christiane and she went back to her father’s side.
Julius employed this subterfuge several times. He would make Lothario admire all the butterflies and all the flowers along their way, invariably expressing regret that Christiane was not there to enjoy their beauty too. Each time, Lothario would immediately run after Christiane, and comes he must, so insistent was he. Thus Julius made use of the child to steal a few minutes’ conversation with the young girl.
He succeeded too in making her accept, through the little hands of Lothario, his innocent accomplice, a magnificent wild rose just freshly blown.
But Christiane always returned to her father’s side.
Yet she could not feel angry with Julius for his longing and his perseverance; had she not, the sweet gentle girl, to fight against her own heart not to stay?
“Listen,” she said, in a childlike tone which enraptured him; “listen, it would be absolutely impolite, on my part, to speak to no one but you, and my father would wonder if I were never with him or your companion. But you will soon come back, will you not? We will go for walks again with my father and Lothario; and see, if you like, we will visit the Mouth of Hell and the ruins of the Castle of Eberbach. Most noble views, Herr Julius, which it was impossible for you to see at night, but you will enjoy seeing them by daylight, and then we can talk, as we go along.”
They arrived at the cross-roads. The horses that were to meet them there, under the guidance of Herr Schreiber’s young servant, had not yet come.
“Let us walk a few steps in this direction,” said the pastor, “and perhaps we may find Gretchen in her hut.”
In a very short time, they perceived the little goat-herd. Her cabin was mid-way up the mountain-side, in the shelter of the rock. Around Gretchen, a dozen goats were browsing, restless, suspicious, clinging wherever a hole was to be found, and only nibbling at the grass which grew in the marshy ground; in fact, true Virgilian goats, hanging on to the rock and browsing bitter herbs.
In the full light of day, Gretchen was even more weird and more beautiful than in the gleam of lightning. A sombre flame illumined her dark eyes. Her hair, black as her eyes, was interwoven with strange flowers. At this particular moment, she sat huddled together, her chin in her hand, as if a prey to some absorbing train of thought. Her attitude, her headgear, her whole appearance had much of the gipsy, a little of the mad girl. Christiane and the pastor came up to her. She did not appear to see them.
“Well!” said the pastor, “what ails you, Gretchen? I pass along, and you do not hasten to me as usual? Evidently you do not want me to thank you for the guests you brought to my home last night?”
Gretchen did not rise, but sighing deeply, said in a sad voice:
“You do well to thank me to-day; you might not do so to-morrow.”
Samuel threw a scornful glance at the goat-herd.
“Evidently you repent having brought us?” said he.
“You in particular,” was her reply. “But he also,” she went on, looking at Christiane with an air of sorrowful affection, “he also, has not brought happiness...”
“And how have you found that out?” asked Samuel with his accustomed sneer.
“By the night-shade and the withered clover.”
“Ah! “Samuel said to the pastor, “Gretchen too studies botany?”
“Yes,” replied Christiane’s father; “she professes to read the present and the future in plants.”
“I believe,” said the goat-herd gravely, “that plants and flowers, not having done the harm that men have, are more worthy that God should talk to them. Because of their innocence, they know everything. I have lived so much with them, that they have ended by telling me some of their secrets.”
And Gretchen relapsed into her gloomy abstraction. Nevertheless, although apparently absorbed in her thoughts, she went on, as if talking to herself, and yet loud enough to be heard by all.
“Yes, I have brought ill-luck to the roof that is dear to me. The pastor saved my mother, God grant I have not lost him his daughter. My mother wandered about the country fortune-telling, carrying me on her back, without a husband, without religion, without anyone on earth or in heaven to care for her. The pastor took us in, fed us, taught us. Thanks to him, my mother died a Christian. Well! mother, you see, he who gave paradise to your soul, and bread to your daughter, I show my gratitude to him by bringing men of ill-luck into his house. Ungrateful wretch that I am! I should have guessed what sort of men they were from the manner in which I met them. I should have been distrustful of them after what I heard them say. The storm brought them and they brought the storm.”
“Poor child!” said the pastor. “She will certainly go mad, if she is not so already.”
“Has she frightened you, Mademoiselle?” Julius said to Christiane.
“No, but her words impressed me. She is in one of her visionary moods,” replied the young girl.
“Well!” said Samuel, “for my own part, whether she be awake or asleep, by day or by night, in sunshine or in storm, I think her both charming and amusing.”
Poor Gretchen! the inhabitants of the parsonage treated her as the inhabitants of Troy treated Cassandra.
A sound of steps aroused the spectators of this singular scene from the different emotions which it had engendered. The horses had arrived.
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH THE SCENE CHANGES FROM JOY TO JUBILATION, WHICH TO SOME IS A DIFFERENT THING ALTOGETHER.
THE moment of parting had come.
The farewell words must be spoken. The pastor obtained from Julius and Samuel a promise that they would return to the parsonage at the earliest opportunity.
“You do not study on Sundays,” Christiane ventured to say; and on this remark, it was agreed that the two young men would return the very next Sunday; which meant but three whole days’ absence.
When the students were in the saddle, Julius looked at Christiane with eyes that tried not to be sad.
And at the same time his gaze dwelt enviously on the wild rose that he had given her through Lothario, and which he would gladly have taken back, now that she had worn it.
But she seemed not to notice it; only, in giving him her hand in farewell, she said, with a bright smile:
“Till Sunday, for certain?”
“Oh, yes, surely,” he replied in a tone which made the young girl smile and Samuel laugh. “Unless some misfortune should befall me,” he added in an undertone.
But though he had spoken so low, Christiane heard the words.
“Why, what misfortune can befall you in three days?” she asked, turning pale.
“Who knows!” said Julius, half in jest, half in earnest.
“But if you are anxious for me to escape all these perils, you, who are an angel, have but to offer up a few prayers to God for me; to-morrow, for instance, at the service.”
“To-morrow? at the service?” repeated Christiane, evidently impressed. “Do you hear what Monsieur Julius asks, father?”
“I have always accustomed you to pray for our guests, my child,” said the pastor.
“Now I am invulnerable,” said Julius, “armed with the prayer of a seraph; all, now, that I lack is the fairy talisman.”
His eyes were still fastened on the white rose.
“Come,” rejoined Samuel, “it is high time to go, were it only to put an end to all these imaginary perils. Do not all men run into dangers every day, from which they escape? Besides I am there, I, whom Gretchen imagines, I believe, to be the devil in disguise, and the devil can do much in human affairs. And after all, what matters! the real end and aim of mortals, is it not, to die?”
“To die!” cried Christiane, finding her voice again. “Oh, yes, Herr Julius, I will pray for you, although I do not think you are in any danger of death!”
“Now, adieu, adieu,” said Samuel impatiently. “Come along, Julius, come along.”
“Good-bye, my big. friend,” cried Lothario.
“Why,” said Christiane, “will you not give your flower to your big friend as a keepsake?”
And she placed the wild rose in the child’s hand.
“But I am too small!” said Lothario, vainly holding up his hand.
Then Christiane raised the child in her arms and carried him close up to Julius’ horse, and Julius took the wild rose.
It was acceptable even from the hand of Lothario.
“Thank you and farewell!” cried he, deeply moved.
And, waving a last farewell to Christiane and her father, he put spurs to his horse, as if to overcome his emotion, and galloped off.
Samuel followed. Another minute, and the two friends were already far away.
But when they had gone about fifty yards, Julius turned in his saddle, and saw Christiane, looking back and waving him adieu.
To both, this departure was even now a separation, and each felt that he left with the other a part of himself.
The young men rode for a quarter of a league, urging on their horses and without exchanging a word.
The road was charming. On one side mountain and forest; on the other the Neckar, reflecting in its calm waters the serene beauty of the sky. The sun, already tempered by the approach of evening, bathed the trees in a rosy light.
“What a smiling landscape,” said Samuel, slackening speed.
“And we are leaving it for noisy streets and smoke-filled taverns,” replied Julius. “Never have I felt so much as now how little suited I am to all your orgies, all your quarrels, all your tumults. I was meant for a quiet life, for peaceful joys...”
“And for Christiane! You forget the one essential. Confess that for you the village means the village maiden. Well! You are not far wrong. The girl is pretty and so is the witch. And I, like you, fully intend to revisit the neighbourhood. But the fact of our having discovered this sweet little bird’s nest is no reason why we should be sad. On the contrary, let us decide about to-morrow, and we can think of Sunday afterwards. If we survive we shall have plenty of time to compose sonnets and even to fancy ourselves in love; but until then let us be men.”
They stopped a short time at Neckarsteinach to drink a bottle of beer and to rest their horses. Then they hastily pursued their way, and it was still daylight when they reached Heidelberg.
In all the streets, and at the windows of all the houses, nothing but students were to be seen. On recognizing Samuel and Julius, they all bowed. Samuel seemed to be the object of the deepest respect. Caps of every colour, yellow, green, red, white, were raised respectfully as he passed.
But on reaching the principal street, respect gave place to enthusiasm, and the entry became a triumph.
Students, of whatever grade, “Mossy-Pates,” as well as simple “Finches,”
“Golden Foxes,” as also “Mules,” flock to doors and windows, some waving their caps in the air, others presenting arms with billiard cues, everyone shouting, at the top of his voice, the celebrated song; “Who cometh clown the mountain side?” terminated by the interminable “Viva, viva, viva, vallera!”
To all these marks of honour Samuel responded but by a slight inclination of the head. And seeing that these demonstrations of joy increased Julius’ melancholy:
“Silence!” cried he, “you make my friend’s head ache. Come! enough! do you take us for ‘Camels’ or ‘Philistines,’ that you deafen us with this uproar. Holla! stand back, or it will be impossible for us to dismount.”
But the crowd would not fall back. Each one vied with the other as to which should secure the bridle of Samuel’s horse, so as to have the honour of leading it to the stable.
One student, of quite thirty years, who must have been an “Oldster,” if not a “Mossy Pate,” rushed out of the hotel, waved back the “Finches “and the “Freshmen,” who surrounded Samuel, and indulging in prodigious leaps and bounds:
“Hands down,” cried he. “Ah, good-day, Samuel! Good-day, my noble senior. Hurrah!”
“Good-day, Trichter; good-day, my dear ‘Pet Fox,’ “said Samuel.
“You have returned at last, noble sir!” resumed Trichter. “Ah, time and existence have hung heavily on our hands during your absence! However, here you are! Viv aller aller a!...”
“Good Trichter, good! I appreciate your welcome. But permit me to alight. There. Let Lewald take my horse. Why do you make a wry face?”
“Why, you see!” said Trichter, in a piqued tone, “such a favour as that..”
“Yes, Lewald is only one of the ‘Boys,’ I know. But, it is advisable that, now and then, kings should do something for the people. You may come with Julius and me into the Commerz House!”
What Samuel called the Commerz House was the Inn of the Swan, the principal tavern in Heidelberg, at the door of which he had alighted.
“Why are so many people here? “Samuel asked Trichter. “Was I expected?”
“This merry-making is in honour of the re-opening of term after the Easter vacation,”, said Trichter; “you are here just in time. There is going to be a ‘Foxes” Commerz.”
“Then let us go to it,” said Samuel.
The landlord of the inn, having been apprised of Samuel’s arrival, at this moment hastened forward, with a proud yet humble air.
“Oh! oh! you are in no hurry!” said Samuel.
“I crave your pardon,” replied the landlord, “the fact is this evening we are expecting H.R.H. Prince Charles Augustus, the son of the Elector of Baden, who is passing through Heidelberg on his way to Stuttgart.”
“Well! what is that to me? He is only a prince; I am a king!”
Julius approached Samuel and whispered:
“Does the presence of the prince alter in any way our arrangement for to-night and to-morrow?” he asked.
“On the contrary.”
“Very well. Then let us go in.”
And Samuel, Julius and Trichter entered the disorderly entertainment which Trichter had called the “Foxes’ “Commerz.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FUCHSENCOMMERZ.
WHEN the door of the immense hall opened, Julius at first could see nothing, hear nothing.
The smoke blinded him, the noise deafened him. Of course, everyone was in the same plight. But one Beckme inured little by little, and, after some time, one was able vaguely to distinguish objects amid the clouds of tobacco. Then the enormous lustres gleamed out feebly like street lamps in a fog, and finally, in the dim light, you grew aware of appearances like human forms moving about.
Hurrah and viva vallera! There were students in that hall, quite young fellows, who could have given points to a Chaldean sage for the length of their beards; there were moustaches that would have been the envy of a weeping-willow. There were to be seen some of the most fantastic costumes imaginable, Faust caps, with a Huron feather, monster ties, which sometimes all but hid the wearer’s face; massive gold chains round bare necks; above all there were glasses enough to scare a waiter and pipes to strike consternation into a factory chimney.
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