Anarchistbanjo's World

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Taking leave of his mother the evening before
departure—he planned to stay at a hotel to avoid
disturbing her at night—she looked into his eyes.
“What’s wrong, Ernst?” she asked. “I think you’re
deeply in love…”
“Nonsense, Mother,” he replied.
She shook her head. “No, dear, you can’t deny
it… I see it. You’re changed. Why tell me nothing?”
Ernst Hugo felt it might’ve been better to confide
in her about his doom. But it was too late. He denied
it and tore himself away. On the journey, his unrest
grew worse. This passion had seized him like fate,
roaring through him, tearing him along, gnawing his
core with a vulture’s greedy beak. He yearned for
something good, wise, calm, but knew it was a land
he’d never reach. The train’s rattling rhythm fused
with him; he felt one with this raging beast, yet it
seemed they didn’t move, trapped in an endless
screw.
He traveled half the night.
Early morning brought him to Sankt Pölten. The
summer sun had risen, peering over the station’s
shoulder. Ernst Hugo paced, shivering. He glanced at
the officials’ apartment windows. A curtain stirred. A
hand with a watering can appeared, tending
flowerpots by an open window. He pictured a
bedroom filled with fresh night air, a bed of white
linen and lace, a blue silk coverlet. He clenched his
teeth, fists balled.
The express to Salzburg–Munich pulled in,
panting on the tracks. Doors clattered open and shut;
conductors scurried; sleepy waiters carried breakfast
coffee along the cars. Ernst Hugo ignored the bustle,
ensnared in his thoughts, wrestling them, unable to
break free. They attacked like wolves.
The station’s tumult ebbed. Conductors closed
doors, signaling each other… then three people burst
from the first-class waiting room, racing across the
tracks to the train. A broad-shouldered giant led,
carrying two bags, followed by a lady and a
gentleman… Ernst Hugo caught a fleeting glimpse.
An eternity later, a jolt: it was Helmina… Lorenz
ahead… and the man beside her, Fritz Gegely,
dressed as an Englishman in proper travel attire.
Later, studying psychology, Ernst Hugo saw this
moment as a case of delayed action between decision
and execution.
He lunged too late. A conductor had opened a
carriage door; the three boarded in frantic haste, and
the train began to move. It glided past Ernst Hugo, a
gray, blurring ribbon… a vast emptiness remained
where he stood. It heated from within, radiating
white-hot fury… seeping into him, swelling into
boundless rage.
So, Frau Helmina had run off with Herr Gegely,
poet of Marie Antoinette, the Heidelberg manuscript
thief. Splendid. What else could he think? They’d
boarded at the last moment to avoid interception.
Good that he’d seen them; he could at least tell
Ruprecht Helmina looked lively and eager. That was
all left for him to do.
Soon, his train departed. Ernst Hugo sat in his
corner, brimming with hate, fury, outrage, and
despair. Like a Leyden jar charged with electricity,
sparking at the slightest touch.
At Gars station, he asked two men who’d wired
for a carriage to let him ride to Vorderschluder. They
were taciturn, silently smoking, watching blue smoke
trails flutter into the kind summer morning. Ernst
Hugo squeezed into the opposite corner, hat over his
eyes, pretending to sleep.
At the Kamp bridge, he alighted, thanked them
hastily, and raced up the castle hill. He hurled his
question like a stone at the first person he met. Yes,
of course… the mistress had left… the Baron was in
the village. Ernst Hugo laughed scornfully and ran
back down. He kept seeing a bedroom filled with
fresh night air… Now he must find Frau Gegely,
fling his news in her face. Someone should writhe…
The Red Ox’s plump landlady filled the doorway
pleasantly. Nearby, three men conversed quietly.
Ernst Hugo recognized his carriage companions
and the Celt scholar he’d seen with Ruprecht. He
charged at the landlady.
“Is Frau Gegely upstairs?” he asked.
“Yes!” she replied, not budging from the door, as
if planted to guard.
“I must speak with her. I have to tell her
something.” He moved to rush past.
Schiereisen approached with a polite greeting. “I’d
ask you, Herr Secretary, not to go up now. The poor
woman…” That was the spark nearing the Leyden
jar. The discharge followed.
“I know… I know,” Hugo screamed, “but I must
tell you I saw them together. I saw them, understand?
It’ll please her when I tell them.”
Schiereisen gripped Hugo’s wrist firmly.
“Where?” he asked urgently.
“Where? Sankt Pölten… Salzburg express… and
so on… who knows… they’re off into the world.”
Ten clear chimes rang from the church tower.
Schiereisen released Hugo’s wrist and turned to his
companions. “Let’s go… to the telegraph office…”
His blue eyes gleamed like iron; his face, every
muscle, pulsed with resolve. “Now we’ll show what
we can do.”
As the three hurried off, Ernst Hugo collapsed,
shrinking… his fingers fumbled beside him; then he
turned, drifting slowly through a fog.
Ten days later, Schiereisen returned from his hunt
to Vorderschluder. His first stop was the castle. He
found Ruprecht with Hedwig in the garden. Her
wheelchair stood under a wild vine arbor.
Maurerwenzel slept in the arbor’s shade. Frau
Hedwig walked, leaning on Ruprecht’s arm and a
cane, slowly in bright sunlight. Two rose hedges
lined their path.
A miracle had occurred.
Schiereisen honored it by not mentioning it. He
doffed his hat, waiting until they turned and saw him.
Hedwig started… Schiereisen saw her grip
Ruprecht’s arm tighter.
“Herr Schiereisen is back,” Ruprecht murmured.
“Herr Schiereisen… will you hear him, Hedwig? …
It’s better…”
“No… no… I’ll hear him now. I must know.
Mustn’t I?” She put on a brave, resolute face.
“Well, then… if she wishes… You can speak,
Schiereisen. I’ve told her everything; she knows all.”
Schiereisen still held his hat. His broad skull
arched powerfully, eyes shadowed under strong
brows.
“Have you found a trace…?” Ruprecht asked, as
Schiereisen didn’t speak at once.
“They’re not yet caught, but they’re ours. They’re
still on the Atlantic.”
“And how did you…? Speak. See, we’re prepared
and can hear it all.”
“It wasn’t entirely easy… though they clearly
didn’t expect pursuit. They’d have been more
cautious otherwise. Why bore you with details? They
headed to Le Havre, after various zigzags that cost us
some effort.”
“And then they boarded a ship?”
“Yes… we arrived too late to stop them. But it’s
hard to hide today… wireless telegraphy, you know?
We sent a Marconi telegram at once, and they’ll
return on the next steamer.”
“Him too? Have you had him arrested as well?”
Schiereisen donned his Panama hat, his face now
shadowed. “No…” he said hesitantly, “not him…
why? We… please, stay calm, gracious lady. We
were too late… for your husband. It’s not our fault.”
“My God… what are you saying… he’s…”
“Yes… he met with misfortune, gracious lady. In
his hotel… they weren’t staying together, and
Helmina… likely to mislead any pursuers, if
followed… he took his own life in his room…
poisoned.”
Hedwig let out a soft cry and closed her eyes. So
this was the end.
“You don’t believe it, Schiereisen!” Ruprecht said
after a pause. He’d reflected, feeling unvarnished
truth would heal more than this notion, which he saw
spawning subtle torments of conscience for Hedwig.
“Tell us honestly what you think.”
“You’re right, Herr Baron! I don’t believe it. It
was all cleverly done. But Fritz Gegely had no reason
to kill himself. And… we know he withdrew nearly
his entire fortune from his Vienna bank. He carried it,
not wanting to transfer it to America and betray
himself. Well… all the money’s gone…”
Hedwig, shuddering with horror, threw herself
against Ruprecht’s chest. He stood still, his arms
gently, protectively around her neck. A freeing sob
rose from her depths, a releasing weep… her
trembling fingers calmed, nestling trustingly against
his shoulders. He looked straight ahead… gravely
into the future.
“Now we must face the trial…” he said softly,
“the trial and all that. We must…” He turned his gaze
to Schiereisen. “Tell Herr von Zaugg I’m ready to
vacate the castle anytime. Anytime! His claims are
sacred to me. I’ve always seen myself as a steward
here. I’ll stay as long as he wishes… to hand over the
estate in good order. Meanwhile, I’ll find something
in my homeland… ground that’s mine…” He bent to
Hedwig again.
She raised her head. Fear and horror lingered on
her pale face, but Schiereisen saw a timid tenderness
in Ruprecht’s gaze soften it all.
He turned and walked slowly from the castle
garden, past where Jana was found, through the gate
Helmina had fled. A certainty flowed in him like a
broad, calm river: these two were good and tightly
bound; no turmoil or pain, no upheaval ahead, could
shake their happiness, radiant with the future.
He paused on the bridge beside the stone John,
gazing into the water. And smiled…
One could forgo the bit of thanks perhaps earned.