Book: Stories by Foreign Authors: German (V.2)

V >> Various >> Stories by Foreign Authors: German (V.2)




"Now then, fill up the glass," he shouted, in a commanding voice, "and
take care that you don't spill any, or you'll spoil my luck."

With trembling hand Viola did as she was bidden, without spilling a
single drop. Then he took up the glass and drained it at one draught.
His face flushed a bright crimson: he poured himself out another glass.

"Aren't you drinking, Ephraim?" he exclaimed, after he had finished that
glass also.

"I don't drink to-day, father," Ephraim faltered, "it's a fast."

"A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too," he continued, with a
coarse laugh, "twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for
the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when
the sun is up at three already, and at eight o'clock at night is still
hesitating whether he'll go to bed or not ...what have I got to do with
your Fast-day?"

His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth
glass, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle.
Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast
assuming that glassy brightness that is usually the forerunner of
helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see.
Impelled by that natural, almost holy shame which prompted the son of
Noah to cover the nakedness of his father, he motioned to his sister to
leave. Then HE, too, softly walked out of the room.

Outside, in the corridor, the brother and sister fell into each other's
arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find
words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length
Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim's shoulder, whispered: "Ephraim,
what do you think of him?"

"He is ill, I think..." said Ephraim, in a voice choked with sobs.

"What, you call THAT illness, Ephraim?" Viola cried; "if that's illness,
then a wild beast is ill too."

"Viola, for Heaven's sake, be quiet: he's our own father after all!"

"Ephraim!" said the girl, with a violent outburst of emotion, as she
again threw herself into her brother's arms... "just think if mother had
lived to see this!"

"Don't, don't, Viola, my sweet!" Ephraim exclaimed, sobbing convulsively.

"Ephraim!" the girl cried, shaking her head in wild despair, "I don't
believe in the Sechus! When we live to see all this, and our hearts do
not break, we lose faith in everything...Ephraim, what is to become of
us?"

"Hush, dear Viola, hush, you don't know what you are saying," replied Ephraim,
"I believe in it, because mother herself told us...you must believe in it too."

But Viola again shook her head. "I don't believe in it any longer," she
moaned, "I can't."

Noiselessly, Ephraim walked toward the door of the front room; he placed
his ear against the keyhole, and listened. Within all was silent. A
fresh terror seized him. Why was no sound to be heard?...He opened the
door cautiously lest it should creak. There sat his father asleep in the
arm-chair, his head bent on his bosom, his arms hanging limp by his
side.

"Hush, Viola," he whispered, closing the door as cautiously as he had
opened it, "he is asleep. ...I think it will do him good. Be careful
that you make no noise."

Viola had seated herself upon a block of wood outside the kitchen door,
and was sobbing silently. In the meantime, Ephraim, unable to find a
word of solace for his sister, went and stood at the street door, so
that no unbidden guest should come to disturb his father's slumbers. It
was mid-day; from the church hard by streamed the peasants and their
wives in their Sunday attire, and many bestowed a friendly smile upon
the well-known youth. But he could only nod his head in return, his
heart was sore oppressed, and a smile at such a moment seemed to him
nothing short of sin. He went back into the house, and listened at the
door of the room. Silence still reigned unbroken, and with noiseless
steps he again walked away.

"He is still sleeping," he whispered to his sister. "Just think what
would have happened if we had still had that bird...He wouldn't have
been able to sleep a wink."

"Ephraim, why do you remind me of it?" cried Viola with a fresh outburst
of tears. "Where is the little bird now, I wonder?..."

Ephraim sat down beside his sister, and took her hand in his. Thus they
remained seated for some time, unable to find a word of comfort for each
other.

At length movements were heard. Ephraim sprang to his feet and once more
approached the door to listen.

"He is awake!" he softly said to Viola, and slowly opening the door, he
entered the room.

Ascher was walking up and down with heavy tread.

"Do you feel refreshed after your sleep, father?" Ephraim asked timidly.

Ascher stood still, and confronted his son. His face was still very
flushed, but his eyes had lost their glassy stare; his glance was clear
and steady.

"Ephraim, my son," he began, in a kindly, almost cheerful tone, "you've
grown into a splendid business man, as good a business man as one can
meet with between this and Vienna. I'm sure of it. But I must give you
one bit of advice; it's worth a hundred pounds to one in your position.
Never leave a key in the lock of a bureau!"

Ephraim looked at his father as though stupefied. Was the man mad or
delirious to talk in such a strain? At that moment, from the extreme end
of the Ghetto, there sounded the three knocks, summoning the people to
evening prayer. As in the morning, so again now the sound seemed to stun
the vigorous man. His face blanched and assumed an expression of terror;
he trembled from head to foot. Then again he cast a frightened glance
in the direction of the window.

"Nothing but knocking, knocking!" he muttered. "They would like to knock
the most hidden thoughts out of one's brains, if they only could. What
makes them do it, I should like to know?...To the clanging of a bell you
can, at all events, shut your ears, you need only place your hands to
them...but with that hammer they bang at every confounded door, and
drive one crazy. Who gives them the right to do it, I should like to
know?" He stood still listening.

"Do you think he will be long before he reaches here?" he asked Ephraim,
in a frightened voice.

"Who, father?"

"The watch."

"He has already knocked next door but one."

Another minute, and the three strokes sounded on the door of the house.
Ascher heaved a sigh of relief; he rubbed his hand across his forehead;
it was wet with perspiration.

"Thank God!" he cried, as though addressing himself, "that's over, and
won't come again till to-morrow."

"Ephraim, my son!" he cried, with a sudden outburst of cheerfulness,
accompanying the words with a thundering bang upon the table, "Ephraim,
my son, you shall soon see what sort of a father you have. Now, you're
continually worrying your brains, walking your feet off, trying to get
a skin, or praying some fool of a peasant to be good enough to sell you
a bit of wool. Ephraim, my son, all that shall soon be changed, take my
word for it. I'll make you rich, and as for Viola, I'll get her a
husband--such a husband that all the girls in Bohemia will turn green
and yellow with envy...Ascher's daughter shall have as rich a dowry as
the daughter of a Rothschild... But there's one thing, and one thing
only, that I need, and then all will happen as I promise, in one night."

"And what is that, father!" asked Ephraim, with a slight shudder.

"Luck, luck, Ephraim, my son!" he shouted. "What is a man without luck?
Put a man who has no luck in a chest full of gold; cover him with gold
from head to foot; when he crawls out of it, and you search his pockets,
you'll find the gold has turned to copper."

"And will you have luck, father?" asked Ephraim.

"Ephraim, my son!" said the old gambler, with a cunning smile, "I'll
tell you something--There are persons whose whole powers are devoted to
one object--how to win a fortune; in the same way as there are some who
study to become doctors, and the like, so these study what we call
luck...and from them I've learned it."

He checked himself in sudden alarm lest he might have said too much, and
looked searchingly at his son. A pure soul shone through Ephraim's open
countenance, and showed his father that his real meaning had not been
grasped.

"Never mind," he shouted loudly, waving his arms in the air, "what is
to come no man can stop. Give me something to drink, Ephraim."

"Father," the latter faltered, "don't you think it will harm you?"

"Don't be a fool, Ephraim!" cried Ascher, "you don't know my
constitution. Besides, didn't you say that to-day was a fast, when it
is forbidden to eat anything? And have I asked you for any food? But as
for drink, that's quite another thing! The birds of the air can't do
without it, much less man!"

Ephraim saw that for that evening, at all events, it would not do to
oppose his father. He walked into the kitchen where Viola was preparing
supper, or rather breakfast, for after the fast this was the first meal
of the day.

"Viola," he said, "make haste and fetch some fresh wine."

"For him?" cried Viola, pointing her finger almost threateningly in the
direction of the sitting-room door.

"Don't, don't, Viola!" Ephraim implored.

"And you are fasting!" she said.

"Am I not also fasting for him?" said Ephraim.

With a full bottle in his hand Ephraim once more entered the room. He
placed the wine upon the table, where the glasses from which Ascher had
drunk in the morning were still standing.

"Where is Viola?" asked Ascher, who was again pacing the room with firm
steps.

"She is busy cooking."

"Tell her she shall have a husband, and a dowry that will make half the
girls in Bohemia turn green and yellow with envy."

Then he approached the table, and drank three brimming glasses, one
after the other. "Now then," he said, as with his whole weight he
dropped into the old arm-chair... "Now I'll have a good night's rest.
I need strength and sharp eyes, and they are things which only sleep can
give. Ephraim, my son," he continued after awhile in thick, halting
accents... "tell the watch--Simon is his name, I think--he can give six
knocks instead of three upon the door, in the morning, he won't disturb
me...and to Viola you can say I'll find her a husband, handsomer than
her eyes have ever beheld, and tell her on her wedding-day she shall
wear pearls round her neck like those of a queen--no, no, like those of
Gudule, her mother." A few moments later he was sound asleep.

It was the dead of night. All round reigned stillness and peace, the
peace of night! What a gentle sound those words convey, a sound akin
only to the word HOME! Fraught, like it, with sweetest balm, a fragrant
flower from long-lost paradise. Thou art at rest, Ascher, and in safe
shelter; the breathing of thy children is so restful, so tranquil...

Desist! desist! 'T is too late. Side by side with the peace of night,
there dwell Spirits of Evil, the never-resting, vagrant, home-destroying
guests, who enter unbidden into the human soul! Hark, the rustling of
their raven-hued plumage! They take wing, they fly aloft; 't is the
shriek of the vulture, swooping down upon the guileless dove.

Is there no eye to watch thee? Doth not thine own kin see thy foul deeds?

Desist!

'T is too late...

Open is the window, no grating noise has accompanied the unbolting of
the shutter... The evil spirits have taken care that the faintest sound
shall die away...even the rough iron obeys their voices...it is they who
have bidden: "Be silent; betray him not; he is one of us."

Even the key in the door of the old bureau is turned lightly and without
noise. Groping fingers are searching for a bulky volume. Have they found
it? Is there none there to cry in a voice of thunder: "Cursed be the
father who stretches forth his desecrating hand towards the things that
are his children's"?...

They HAVE found it, the greedy fingers! and now, but a spring through
the open window, and out into the night...

At that moment a sudden ray of light shines through a crack in the door
of the room... Swiftly the door opens, a girlish figure appears on the
threshold, a lighted lamp in her hand...

"Gudule!" he shrieks, horror-stricken, and falls senseless at her feet.

Ascher was saved. The terrible blow which had struck him down had not
crushed the life from him. He was awakened. But when, after four weeks
of gruesome fever and delirium, his mind had somewhat regained its
equilibrium, his hair had turned white as snow, and his children beheld
an old, decrepit man.

That which Viola had denied her father when he returned to them in all
the vigor of his manhood, she now lavished upon him in his suffering and
helplessness, with that concentrated power of love, the source of which
is not human, but Divine. In the space of one night of terror, the
merest bud of yesterday had suddenly blossomed forth into a flower of
rarest beauty. Never did gentler hands cool a fever-heated brow, never
did sweeter voice mingle its melody with the gruesome dreams of
delirium.

On his sick-bed, lovingly tended by Ephraim and Viola, an ennobling
influence gradually came over the heart of the old gambler, and so
deeply touched it, that calm peace crowned his closing days. It was
strange that the events of that memorable night, and the vicissitudes
that had preceded it, had left no recollection behind, and his children
took good care not to re-awaken, by the slightest hint, his sleeping
memory.

A carriage drew up one day in front of Ascher's house. There has
evidently been a splendid crop of oats this year. Uncle Gabriel has
come. Uncle Gabriel has only lately assumed the additional character of
father-in-law to Ephraim, for he declared that none but Ephraim should
be his pet daughter's husband. And now he has come for the purpose of
having a confidential chat with Viola. There he sits, the kind-hearted,
simple-minded man, every line of his honest face eloquent with
good-humor and happiness, still guilty of an occasional violent
onslaught upon his thighs. Viola still remains his "little spit-fire."

"Now, Viola, my little spit-fire," said he. "won't you yet allow me to
talk to my Nathan about you? Upon my word, the boy can't bear the
suspense any longer."

"Uncle," says Viola, and a crimson blush dyes her pale cheeks: "Uncle,"
she repeats, in a tone of such deep earnestness, that the laughing
expression upon Gabriel's face instantly vanishes, "please don't talk
to him at all. MY place is with my father!"

And to all appearances Viola will keep her word.

Had she taken upon herself a voluntary penance for having, in her
heart's bitter despair, presumed to abjure her faith in the Sechus of
her mother? Or was there yet another reason? The heart of woman is a
strangely sensitive thing. It loves not to build its happiness upon the
hidden ruins of another's life.




THE SEVERED HAND

BY

WILHELM HAUFF


I was born in Constantinople; my father was a dragoman at the Porte, and
besides, carried on a fairly lucrative business in sweet-scented
perfumes and silk goods. He gave me a good education; he partly
instructed me himself, and also had me instructed by one of our priests.
He at first intended me to succeed him in business one day, but as I
showed greater aptitude than he had expected, he destined me, on the
advice of his friends, to be a doctor; for if a doctor has learned a
little more than the ordinary charlatan, he can make his fortune in
Constantinople. Many Franks frequented our house, and one of them
persuaded my father to allow me to travel to his native land to the city
of Paris, where such things could be best acquired and free of charge.
He wished, however, to take me with himself gratuitously on his journey
home. My father, who had also travelled in his youth, agreed, and the
Frank told me to hold myself in readiness three months hence. I was
beside myself with joy at the idea of seeing foreign countries, and
eagerly awaited the moment when we should embark. The Frank had at last
concluded his business and prepared himself for the journey. On the
evening before our departure my father led me into his little bedroom.
There I saw splendid dresses and arms lying on the table. My looks were
however chiefly attracted to an immense heap of gold, for I had never
before seen so much collected together.

My father embraced me and said: "Behold, my son, I have procured for
thee clothes for the journey. These weapons are thine; they are the same
which thy grandfather hung around me when I went abroad. I know that
thou canst use them aright; but only make use of them when thou art
attacked; on such occasions, however, defend thyself bravely. My
property is not large; behold I have divided it into three parts, one
part for thee, another for my support and spare money, but the third is
to me a sacred and untouched property, it is for thee in the hour of
need." Thus spoke my old father, tears standing in his eyes, perhaps
from some foreboding, for I never saw him again.

The journey passed off very well; we had soon reached the land of the
Franks, and six days later we arrived in the large city of Paris. There
my Frankish friend hired a room for me, and advised me to spend wisely
my money, which amounted in all to two thousand dollars. I lived three
years in this city, and learned what is necessary for a skilful doctor
to know. I should not, however, be stating the truth if I said that I
liked being there, for the customs of this nation displeased me;
besides, I had only a few chosen friends there, and these were noble
young men.

The longing after home at last possessed me mightily; during the whole
of that time I had not heard anything from my father, and I therefore
seized a favorable opportunity of reaching home. An embassy from France
left for Turkey. I acted as surgeon to the suite of the Ambassador and
arrived happily in Stamboul. My father's house was locked, and the
neighbors, who were surprised on seeing me, told me my father had died
two months ago. The priest who had instructed me in my youth brought me
the key; alone and desolate I entered the empty house. All was still in
the same position as my father had left it, only the gold which I was
to inherit was gone. I questioned the priest about it, and he, bowing,
said: "Your father died a saint, for he has bequeathed his gold to the
Church." This was and remained inexplicable to me. However, what could
I do? I had no witness against the priest, and had to be glad that he
had not considered the house and the goods of my father as a bequest.
This was the first misfortune that I encountered. Henceforth nothing but
ill-luck attended me. My reputation as doctor would not spread at all,
because I was ashamed to act the charlatan; and I felt everywhere the
want of the recommendation of my father, who would have introduced me
to the richest and most distinguished, but who now no longer thought of
the poor Zaleukos! The goods of my father also had no sale, for his
customers had deserted him after his death, and new ones are only to be
got slowly.

Thus when I was one day meditating sadly over my position, it occurred
to me that I had often seen in France men of my nation travelling
through the country exhibiting their goods in the markets of the towns.
I remembered that the people liked to buy of them, because they came
from abroad, and that such a business would be most lucrative.
Immediately I resolved what to do. I disposed of my father's house, gave
part of the money to a trusty friend to keep for me, and with the rest
I bought what are very rare in France, shawls, silk goods, ointments,
and oils, took a berth on board a ship, and thus entered upon my second
journey to the land of the Franks. It seemed as if fortune had favored
me again as soon as I had turned my back upon the Castles of the
Dardanelles. Our journey was short and successful. I travelled through
the large and small towns of the Franks, and found everywhere willing
buyers of my goods. My friend in Stamboul always sent me fresh stores,
and my wealth increased day by day. When I had saved at last so much
that I thought I might venture on a greater undertaking, I travelled
with my goods to Italy. I must however confess to something, which
brought me not a little money: I also employed my knowledge of physic.
On reaching a town, I had it published that a Greek physician had
arrived, who had already healed many; and in fact my balsam and medicine
gained me many a sequin. Thus I had at length reached the city of
Florence in Italy.

I resolved upon remaining in this town for some time, partly because I
liked it so well, partly also because I wished to recruit myself from
the exertions of my travels. I hired a vaulted shop, in that part of the
town called Sta. Croce, and not far from this a couple of nice rooms at
an inn, leading out upon a balcony. I immediately had my bills
circulated, which announced me to be both physician and merchant.
Scarcely had I opened my shop when I was besieged by buyers, and in
spite of my high prices I sold more than any one else, because I was
obliging and friendly towards my customers. Thus I had already lived
four days happily in Florence, when one evening, as I was about to close
my vaulted room, and on examining once more the contents of my ointment
boxes, as I was in the habit of doing, I found in one of the small boxes
a piece of paper, which I did not remember to have put into it.

I unfolded the paper, and found in it an invitation to be on the bridge
which is called Ponto Vecchio that night exactly at midnight. I was
thinking for a long time as to who it might be who had invited me there;
and not knowing a single soul in Florence, I thought perhaps I should
be secretly conducted to a patient, a thing which had already often
occurred. I therefore determined to proceed thither, but took care to
gird on the sword which my father had once presented to me. When it was
close upon midnight I set out on my journey, and soon reached the Ponte
Vecchio. I found the bridge deserted, and determined to await the
appearance of him who called me. It was a cold night; the moon shone
brightly, and I looked down upon the waves of the Arno, which sparkled
far away in the moonlight. It was now striking twelve o'clock from all
the churches of the city, when I looked up and saw a tall man standing
before me completely covered in a scarlet cloak, one end of which hid
his face.

At first I was somewhat frightened, because he had made his appearance
so suddenly; but was however myself again shortly afterwards, and said:
"If it is you who have ordered me here, say what you want?" The man
dressed in scarlet turned round and said in an undertone: "Follow!" At
this, however, I felt a little timid to go alone with this stranger. I
stood still and said: "Not so, sir, kindly first tell me where; you
might also let me see your countenance a little, in order to convince
me that you wish me no harm." The red one, however, did not seem to pay
any attention to this. "If thou art unwilling, Zaleukos, remain," he
replied, and continued his way. I grew angry. "Do you think," I
exclaimed, "a man like myself allows himself to be made a fool of, and
to have waited on this cold night for nothing?"

In three bounds I had reached him, seized him by his cloak, and cried
still louder, whilst laying hold of my sabre with my other hand. His
cloak, however, remained in my hand, and the stranger had disappeared
round the nearest corner. I became calmer by degrees. I had the cloak
at any rate, and it was this which would give me the key to this
remarkable adventure. I put it on and continued my way home. When I was
at a distance of about a hundred paces from it, some one brushed very
closely by me and whispered in the language of the Franks: "Take care,
Count, nothing can be done to-night." Before I had time, however, to
turn round, this somebody had passed, and I merely saw a shadow hovering
along the houses. I perceived that these words did not concern me, but
rather the cloak, yet it gave me no explanation concerning the affair.
On the following morning I considered what was to be done. At first I
had intended to have the cloak cried in the streets, as if I had found
it. But then the stranger might send for it by a third person, and thus
no light would be thrown upon the matter. Whilst I was thus thinking,
I examined the cloak more closely. It was made of thick Genoese velvet,
scarlet in color, edged with Astrachan fur and richly embroidered with
gold. The magnificent appearance of the cloak put a thought into my mind
which I resolved to carry out.

I carried it into my shop and exposed it for sale, but placed such a
high price upon it that I was sure nobody would buy it. My object in
this was to scrutinize everybody sharply who might ask for the fur
cloak; for the figure of the stranger, which I had seen but
superficially, though with some certainty, after the loss of the cloak,
I should recognize amongst a thousand. There were many would-be
purchasers for the cloak, the extraordinary beauty of which attracted
everybody; but none resembled the stranger in the slightest degree, and
nobody was willing to pay such a high price as two hundred sequins for
it. What astonished me was that on asking somebody or other if there was
not such a cloak in Florence, they all answered "No," and assured me
they never had seen so precious and tasteful a piece of work.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.