Anarchistbanjo's World

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

“I won’t leave you — again,” I affirmed, drunk with
happiness.
“I knew you would come,” she whispered softly.
She clung to my shoulders with her small hands and
repeated the words that she had scribbled in a flying hurry on
the piece of paper I had taken from the gambling house.
“Save me! Save me! Take me with you!”
This unexpected and scarcely hoped for turn of my
adventure filled me with the deepest delight. I was immediately
ready to do anything she might ask.
“So you are in danger?” I asked.
She quickly nodded her head several times and once
again nestled her tender body against me again pleadingly. For
a short moment I thought of the severe punishments with which
the Empress’ courts used to deal with kidnappers. It had been
said that a nobleman who had kidnapped the wife of a
distinguished courtier and special favorite and fled with her to
his estate, was seized and taken to the dungeons of Spielberg,
where he was forced to stand with up to half of his body in
liquid filth, with an iron pear filled with pepper in his mouth,
gnawed on by rats, and had perished in the most horrible way.
But the sweetness of a happiness, which already stunned
me in the mere expectation, stifled any fear, indeed any
deliberation in me.
After a credible excuse, which the girl told to the old
gray woman, and after my assurance, supported by a new
shower of gold, that it was only a short walk, the woman, who
did not seem to be at all inclined toward the doctor, let us go
out the door, and we climbed down the stairs, both of us
worried about an unpleasant encounter. We strode swiftly,
Zephyrine under the cover of a cloak and a thick veil, down the
street and unnoticed by my housemates, reached the quarters in
Himmelpfort Street.
There I learned everything I needed to know about the
poor child. She was a four-year-old orphan, when Postremo
took her in under the pretext of charity. During her childhood
she was treated well and even received a very careful education.
But this was not out of philanthropy, as had recently come out.
A few months ago, when Zephyrine had reached the age of
sixteen, Postremo told her that now the time had come for her
to prove her gratitude to him and at the same time to establish
her own happiness.
That mummy-like Count Johann Nepomuk Korony,
whom I had seen at the gaming table at that time had agreed to
pay his, Postremos, considerable debts, if Zephyrine would be
his mistress in return, so that his almost completed life might
once more be renewed. Moreover, the monster hoped that the
untouched girl would, through her devotion be exposed to a
certain genteel disease from him without being seized by it
herself. Postremo had explained all this to the unfortunate child
with cynical sincerity, and her tears and entreaties had only
succeeded in doing one thing, that he once again made the
attempt to improve his situation at the Pharaoh’s table. On that
gruesome and for me nevertheless so happy evening, this last
hope of the completely ruined gambler collapsed and now he
was holding the girl more than ever under seclusion, probably
because he trusted that she would do everything to save herself.
My appearance had taken place at the most extreme hour. For
that suspicious person with whom I had seen him in the Greek
coffee house was none other than the valet of Count Korony,
and there was no doubt that the miserable Postremo was
making the final preparations for his and the count’s crime. The
poor child was in the greatest fear, for she was well aware that
the doctor was a master in the preparation of anesthetic
medicines, which were able to eliminate all free will.
For days, she had eaten only the most meager food, so as
not to fall victim to the demonic arts of her jailer, but still she
saw the horrible moment inexorably approaching, which would
put her in the grip of the spider-fingered lecherous old man.
While she told me, almost crying, of the agonies of the
last days and of her almost collapsing hope for my help, I sent
my servant to fetch a meal, to get him out of the house. For I
knew that this child was my own and that only death could
separate us. Every moment of happiness that lay ahead of me
was too precious to miss.
It was clear to both of us without many words that we
had always been destined for each other, and it cost the lovely
and pure girl neither bridal tears nor difficult resolutions, to
become completely mine. A holy and irresistible desire drove
us to become one body and one soul, and neither of us could
think of binding the eternity of our love by vows. We felt no
shame in front of each other. Everything was as it had to be and
fulfilled according to eternal laws. When I held the young,
naked body in my arms for the first time and guarded the sleep
of the dearest of all creatures, I was suddenly seized by an
inexplicable sensation which carried me away: first I was
overcome by great fear, as if we were threatened by lambent
flames. Then I heard a clock strike in the infinite distance. The
smell of apples and foreign wood was around me, and as if by
themselves my lips formed the word: Aglaja!
Everything had turned out perfectly. With money I had
managed to get the most necessary papers, and in a small
village not far from the capital our wedding ceremony had
taken place, so that I no longer had anything to fear from the
spies of the morals commission and probably also from
Postremo. I had soon acknowledged my lodging, given the
servant some money and dismissed him and for a little money I
purchased a little house in Grinzing, hidden in the bushes and
trees, which I furnished with the help of skilled and
understanding craftsmen. Unclouded sunny days passed over
us, and that unhappy time that soon follows the excess of
happiness and is well known to all married couples, was spared
us. It was as if each day brought us closer and more ardently
together.
Often it happened to me that I called Zephyrine “Aglaja”
in times of the highest emotion. But this peculiarity seemed to
neither hurt nor astonish her, although I often told her of my
dead, beloved cousin and of her resemblance to the girl who
had been taken from me so early. Once she said:
“I am yours under all the names you want to give me.”
She also shared with Aglaja a great love of flowers and
animals. We had the garden full of rose bushes in all colors, the
glowing scent of the red, the tartness of the white and the
delicate yellow blossoms. On all the flower beds a riot of
colors, and a sea of flowers balmy fragrances wafted over us.
Young animals played around us, dogs and cats, birds
twittered in the branches, and nimble lizards glided over the
gravel of the paths.
Very soon after the completed establishment of the house
Zephyrine felt like a mother.
Heavy-bodied and pale, she sat in our favorite place
between dense, flower-bearing bushes.
“It will be a boy with dark hair like his Father,” I joked.
“No, I carry a little vixen of the female gender under my
heart,” she smiled back. “And she shall be called Aglaja.”
I kissed her and looked into her gray, gold-spotted eyes,
at the bottom of which there was still hidden something fearful.
Carefully I moved the pillow in the back of the delicate woman
and thought to myself how happy I would be when she had her
difficult hour behind her.
Then I saw a namelessly horrified expression on her face,
and her gaze was fixed on something behind me. The dogs
thrashed furiously in the kennel.
I turned around immediately. Behind me stood the
hunchbacked doctor with the thick black eyebrows and the
upturned nose. An unpleasant pungent smell of bitter almonds
suddenly overpowered the scent of flowers.
With a grasp I seized the shapeless figure at the chest and
shook it back and forth.
“Scoundrel!” I gritted between my teeth. “Have I got you
now? You can’t escape me alive-“
The hunchback turned blue-red and gasped something I
did not understand.
The woman let out a loud scream, and when I looked
around, she was in a deep swoon. At that moment I felt a
burning sting on my right wrist. My hand, which still held the
coat of the hunchback, was suddenly paralyzed, the fingers
came loose, and the whole arm sank down dead at my side, dull
and heavy. Horrified, I saw how the man indifferently wiped
away a drop of blood from the flashing lancet with which he
had stabbed me and put it back in the pocket of his coat.
“Oh it doesn’t matter!” he laughed. “Unapiccola para-
lisi! Doesn’t last long – five minutes! You don’t attack me, I
won’t attack you!”
He pulled a small can out of his vest and held it under the
nose of his daughter. Zephyrine sneezed violently and
immediately regained consciousness.
“Grandfather -,” she said, as a shudder came over her.
“Si, si, lo zio!” he feigned. “Il padre, if you will,
Zephyrine! Haven’t you expected me, Signore?” he addressed
me. “O cattivo, cattivo! What have you done? Eh?”
“I did not expect you here!” I told him. “For the time
being, I’ll keep my wife away from the sight of you and bring
her to the house, and then I am at your disposal.”
He sat down on one of the chairs with a mischievous
laugh. My stunned arm had already recovered from the effect
of the poisonous sting, so that I could support the wavering
woman and bring her into the house. In front of the front door
she was overcome by violent vomiting, and only after a while
was I was able to put her to bed in our bedroom. Sobbing, she
begged me not to expose myself to any more danger. Despite
his crippled body Postremo was one of the most dangerous and
determined people. I reassured her as well as I could, and went
to my room where I picked up a pistol with a live round, and
then determined, went to the garden.
When I arrived at our favorite spot in the rose bushes,
which was no longer an undiscovered refuge, the ugly monkey
was sitting there and bared his yellow teeth. A lot of the
beautiful roses lay torn off, torn apart and trampled on the
ground.