Part 36

“The accident had scarcely been observed, and was lightly thought of when discovered. The physician, a jovial friend of the family, instead of applying the proper remedies, joked on the occurrence, and hence it was that those consequences soon appeared in the child, which she could, in after years, justly attribute to want of affection in her parents. The chest-bone and spine were dislocated, so that as she grew up, she became more and more deformed. Being rather tall, the double hump was more striking, her arms and hands were excessively long and thin, and her lean body quite out of proportion to her long legs. Her face had a singular expression, the little lively and cunning eyes could hardly peep forth from beneath the bony vault of her forehead and the broad, flattened nose, the chin was peaked, and the cheeks were sunken. Thus this unfortunate being was a remarkable foil to her sister Elizabeth. Their aunt, when she heard the total ruin of the family, had interfered and assisted them as far as her limited means permitted. Thus the younger daughter was saved and continued healthy, since the father’s sister had taken the children upon the death of their parents, for the purpose of educating them. The physical care of Ernestine came too late, but her mind was cultivated, and her talents were awakened. She showed herself intelligent, learned with ease, and retained what she had once acquired, evidently surpassing her sister in wit and presence of mind. Being fond of reading philosophical works, she exercised her judgment and showed so much acuteness, that she often startled even men by her bold and abrupt opinions; not being united to her own sex by beauty and grace, she not unfrequently exercised a more than masculine power. But what almost seemed to border on the marvellous was her great talent for music. Never had I heard the piano forte played in such a perfect manner; every difficulty vanished before her, and she only laughed when difficult passages were mentioned to her. No doubt the extraordinary span of her hand and fingers assisted her in excelling all that can be done by an ordinary hand. Being also well versed in the art of composition, she composed with ease long pieces of music which we often executed to her delight.

“Could not such a being be happy independent of others? Certainly, if she had resigned herself to her lot, if she could have forgotten she was a woman. Unfortunately for her, all men forgot it who approached her, but she could never raise herself beyond the limit so as to belong to the other sex, or to none.

“This singular being attracted me in a peculiar manner, both by her excellencies and her repulsiveness. When they performed and I sang her compositions, there beamed in moments of excitement from her small eyes, a wonderful, poetic spirit, liked a veiled angel humbled in the dust, with benign yet terrifying splendour. This frequently made me forget that she was the sister of my Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth had before refused some suitors who had earnestly courted her. Entering once the anti-chamber unannounced, I heard both sisters engaged in a lively conversation, in which my name was mentioned. ‘You will not accept him, I hope,’ cried Ernestine; ‘he suits neither you nor us; they say he is not very rich, but he is so proud, so self-sufficient, so convinced of, and so penetrated with, his own excellence, that he excites my indignation whenever he comes near us. You call him amiable, noble; but I tell you he is dogmatical and obstinate; and, believe me, his mental gifts are not so great as you seem to think.’

“With a gentle voice Elizabeth undertook my defence, but her sister discussed all the bad traits in my character so much the more, and passed all my faults in review. Finding that I was the subject of so much discussion, I would not surprise them by entering immediately, and thus I discovered, against my expectation, the dislike the eldest sister entertained for me. I therefore resolved to reconcile this unfortunate being, for whom life had so few charms and joys, by kindness and benevolence. When they had ceased I entered, and the aunt also joining us we immediately commenced our musical exercises, by which means I could best conceal my embarrassment.

“After a few visits I actually succeeded in disposing Ernestine more kindly towards me. When it happened that we were alone, we were deeply engaged in serious conversation, and I could not help admiring both her mind and acquirements. I could not but agree with her, when she often spoke with contempt of those men who only esteem and love in woman the transient and mutable charms that pass away with their youth. She was also fond of railing at those girls who so frequently pass themselves off as phenomena, and only, as it were, wish to please as dolls of fashion and well-dressed blocks. She revealed without affectation the wealth of her mind, her deep feeling, and her lofty thoughts, so that, in admiration of her mighty soul, I hardly remembered her deformed person. She pressed my hand kindly, and seemed perfectly happy when we had thus chatted an hour away. I was not less rejoiced when I perceived how her friendship for me apparently increased every day.

“It struck me as a weakness in my beloved, that she was displeased at our intimacy. I did not understand this petty jealousy, and censured it when alone with her, as showing too much female weakness. On the other hand, I was pleased when Ernestine gave me evident proofs of her friendship, when my appearance delighted her, when she was ready to show me a book or piece of music, or told me how she had prepared herself for a conversation with me on some important subject. This genuine friendship seemed to me so desirable, that I anticipated great delight at the thought that she would, in our married state, complete the measure of our love by mutual confidence. Their aunt approved of my engagement with Elizabeth, and our vows were exchanged. On this occasion Ernestine was not present, being confined by illness to her chamber. I did not see her on the day following, and when I wished to call on her, my betrothed said, ‘Do not disturb her, dear friend, she is not quite herself, and it is better to let her passion subside.’ ‘What has happened?’ I asked, astonished. ‘It is strange,’ replied Elizabeth, ‘that you have not, long ere this, remarked how ardently she loves you?’ I was struck dumb with terror and astonishment at this information, which startled me the more, since, strange to say, I had considered this intellectual being totally incapable of love; as though passion did not always run counter to possibility, truth, nature, and reason, if these opposed themselves, as, indeed, I had myself experienced in my own life in a similar manner. ‘Yes,’ continued Elizabeth, ‘almost at the very time you entered our house, I remarked her partiality to you, but her predilection manifested itself more decidedly, when you began to show a preference for me, when you became more friendly, and thus gained my confidence. For a long time, she concealed her affection under a pretended dislike, which, however, did not deceive me. Oh! beloved, the mind and feelings, the enthusiasm and passions of this singular being possess such extraordinary power and intensity, that I have been compelled ever since I comprehended her character, to admire her as much as to fear her, and to stand in awe at her gigantic intellect. When, some years ago, I took lessons in music, and made rapid progress, according to the testimony of my instructor, she only ridiculed my childlike satisfaction as she called it. She had never before thought of learning music, and now devoted herself with all her energy to this accomplishment. She practised day and night, and her master no longer satisfying her, she availed herself of the presence of a celebrated composer, and became his pupil. I could not comprehend the mental as well as physical energy, with which she devoted herself unceasingly, almost without sleep and refreshments, and with unwearied zeal to the practice of this art. It was then she learned composition and gained her master’s praise and admiration. It was not long, however, before she found fault with him, fancying his execution not sufficiently fiery and enthusiastic, his compositions not sufficiently original and impassioned. He submitted, and agreed with her. All men, she used to say, lie constantly in a half-sleeping state, being almost always, as it were, in a stupor, similar to the plant which grows, blooms, and is beautiful, diffusing odour, and possessing powers, without consciousness. What would men accomplish were they truly awake in their wakeful state? And so she devoted herself to philosophy, reading works on medicine, anatomy, and other subjects, which are usually too abstruse and distasteful to her sex. We, as well as her acquaintance, could not help being astonished at her. And thus, dear Francis, she will certainly become insane in this passion of love, and destroy her own peace of mind.

“Elizabeth now also described to me all the extravagances she committed when she heard of our engagement; at first, she intended to destroy both herself and sister; then again she said she knew how to conquer me, so that I should love her and abandon Elizabeth, whom she excelled both in goodness and intellect.

“I was naturally grieved at this news, feeling full well how imprudently I had acted in making such friendly advances to Ernestine, in my endeavours to reconcile her. I was somewhat relieved, when, a few days afterwards, Elizabeth told me that her sister had apologised with tears for what she had spoken in anger, that she had conjured her not to communicate to me any thing of these aberrations, and only implored her to be allowed to accompany us to our future residence, as she could not possibly live without the company of her sister and myself, without our conversation and our music.

“Now plans and preparations were made, and the aunt accompanied us to the Klausenburg, to celebrate, with a few friends, our nuptials in quiet, as Elizabeth had always been excessively averse from pomp and display. I had had a few apartments and the ball-room prepared, as far as it was possible, the greater part of the castle being in ruins. But Elizabeth had a poetical predilection for old castles, solitary mountainous countries, and the historical legends connected with them. After the wedding, we intended to take up our residence in a new house not far distant, and only occasionally to spend a few days or hours in the Klausenburg.

“We arrived; the gate was opened to us, and the first object that met our view in the court-yard, from amidst the ivy that twined the high walls, was the old mad Sibyl, whom you, my friend, knew some years ago. My wife was terrified, and I shuddered. ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ cried the old hag, jumping about with wild gestures; ‘there comes the destroyer, the woman murderer, and brings his two brides with him, whom he will murder also.’ ‘How do you come here?’ I exclaimed. The porter replied, ‘She must have climbed down the other side of the cliffs, which form the extreme wall of the small garden, and must have concealed herself among the shrubs and ruins.’ ‘You are right, you are right,’ screamed the old hag, ‘it is pleasant to live there.’ Terrified as we were, Ernestine seemed merry, for she did not cease laughing.

“During the days on which we celebrated the festival, Ernestine did not appear; she had vanished; and being anxious about her, we despatched people in search of her, when, on the third day, she returned on foot, merry and in high spirits. She told us she had not been able to withstand the inclination to roam about in the mountains, as she always had had a desire to do so. ‘But thus alone, without informing us?’ said Elizabeth. ‘Alone!’ she replied, ‘No! I have kept constant company with that old prophetess whom you so unkindly sent away. There I have learnt many things quite new, that I never even read of, and we have become very good friends.’

“We looked at her with astonishment. I formed an idea without expressing it, that Ernestine was mad. So awful and ominous was her return to our residence, such sad forebodings crowded in our minds, that, in spite of my happiness, I felt no confidence on life, and Elizabeth could not regain her cheerfulness.

“In other respects we were reconciled, and enjoyed the present moment, and the beauty of the surrounding woods and mountains. Our few guests, as well as the aunt, had left us, and we might have lived contented and in happy union in this delightful solitude, had I not observed that my wife avoided her sister as much as circumstances permitted. When I asked her the reason of this, she answered after some hesitation: ‘Dearest, I am terrified at Ernestine; she has become quite malicious, though formerly she had not the least disposition that way. Whenever she can vex me, spoil any thing, or even expose me to danger, so that I may be startled, stumble, or even fall; or if any stones fall in my way she shows the most malicious joy, as she did when she lately set the curtains of my bed on fire by bringing the candle too near them. She has told me laughing, that the country people talk of travellers and rangers having seen two spectres by moonlight, or in the morning-dawn in the lonely parts of the forests, whom they describe as terrible hideous beings; that these were herself and the old gipsy, and that she only wished that the circumstance might appear in print, in order that she, with her own signature, Ernestine Fräulein von Jertz, might contradict the story of ghosts, and state that she was one of the imagined spirits. Is not all this terrible?’

“‘Dear child,’ said I, ‘I must now tell you, in confidence, that I believe she is mad.’

“‘Is any malice, when it becomes a passion, any thing but madness?’ remarked Elizabeth, very naturally.

“On the approach of autumn we left the Klausenburg to take possession of our new house, for, to my terror, I discovered a disposition to melancholy in my wife, for which our solitude seemed any thing but beneficial. While we were once walking through the ancient apartments and the gothic hall, which was in tolerable preservation, and our footsteps echoed in the solitary room, my wife started with a sudden shudder. I asked the reason.

“‘Oh! it is awful here,’ she replied, trembling; ‘I feel as if invisible spectres haunted this place.’ I was terrified, and the thought that my wife’s mind, like that of her sister, might perhaps have suffered, stared at me like a monster.

“When residing in our new house, we often missed Ernestine, and on inquiry, found that she staid in the Klausenburg and the ruins of the old castle. Although we had been living on an unpleasant footing, still my wife, as well as myself, could not help wishing her with us when she was away. But how different was my life from that which I had once pictured to myself when I courted Elizabeth!

“Other domestic calamities united with our sufferings to increase our grief. That document, which, really constituted my fortune and supported my existence, which proved that large sums were paid, and some still owing to me, as well as all the deeds and papers which had been produced as proofs after the death of Count Moritz,--all these important papers which I had discovered after a long troublesome search, and had in my hands but a short time before, had again disappeared. I had always kept them carefully locked up, and it was my intention to travel to town and deliver them to my solicitor in person, as on them the recovery of my estates depended. They were gone; and much as I meditated and reflected, I could not discover, nor even find a trace of the way in which they had been purloined. When at length I communicated my anxiety to my wife, she did not seem surprised, and told me calmly, ‘Can you still doubt? I have no doubt as to what has become of them. Ernestine has profited by some moment of your absence when you might have left your escritoire open, or some other forgetfulness, to take the papers away.’

“‘Not possible!’ I cried with horror. ‘Possible?’ she repeated. ‘What is impossible to her?’

“As these documents were wanting, our long standing law-suit proceeded but slowly, and I felt sure that I must lose it whenever it was decided. I therefore availed myself of an opportunity which the court afforded me, by proposing to quash it, that I might defer the decision to some future period. Still I could not help questioning Ernestine and informing her of my suspicions. I was horrorstruck at the manner in which she heard me communicate a suspicion, which would have shocked any innocent mind. When I had overcome my embarrassment and had concluded, she burst out in such laughter that I lost all composure. Recovering again, I urged her to reply, but she only said, with a sarcastic coldness, ‘My dear brother-in-law, there are here only two cases possible, as you must yourself see, notwithstanding your short-sightedness, namely, that I am either guilty or innocent. Is it not so? If I have committed the robbery, I must have been induced by weighty reasons, or goaded to such an act by malice, or something else. And then I ought to say: yes! I have done it, pray do not take it amiss. Now you must confess that this would be more than stupid. If I were a fool I might have done it without any particular intention,--may be to light the kitchen fire with them; or because I was pleased with the red seals, and might now say: there, take these pretty papers back, considering they have some value for the dear count. But a fool I have not been up to this moment; and if I am malicious, I am of course not silly enough to confess the deed. Or again, assuming the second case that I am innocent, then you, sir brother-in-law (pray don’t contradict me), are the simpleton for putting such unbecoming questions to me.’

“I could not answer the spectral being. When I saw that Elizabeth no longer took any pleasure in playing the piano that I procured from abroad in our retirement, and asked the reason of it, she said, sadly, ‘Dearest, if I do not wish to incur deadly vexation, I must no longer play.’ ‘How so?’ ‘Because Ernestine has flatly forbidden me. She says that in a house where there lives such an accomplished pianist as herself, she could not allow any one else even to strike a note.’ This presumption was too much for my patience. I ran to her chamber and asked her ironically to play me something, since she would not allow any one else to touch the instrument. She followed me, laughing loudly; and truly she played in such a masterly style, that my anger was turned into admiration and rapture. ‘Well!’ she said, gravely, when she had finished, ‘one may have in one’s own house all enjoyments for which connoisseurs would travel fifty miles, and yet one can be satisfied with such bungling and such hammering up and down the keys with clumsy fingers. Oh! fools and idiots, who, rogues as they are, talk of art and only mean vapour; they can only sip the nectar, and the wonderful becomes but trash in their rude hands. If I did not feel a constant disgust for life, if men were not repulsive to me, I should never cease laughing.’ From that time she often joined in our music, at most permitting Elizabeth and myself to sing, though she maintained that we possessed neither school nor method. Thus the winter passed away. I was already poor, and with the prospect of being reduced quite to beggary; Elizabeth was sickly, and the serenity of my life was gone.

“It was almost to be called a relief to our existence, when on the approach of spring, Ernestine became ill, and was shortly so much worse that she could not leave her bed. She grew more irritable as her illness increased, and nothing vexed her more than that she could not visit the Klausenburg, of which she had become so fond. One warm day I sent her in the carriage, she searched long in the rooms, loitered among the shrubs and ruins, and returned much worse than before. It was now evident that she could not recover. The physician said that he could not understand her disease, nor the state of the sufferer, for the vital powers were so strong in her that all the symptoms usually indicating death did not show themselves, and there was a probability of her speedy recovery; in a few days, however, he gave up all hope.

“We now really looked forward to a quieter future. Although we felt pity for the unhappy being, yet we could not deny that she had a disturbing effect on our life and the happiness of our love. We heard that she was near death, but as she had arranged with her doctor and nurse that we should not disturb her we had kept away. All of a sudden she much desired to see me, but requested that Elizabeth should not be present. I went and said as I entered: ‘Dear friend, you will doubtless be kind enough to give me back the documents which you took from my escritoire to vex me.’ She looked at me significantly with her dying eyes, which now seemed larger and sparkled brighter than formerly. There was something so singular, bright and glaring in her look, that any one having witnessed it would never wish to see any thing more terrible and inconceivable. After a pause she said: ‘Brother, do these foolish trifles still occupy your head? Yet it is no wonder, every one lives as he can. Sit down, my friend,’ she continued, with an air of contempt; I complied and sat down by her bed.