The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
“I will venture on it,” I said. “You, a person of noble heart, will not be harmed by the room, although –” he faltered and bit his lips. “Although?” I pressed him. “I, Baron, would not like to sleep here, and if there were only one other place in the house, where it does not trickle in by the ceiling or blow through empty window holes, I would have chosen it for you rather than this damned courtroom! But now I wish you a restful night!” He bowed low and left. I was alone, and took the candlestick to look around. The wide chamber had been decorated with precious leather wallpaper, which was now, of course, everywhere damaged and tattered on the wall. It showed in hundredfold the Treffenheid coat of arms with the Moor’s head, which had an arrow shaft sticking out from the eye. Under it on a ribbon was to be read the heraldic motto: “One dies – another lives.” In the corner next to the door stood a two-sleeper four- poster bed with twisted columns and angels’ heads, the gilding of which was worn away. At the lead-framed windows, which had small gaps, the pale moon wandered behind wisps of clouds, and a withered, broom-like poplar treetop sometimes poked at the rickety panes. A table and a few chairs had just been put there for me, as could be seen from the dust on the floor. More remarkable than all this, however, were two large paintings, which were next to each other on the wall, separated by a horizontally stretched out naked human arm, extending from a red sleeve which, was holding a simple executioner’s sword. I approached the paintings with the light. The first one was rich in small figures, and I had to look for a long time in the restless candlelight until I recognized a procession on the dark canvas, which was leading the sinner in a cart with solemn seriousness to the place of execution. Under the picture, on a white background, it read: “If you have patience in pain, It will be very useful to you, Therefore give yourself willingly to it.” The unknown painter had understood it, and painted into the faces of the accompanying persons, secretly and immediately recognizable to everyone, stupidly proud dignity, thoughtlessness, malice, cruelty, indifference, and cowardly contentment; but from the face of the man on the execution cart cried out fear, and the staring look was almost a longing for the final redemption by the redcoat, who stood tiny and distant on the scaffolding. This image made me fall into a depth of consciousness or foreboding, which filled me with fearful darkness for several minutes. It told me that something had happened or was about to happen, and from my soul a voice spoke barely audibly: “I know —.” The roots of my hair were on fire, drops of sweat covered the inside surface of my hands. But what it was, I could no longer grasp with my mind, for as quickly as it came, it sank again into a dark abyss. I turned my gaze from the terrible image, ducked under the threatening sword arm, so as not to touch it, and lifted the light towards the other painting. A fine and cutting stab went through my heart. This face, blissful and childlike, with reddish shimmering braids under a small hood, with the delicate nose and the small mouth, with the curved eyebrows, it was… “Aglaja,” I whispered softly, and the heavy candlestick almost fell from my hand. But then it seemed to me as if a sad, dark glow went over the lovely face. No, not Aglaja! It was Zephyrine who was looking at me, as if she were breathing. The slender hand, coming from a lace ruff, wore a silver ring of woven serpentine bodies with a fire opal and held daintily between pointer finger and thumb were three crimson roses and a snowy lily. But what was written underneath, confused me in the face, which always showed a beloved face. I ran my hand over my eyes and read the characters under the painting: Likeness of Lady Heva Weinschrötter, Canoness to St. Leodegar, accused of sorcery and sentenced to the sword In the year anno 1649. And then I stood for a long time, until the candles began to crackle and the wax dripped. – What was appearance and what was truth? The night had passed quietly except for some creaking and cracking in the room and in the floor as is natural in such old buildings. The new day was of dull light and unfriendly, full of wind and falling drops. There was a rustling in the walls, as of rats. The servant, who brought my breakfast, informed me that the master of the hound was suffering from gout and would not be visible before the evening. I should not enter uninvited into his room, because he had a saddle pistol next to him loaded with rock salt and pig bristles, and in his piercing pain he was well able to burn one on me and everyone, as he had already done to magister Hemmetschnur once before. So I looked once more in the gloomy light of the room, at the ruined face which was now even more clearly visible than in the candlelight. I also discovered the trapdoor in the floor, through which one could enter the dungeons and chambers under the earth. And whatever I did, the gray eyes of the painting of Lady Heva Weinschrötter followed me. But as I, mindful of the evening’s feelings, looked firmly and attentively at the rosy face under the gold hood, it seemed to me strange and distant to me. The resemblance to Aglaja-Zephyrine faded into the distance and finally disappeared completely. While wandering around in the spacious chamber I discovered opposite my bed a door so carefully fitted into the wallpaper that it was easy to miss. When I pushed its creaking hinges, I came into a narrow chamber with racks, in front of which were rotten curtains of shot green damask, all covered with dust. When I pushed them aside, I found in the compartments whole bundles and piles of old files, and all sorts of formerly confiscated corpora delicti, such as knives, hatchets, bludgeons, rotten wheel locks, thieves’ hooks, gypsy casting rods and the like, and attached to each item was a carefully written note. Some I read: “The knife, with which Matz from the Schellenlehen stabbed Schieljörg,” and “Explosive and grenade called, Reb Moische, the Hendl from Poland”. Finally I came to an earthen, smoky pot, blue-glassed, which was tightly tied with a pig’s bladder and on the square parchment on the handle, was written in brownish faded ink: “Numerus 16. Flying or witch ointment, found under the bed of the lady of hell, and dug out of the earth.” This relic of one of the women who had stood here during the inquisition, aroused my curiosity very much, and I hid it near my bed, in order to visit it later. At the midday meal, only the magister appeared, who asked me politely about the night spent and then said that I was the first to have been granted a quiet sleep in this room. After the meal I went for a walk with him despite the rain showers and gusts of wind, and talked to him. The knowledge of this man was astonishing, his exact knowledge of languages, and I could not help but ask him, how he, with his erudition, could not have found anything better than that of his unworthy clerical services for the old master of the hound, who seemed to take special pleasure to humiliate and make fun of his education in front of others. He heaved a deep sigh and said that if he only had enough money so that he could reach the city of Paris, or only to Strasbourg in the former German land, which the French had stolen, it would be better for him in an instant. There he would have friends who would gladly continue to take care of him. But even if he had as much as he needed for the journey, he would still have to be on his guard. For the master of the hound, as he said, had already impudently threatened him, the magister, and would not refrain from accusing him of embezzlement and to have him punished, which he, as a poor and helpless man, was unknown and without any ability to defend himself. I said nothing, but made up my mind, to help this unjustly tormented person, if I could. For dinner, the gentleman from Trolle and Heist was brought to the table in a carrying chair, his right foot bound thickly and sweating with pain. It was hardly possible to hold a conversation with him, and only in view of the fact that I had to stay here at all costs, I allowed myself to be subjected to various of his quarrelsome and irritable moods. It was worse with the magister than with me, he threw a pig’s bone at his head for no reason and as for the hunters who were waiting for him, he would spit wine at them or hit them with a stick. At ten o’clock he began to drink murderously again, and at about eleven he started his howling anguished chant. But the intoxication did not work this time, and I saw how he looked in fear with puffy eyes into the corner of the chamber devastated by the fall of the wall. Finally- he hurled a heavy mug in the direction of the apparition visible to him, laughed, and then sank down, muttering to himself several times something about a useless rhyme smith and court poet, and then sank into a frenzied sleep, whereupon they lifted him up in the carrying chair and carried him away.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
We walked up and down the cool arcade of the manor courtyard, and I saw, with a tormenting restlessness in my heart, and indifferently looked at the hundreds of wooden carved deer heads, boar’s tusks and deer antlers on the walls, from which long spider threads hung and swallow’s nests stuck. On the floor lay almost hairless wolf-pelts and worn deer blankets, which gave the impression of decay and abandonment even more. And the old man next to me was Heist, of whom my father had told me that he had killed the duke’s court poet in a duel, and of whom Gudel had spoken of with disgust. “Well, well!” said the Master of the Hound, standing still and stuffed a pinch into his fiery nose. “Mort de ma vie, you are not a child, after all, Dronte, and it will not offend you when I tell you that your father and I were the best sire stallions at court. Isn’t it still told today the fun of how we stood one of the chambermaids of the duchess on her head and filled the woman with champagne so that Serenissimus almost suffered a stroke from laughing? Or how we pinched the hopeful Annemarie Sassen in the dark on her firm arse, so that she cried for help and the duchess swore to have the culprits publicly flogged, even if they were of standing? Oh, those were good times, wild days! What do you youngsters know of them?!” To distract him from those wild memories, which reminded me in a terrible way of all the suffering that had come to me from my father, I asked him about the man with the missing ears who had been sent to find a shelter for my person. “Him?” laughed the old man. “That’s a former magister, who went about all over the place and also came to the court of the grand lord. And there it seems to have gone wrong for him, for they cut off his ears at the bridge of Stambul. He has lived here for several years and provides me with board, lodging and a few pennies, but he is kept quite short.” Just at that moment the man had silently appeared behind us; a sour smile on his disgruntled face told me that he had heard the words of the hound master. But then he said, dryly and without any raising and lowering of his voice, to his master: “Accommodation is found, my lord, Master of the Hound. In the hall of the former patrimonial court, the ceiling is tolerable and impermeable, in case of new rain. The bedding is with sufficient linen, the windows are washed and quite clean. The foreign master can dwell there, if — if namely–“ “Don’t be so long in talking about “if” and “when, but tell him what the catch is!” the octogenarian snapped at him.”You educated ass!” The grumpy one didn’t make a face at this. “Provided the gentleman is not afraid of ghosts that sometimes haunt such old chambers.” “Triple-horned dromedary!” rumbled the hound master. “Just so it stays in the courtroom! What’s for dinner?” “Venison with four kinds of brawn, boiled blue tench with millet porridge and a nutmeg tart,” said the magister. “Good. Now get back to your writing!” The gray man walked away with his back bent. “You don’t treat the poor man very well,” I couldn’t help from saying. “That’s how you must deal with such learned dicks or else they’ll be ridden by conceit and arrogance,” laughed Troll. “Believe me, Dronte, no one needs to be put down more and castigated than the learned rabble who stir up the common folk and make them dissatisfied with us. But now I will show you your chamber – a rascal who gives more than he has!” As we ascended the stairs, he asked me, as it were, if I had any business in the area, and when I said that I hoped to meet someone here whom I had not been able to identify, he was satisfied and said that I could remain as a guest as long as I wished, for he had plenty of food and wine. Then he showed me the door of my room and reminded me to be on time for the meal. With a disconsolate heart I entered the wide room, in which I now had to stay in uncertainty and wait for Ewli. The manner of the old man was extremely repugnant to me, and the form in which he finally offered his hospitality with reference to the abundance of the food, seemed to me so hurtful that I would have preferred not to unpack my coat bag at all. Also I was dreading the constant togetherness with the hearty, by his age by no means internalized man, and it was completely incomprehensible to me that Ewli should have chosen this very place to come close to me. Tormenting doubts came over me and aroused in me the thought that I had turned in the wrong direction and could have missed the actual place. But now I had to good or bad, be satisfied and hope that the man from the Orient would also know how to find me here, if this would be in his mind. Since I would be in the spacious room later I hardly took any time to look around the barely illuminated and gloomy chamber. I also found no light, so I hurried with makeshift cleaning in a metal basin, into which I let water bubble from a hanging dolphin by means of a faucet, and then went down to the dining room. The hall was a reflection of all the misery in the old stone box. In one corner a part of the wall covering had fallen down and formed a pile of rubble that no one seemed to have been obliged to clear away. The darkened ancestral portraits of the counts of Treffenheid, to whom the coat of arms of the arrow- headed Moor belonged, looked with white, staring eyes from the wall, and in a once beautiful, but badly damaged dragon fireplace blazed, despite the warm day, a huge fire made of beech logs. At the large, heavy table I sat next to the hound master in the midst of all the dogs, who were eating chunks of meat and pieces of cake and biting each other, and at the very end of the table like a gray shadow squatted the unfortunate Magister Hemmetschnur. Such was his name, the peculiarity of which still elicited a guffaw from old Heist, when he pronounced it, twisted and misshapen in all ways. But the food was good, and even if the wine in the pewter cups was a bit tart, it nevertheless pricked pleasantly on the tongue and palate. After the meal, which proceeded rapidly, the dogs were driven out, and the old man lit one of the many lime pipes, which were placed in front of him, stuffed in a cup. When he had smoked one out, he threw it, breaking it in shards, and grabbed the next one, so that we were soon sitting in a thick blue fog, watching the ever coughing figure of the gray clerk almost disappear in the haze. I was tired and sad, and also exhausted from the terrible adventure in the Ball Mill and yet out of courtesy had to stay and listen to the coarse jokes and jests of the master of the hound, which were never ending and to show me a picture of my father, with whom he had committed a large part of his deeds, that was even more ugly and unpleasant than it already was in my memory. But since the old man drank intemperately, his tongue soon became heavy. When the eleventh hour struck, he opened his mouth wide and began to shout out songs with a false and booming voice: “A little rabbit would creep” and “It runs to the wood unharmed, fellow,” and so on, without pausing, until at last his bald head sank with a jerk on his chest and out of his open mouth came a sawing snore and a rattle. As if this had been awaited, immediately two powerful hunters and a hunter boy entered, grabbed the hound master by the head, shoulders and feet and carried him out without bothering about me or the mute magister. Although curiosity was far from me, I did nevertheless address a few questions to the man who had been treated so disdainfully, and who seemed to me to be worthy of some attention, and I learned that every day at the same time the intoxication and singing began. And this had its origins in the fact that years ago, between eleven and half past midnight, the wife of the master of the hound had found her husband in the arms of a maid and became so transformed that she was killed on the spot by a stroke. Sometimes, however, the ghost of the Duke of Wessenburg’s court poet, who had been killed by his hand, would appear. This was the reason why the old man tried to drown out this period of time. If no one is present, the old man sings alone, but then, before eleven o’clock, the head hunter Räub must appear with his hunting horn and stay until the moment he falls asleep, and then blow the horn as loud as he can. After this explanation, Hemmetschnur seized one of the candlesticks with five candles and asked for the honor of escorting me to my bedchamber. We climbed through the dead quiet house, around which the wind whined and the poplars rustled, onto the upper floor, and in front of my door the magister gave me the light, humbly bowed and wished me a good night. “Tell me still, Herr Magister, what you meant when you spoke of a haunting in this room?” I stopped him. At the same time I opened the door and invited him to enter the room with me. He bowed and closed the door behind us, a smile sliding across his grizzled gray face. “Certain things I cannot say,” he said, looking around. “But consider what may have gone on in this chamber for all the uncounted years, since the jus gladii and the jurisdiction of it all rested on Krottenriede. People say many things. Like for example, that old Krippenveit, whom they torqued to death here, sometimes lifts the trap door in the floor and looks around horribly. Or that the horse Jew Aaron, whom they wanted to tickle for his money, suddenly stood in a dark corner screaming for mercy. They tortured him here, too, and because he was over seventy years old, when they raised him, he fell into the fainting sleep of the tortured, they put boiling hot eggs into his armpits and pressed them with their arms to get the gold hiding place from him. But he would rather have died than have given it away, Emmes gedabert, as they call it in their language, truth-talking. Up there is still the iron ring on the ceiling, through which the rope ran. Here they also had the Bee’s Agnes, also called the honey lick, brought to a confession and then handed her over to the redcoat, who burned and roasted her and then buried her at the cemetery of Saint Leodegar with a black cat and an old hen that would not leave her. The Frau of Weinschrotter however, a woman of nobility, who grew roses and lilies from her pots in the bitter winter, was sentenced to the sword. Her portrait hangs here in the room. You Baron, can see the crudeness and stupidity of the people that has been celebrated in this room. From the futile sighs and tears of the poor, who fell into the hands of these animals and of the abominable events that have taken place here, a shadow or image may still adhere to the cursed walls, and for those predisposed or through special arts those events may appear as alive once again to suitable persons. That is what I meant.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Since the candle threatened to go out, I asked Garnitter to come out with his treasures, and soon there was a new light burning in the candlestick. “Hang cloaks or blankets in front of the windows, so that they do not see the light from outside,” I admonished, and immediately they went to carry out the advice. In the meantime I looked at the door. There was probably a strong wooden latch on the outside, but there was no way to secure it from the inside. The hinges, however, seemed quite freshly oiled to me, and I brought it to the attention of the others. “That bastard of an Innkeeper is up to something,” the squire from Sollengau blurted out, “and because there are four of us, since the drunk is not to be counted, we must be hellishly on the watch, because the host can get help from the Spillermaxen Gang or from the blue whistlers.” I said nothing and continued my investigation. The floor was made of tamped earth, the walls had been built up with solid blocks and cement and were ancient, and the ceiling had no visible opening and consisted of heavy, dark beams, such as one can only rarely still find in such length and strength. Then Hoibusch emitted a low whistle and beckoned me hastily. He was standing by the pillar. We trod on the rustling straw and followed his groping hand with the light. And there we saw something that revealed to us the trace of the satanic trickery that was at play here. In its entire length, from top to bottom, the rough stone column was smoothly polished as if something heavy often slid up and down on it and transformed the roughness of the friction points into polished grooves. And seized by the same thought, we looked upward at the ring or the capital of the column, which with its excessive projection and mighty width enclosed the column. It stood out brightly white in its fresh coat of paint, and was separated from the narrow, circular space of the column itself, so that this heavy load, when it was loosened at the top, could fall down. And it was precisely in the area of this ring that our head pillows were arranged around the column. Haymon straightened up halfway in his sleep and stammered with wide-open eyes: “Don’t you want to rest, Montanus? – You can’t get ducats from your Mary, brother – let go, put away the blue hand–” and then he vomited out the wine and food from his stomach, which had long since been ruined, and defiled himself nastily. “Pull him away from this death-trap” I shouted. Then they grabbed him by the legs and pulled him away from the dangerous bed, but he crawled back in his madness, while we continued and once again he was dragged away. Then he seemed to want to keep quiet and remained lying down. “Shh!” whispered Garnitter, who was listening at the door. We quickly extinguished the light and stayed as quiet as a mouse. Light footsteps came along the corridor. “Bärbel, the false hussy -“. “Shh!” She listened at the door, leaned. The wood creaked softly, Haymon chattered in his sleep. “What say you of sulphurous flames, Portugieser? – Great hell, brother, how it stinks from your throat! I won’t give you my hand, you are black all over, you devil- roast -“. Quietly she scurried away from the door, down the corridor. We heard Haymon rustling in the straw, hitting the floor with his foot and stretching with a groan. Footsteps again. The boys quietly drew their long blades; I drew the pistol, my thumb on the hammer, finger on the trigger, without cocking it. It coughed, scrabbled at the door. Then it slunk away again. “They think they’re safe now, the murderous hounds,” said Hoibush. On the ceiling above us something slid. A low rattle arose. A dull unintelligible voice spoke something. A whirring, a grinding, a whooshing fall– Boom! – It struck heavy and pounding, softly muffled. Feet drummed like madly on the clay floor, leathery, clapping…- in our room. “Strike fire, Hoibusch!” cried the squire hoarsely. Pink, pink! The tinder glowed up, the sulfur- twitched blue and sizzled with acrid stench, the candle burned -. “Almighty!” Garnitter wanted to cry out, but Hoibusch quickly put his hand over his mouth. It took our breath away. The wide column ring had crashed down and buried the head cushions and the unfortunate head of poor Haymon, who had crawled back in the dark without our knowledge. His feet were spread apart, his hands were clasped on his chest in the robe and the rest of him lay under the murder stone. Like a thick, dark snake, glistening in the candlelight his blood coagulated in the straw. “Lights out!” commanded the squire. “They’re coming!” Ready to strike, we stood on either side of the door in the darkness. Speaking loudly with echoing footsteps the landlord and his pointy-nosed wife came down the corridor and pushed open the door. There they stood. The innkeeper carried in his left hand a large stable lantern, in his right fist a sharp axe, and the fury behind him was clutching a butcher’s knife. We only saw them for a moment. Hoibusch’s blade went through the guy, and Garnitter slit through the yellow neck of the woman, so that she fell down with the squeal of a stuck pig. The host was dead in an instant, speared through the heart like a starting boar. The woman was still wriggling, and then lay still on her side. “Are you dead, bloodhound?” shouted Garnitter and kicked at the dead man’s belly with his foot. Up in the house the dog howled. “The dog! The wench!” cried Hoibusch. “We have to catch the wench; otherwise she will run away and send the host’s henchmen after us!” He and the squire set off with the lantern to look for the woman. Now Garnitter and I saw the four holes in the ceiling and the ropes hanging, by which the stone could be pulled up again. We set about freeing the dead Haymon. But the stone was too heavy for us to lift, and when we pulled on the feet of the murdered man, the bones of the crushed head crunched so horribly that we had to let go with a shudder. Then we heard a shot, the wailing of the dog, and then a dragging and a whimpering, and immediately Hoibusch and the one from Sollengau came with the woman in shirt and smock, whom they had dragged out of bed, where she had been under the blankets and had fallen asleep. They had tied her hands with a calf rope. “I am innocent,” whined Bärbel when she saw us. “Jesus Maria!” she shrieked out, as she stepped with her naked foot into the pools of blood in which the landlord and the landlady lay. “Confess, whore, or we’ll lay you down next to the two of them! Both!” said Hoibusch calmly. “Did you not set the dog on us? Confess, I say to you!” “O thou bloody savior! What shall I confess?” Howled the strumpet and fell on her knees. “I have done nothing, except that I went to listen at the woman’s command to see if everyone was asleep. I have never known of murder in my life”. “And what is this, you shamed woman?” cried Hoibusch in a strong voice and produced something he had been hiding behind his back. Stones and gold flashed – a necklace with almandines and artfully forged links shone in the light. The girl’s face was white with fear and she looked around with confused glances. “Red!” said Hoibusch quite coldly, and put the point of the blade on her bare breast, so that a small little red drop sprang up. “Ouch! Mercy -” clamored Bärbel as she squirmed to and fro. “From the lady in the cellar -“. Then she fell down in convulsions, and foam poured out of her mouth. It was a pity to look at. But Hoibusch remained unmoved. “You have learned your art of eye-rolling well, you robber whore!” he said. “Stop making foam out of saliva, and get up!” And once more he tickled her with the point of his rapier. Then, in spite of her tied hands, she sprang to her feet like a cat and cried out in despair: “Well, if that’s what it is, I’d rather be dead right now than let the gallows man sound me out with the thumbscrews!” And she made such a swift and violent push against the drawn blade, so that it missed going through her body by a hair. But Hoibusch was on guard, and immediately let go of the handle, so she only slashed her shirt so that her dark breast bulged out. “To the pillar with her!” cried Garnitter, and the three students dragged her there in spite of biting and shrieking, and bound her by body and legs next to the dead Haymon, so that they could remain in silent and terrible company. For we took the lantern with us and left the room with its sweetish haze of blood, leaving only the candle burning as a death light for the deceased. As we stood in the corridor, we heard the shrill screams of the tied up woman. And I must confess it: I took pity on her, because I felt that it was not only her fault that she had to become like this. Surely an evil fate had clawed at her from childhood; an unguarded youth, instincts unleashed at an early age, abuse, which one with her child body already suffered, poverty, misery and lack of love did a terrible work on her. Was I allowed to judge, when I opened the abysses of my own soul? But as clever as the three students were, and as good as the heart of one or the other might be, at this hour and in view of the poor dead they would have looked at me with disgust if my thoughts had become spoken aloud, and I would not have helped anyone. So I kept silent and mourned in silence how wrong people’s customs are, and how thousands and thousands of children grow up without any care. And not only the brood of the poor people –. How had it been with myself?
“You claim to add your light with ours, but you have only led us further into darkness and danger, making our entire community more vulnerable. How will you defend us in our weakness?”
Once more Tobal had no reply, and his guide remained silent. He was led roughly to the center of the circle and held pinned between two hooded guards.
The High Priest continued. “The Apprentice degree is of spiritual protection and growth. In your progress through that degree, you have been magickally protected from evil influences that might have otherwise entered your life. Then, as a member of our sacred circle, you will always have protection from the evil of the outside world, but we can never shield you from the evil within your own nature and within each one of us. You must learn to master this evil—the weakness and fear that prevents you from acting when needed, and that drives blind, destructive choices. This is the work of the Journeyman. You must combat these inner demons with your own Inner Light, or they will become your masters. Only when you have mastered your own inner demons will you have truly earned the right to this degree—a lifetime work we all face. Symbolically, this inner battle is marked by success in defeating six members of this degree in combat. After defeating six members, you will be considered eligible for the 3rd and final degree of Master that leads to citizenship. Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes.”
“Then let the fight begin!”
Six dark hooded figures stepped forth from the circle and stood in menacing silence as the High Priest, High Priestess, and the two guards moved away. His guide took his torch and left him alone within the circle. Tobal stood silently in confusion, pain exploding in his side as a fist connected, the torchlight blurring his vision.
Gradually, he realized he was expected to fight all six figures. He pulled himself into a fighting stance and began circling defensively. None moved. He circled closer to one, feinting with his right—the figure stayed still. Encouraged, Tobal struck lightly on the shoulder and doubled over as a savage punch to his belly knocked him to the cave floor, fighting nausea. Struggling up, he faced the unmoving six, unsure. He lunged at a second, his thrust parried as a hard blow slammed his head, sparking stars. Rising again, rage built, and he grappled a third, only to find it stone-solid. A crushing bear hug bruised his ribs before he was thrown, wind knocked out, refusing to rise, sobbing in frustration.
“He refuses to fight!” a voice cried from the circle’s edge.
“Yes, he refuses to fight!” murmured the hooded figures, moving silently widdershins. After one circle, drums pounded eerily within the cave as black-cloaked figures drew near, striking light, stinging blows. Tobal couldn’t see their faces or recognize them.
The energy felt wrong, building. Fear and panic gripped him at his tailbone, climbing his spine, his energy slipping counterclockwise. What were they doing? The energy grew, strange and dark, not evil but dangerous.
The High Priest placed his hands on Tobal’s head, his voice echoing. “In the name of the Lord and Lady, I draw the dark energy of the earth up into your physical body and soul that you might become master of yourself and Journeyman.”
Tobal felt a weird tingling and warmth as a glowing yellow-green energy pooled at his feet, rising through his body, exiting his head into spiritual light. His father’s spirit entered, looking out. “You have done well,” said his father. “We will wait for you.”
The High Priestess stepped forward, Tobal recognizing Misty. “In the name of the Lord and Lady, I draw the dark energy of the earth into your physical body and soul that you might become a master of yourself and Journeyman.”
A darker, threatening energy carried frightening images—a feminine Goddess force curling around his legs, tendrils choking his throat, filling his mind like a giant tree of life and death reaching for the spiritual sun. A surge of warmth flooded him, easing the pain.
Then his heart ached as his mother’s spirit held him, her aura protecting. She left with a kiss and a whispered “be strong.” He felt his father holding her hand, their love for each other and him, rejoicing as the energy sank into his bones, changing him forever. Their touch echoed the cave’s astral warmth, a bridge between circle and spirit.
The High Priest continued. “Are you ready to receive wisdom and be nourished by life?”
“Yes,” Tobal mumbled through a split lip. He was helped to his feet.
“The first and most important lesson is that there are times in life when you must fight for what you believe and times not to fight. Learn to choose your battles, and if you fight, fight to win, giving all you have. You will be respected even if defeated, as must sometimes happen. There is no shame in losing a battle. There is shame in not giving all you have.”
“The second lesson,” he continued, “is that fighting is hard and thirsty work!”
“Let’s party!”
As the energy settled, the High Priest’s voice softened, shifting the ritual’s tone. A throaty welcome echoed in the cavern as hoods were thrown back, and Tobal was half-dragged, half-carried into another chamber where food and drink awaited. Goodwill filled the air as he was hugged and congratulated by familiar faces he hadn’t seen in ages.
Rafe pounded his back, laughing as Tobal winced. “Thought you would never get here!” he shouted over the crowd.
Ellen gave him a hug and a kiss.
Tobal stayed a few days, exploring caverns and chatting with 2nd-degree peers. He retrieved his parents’ items, feeling better wearing them again, catching up on their news.
After a few days, his trail food dwindled, and restlessness grew. On the third day, he set out alone to process the initiation’s meaning, bidding farewell to his new brothers and sisters, heading to base camp.
His black tunic felt strange after gray, the shift from a year of intense living and training to idleness jarring. Time dragged, and he dreaded his first fight a month away. Worry gnawed at him—his parents might still be wired to a machine on life support. He preferred Crow’s view of them as the Lord and Lady.
The midsummer celebration at circle was a welcome change. Hot, fair weather made him miss newbie training. As a new Journeyman, his first duty was guarding Apprentice initiations, expected and unsurprising. He arrived early, donned black robes, and stayed on duty until the last newbie was initiated late that night—a long day missing Becca and circle.
Though absent, he heard the news: Sarah, Anne, Derdre, Seth, and Crow’s newbies soloed with Elder approval. Tyrone, Zee, Kevin, and Butch initiated newbies, expected after a month’s wait. The surprise was ten initiates—Becca and Fiona not only initiated but soloed theirs, earning fifth chevrons. Nikki earned her fourth but wasn’t there; Tara and Nick likely waited at Sanctuary.
Becca gave him a brief kiss and hug at the guard post, sharing Rafe’s Council of Elders role. Glowing, she promised, “We’ll talk later,” holding him close before seeking Fiona, who’d already dropped her newbie.
Nikki lost out, still waiting at Sanctuary with others. Mike and another Apprentice quit, hitting Butch hard due to their friendship.
After initiations, Tobal entered the circle in black robes. Friends congratulated him but some eyed him differently. “I’m still the same person,” he thought, then realized he wasn’t. Most friends were Apprentices; Masters like Rafe and Ellen were exceptions. Newbies didn’t know him, and black-robed peers kept to themselves. He hoped to stay connected to Apprentices.
Heading for the beer barrel, he met gloomy Wayne and Char, considering quitting. “Why don’t you talk to Crow first?” he suggested. “He’s taking a group to the village. I visited last month—it’s neat.” Char doubted a primitive life but nodded for a vacation. Wayne agreed, hoping the newbie bottleneck eased, frustrated by month-long waits. They hugged, seeing it as a chance to reconnect.
Tobal hoped he hadn’t erred suggesting the village, liking their simplicity. He moved on, finding Becca and Fiona by the drum circle, high-spirited. They partied, planning a month off awaiting official solos and sixth chevrons. Tobal proposed a lake trip for swimming and berries, ready for a break. They agreed, shifting topics. Fiona asked, “What have we missed about the City Council and village? We’ve been busy.”
“Lots to catch up on,” he laughed. “Let’s find out.”
“Where’s Llana?” Becca asked.
“That’s part of it,” he smiled, kissing her. She didn’t press.
They joined Rafe and Ellen. Becca’s presence felt good; he squeezed her hand, she smiled. Crow’s group discussed teleportation—Char and Wayne listened. Tobal stayed with his group, needing their talk.
Ellen started, “We finally met with the City Council. It’s been a rough month; our lives are changed.”
Ellen continued, “The Council cleaned house—new members, none at the last meeting. The mayor apologized again for the assassination attempt, relieved Howling Wolf’s safe. New members knew and respected him, explaining their selection. Once a clansman, always a clansman—all had done Sanctuary, many served the Elders. The mayor assured full support.”
“This time, General Grant was absent. The Council requested a Federation internal affairs probe but heard nothing. Grant denied Howling Wolf’s claims; the Council believed Wolf, deeming Grant a liar, so he wasn’t invited.”
Ellen smiled at Tobal. “Howling Wolf appeared, offering teleport and time travel skills if the city split from the military project. He rejected the machine’s dangers and inhuman wiring, demanding Ron and Rachel Kane’s release for peace after years of torment.”
“Things got interesting,” Ellen said. “Wolf vanished; Adam Gardner appeared with a pack, introducing items—mostly past, some future—confirming his work with Wolf on Kane’s research and ongoing time explorations.”
“We were impressed,” Ellen chuckled. “The Council sought proof of training. Llana appeared, revealing plans for a secret time traveler group.”
“My COM buzzed—medics were evicted from the mountain, losing the ER and supplies. Grant barred us, even from belongings. The Council, shocked, with Wolf’s approval, made the village a temporary base until a new site by the lake.”
“We chose the old gathering spot for a permanent base, requesting supplies and comms. The City Council voted and agreed to provide immediate provisions for uninterrupted medic work, directing serious cases to the city. They’ll build modern facilities for winter use.”
“Most of us hauled supplies that first week,” Rafe grumbled. “No rogue attacks noted. We’re settled, trained now at Heliopolis hospital.”
“I leave for months, and it falls apart,” Becca quipped. “Danger from Grant’s rogues?”
“No way to know,” Ellen said. “We hope the investigation curbs worse.”
The meeting sparked thoughts. Becca’s questions persisted post-bed; kissing silenced her, leading to delays before sleep in each other’s arms.
Being with Becca, free of duties, felt good. With two weeks before Journeyman circle, they maximized it. Mid-June’s perfect weather brought Fiona, and they headed to the lake, first meeting Llana at Tobal’s winter base en route.
Evening, Llana greeted the campfire. Becca and Fiona, updated, joined Tobal’s group—Rafe, Ellen, Tobal, Becca, Fiona, possibly Nikki (unasked). Tobal eyed Tyrone; Fiona suggested Butch. Newbie training clashed with Llana’s lessons, delaying theirs until Journeyman.
“Tobal’s done two months with Crow, one with me,” Llana told them. “He’s ahead, can help you catch up. I’ll teach him, he’ll teach you. Practice daily, support each other.”
“What about Ellen and Rafe?” Tobal asked.
“I’ll teach them individually,” she said.
Tobal nodded, “Rafe wants you to scout forbidden areas on his air sled map. Drop you off, you teleport out. No med-alert, no monitor.”
Llana thought. “Good. Tell him to meet me at my old base, two days post-new moon, noon. See if Ellen joins. I’ll train them, plan further.”
“Have you time traveled?” Becca asked.
“Once,” Llana smiled. “Awesome, frightening, like teleporting once mastered. Grandfather and Adam check areas for safety, gauging Grant’s time meddling.”
“How soon?” Becca pressed.
“A year to two, depending on training intensity and aptitude. We want both groups ready together to collaborate.”
“What’s Crow’s group doing?” Fiona asked.
“They’ll exit Sanctuary, ditch bracelets, train off-grid like us, likely faster since we juggle Journeyman duties. No contact until all teleport.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
I jumped up from the table. As if in a bright light, for a small moment I saw the connections of all the mysteries of my life. But quickly enveloping veils descended on an image that was not accessible to my ordinary senses. “May I make a great request?” I asked. “If it is in my power to grant it.” “Lead me to the dying man,” I asked. “So come,” said the priest. We went quickly to the little cottage at the end of the village. A reddish light pressed through the tiny, dim windows. We heard many people murmuring, and when we entered the low room, we saw several men and women kneeling in prayer. In a meager bed lay an old man. His small, shriveled face stood out from a blue pillow and was surrounded by the glow of the dying candle burning at his head. We approached his bed. The heavy eyes were glazed, his mouth was open. I saw at once that this man, in his distress would no longer be able to answer the questions that were burning on my lips. Then something incomprehensible happened. Slowly, the staring eyes turned and looked toward me. In the face already marked by the paralyzing finger of death, there was a faint movement, a joyful smile played around the thin, sunken lips, and before we knew what was going on in the dying man, his upper body rose, his haggard arms stretched out toward me, and almost sobbing, the thin old man’s voice came from out of his mouth: “So you have come after all — at last!” Radiant joy flamed in his eyes, then his head fell back into the pillows, a gray shadow ran over his mouth and nose, his body stretched so that the bedstead creaked. The clergyman stepped in and closed the eyelids with his hand. “Rest now, thou faithful servant,” he said softly. “Let us pray!” We said the Lord’s Prayer, and as we left the parlor, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. The deceased believed he had seen his friend, Ewli, in me. The clergyman did not speak a word. When we were back in his comfortable room, he looked at me with uneasy eyes. “It must have been the scar,” he said to himself. “What scar?” I asked in amazement. “The red scar that is between your eyebrows, Baron Dronte. – No, no!” he cried suddenly. “Further brooding over these things would be called trying God! – If it is convenient for you I will show you your bedroom!” I bowed my thanks and went with him. When we were standing in the room I had been given, he took me by the shoulders with both hands and looked me in the face for a long time. “Forgive me for my rude confusion!” he then said. “But I, an old man, have experienced too many incomprehensible and disturbing things. I myself am not able to solve the terrible riddles of providence. I want to be alone. Please don’t be angry with me. I need to flee from the confusion of these mysterious incidents to a safe haven! In the faith in Him, who directs everything according to His high will, and in the peace of prayer.” “Pray for me, too, Reverend Herr”, I asked with emotion. Then I was alone. And restlessly I groped with the feeling that the mind was not able to bring me any help, to find the little portal within the dark wall that would lead to the truth. But here and there, in the sleepless night, appeared a faint glimmer of foreboding – I could not grasp anything of that, which in the deepest and darkest depths of my soul approached. A farmer, whom I had taken into my service with his team and asked for the most stately building in the entire area, assured me that it was Krottenriede Castle. But the road that led there was a two day journey through a thick forest and a horrible moor and was by no means safe. Not too long ago the Spillermaxe gang had lain in wait in the Damned Quarry and in Klosterholz near the road, and the poachers were not doing too well either, and seldom gathered together, for example, to hunt a more spirited game than a deer or roebuck. Also the priest, whom I clearly saw had kept watch through the night, warned me of the vast forest, where it was not safe. When I had made up my mind to leave, he took his leave visibly moved and commended me to the blessing of God, who would protect me from the false arts and deceitfulness of Satan. For after careful reflection he could not believe that God would want to use a Mohammedan monk or dervish to help a believing Christian, whom he recognized me to be. I thanked him for the night’s lodging and the food and urged the farmer, whose name was Görg Rehwang, to hurry, since I had every reason to fear that the little courage the man had would evaporate before the journey began. After I made sure that the mail coach driver would be able to travel home in the course of the day and was quite well, we drove into the middle of the forest. By the crouched neck and the shy side glances, which Rehwang did to the right and left, I soon realized that his heart was in his pants, and it was not long before he half turned around and asked with a cheese-white face: “”Didn’t you hear something, Herr?” “Nothing,” I said. “To the right hand someone has made a whistle or I shall not be blessed!” he whispered, scratching his furry hair. But nothing happened. It might have been a wild bird. Then, however, when we reached a marshy area of heath he began to talk about the inn, in which we were to find accommodation for one night and which was called “The Ball Mill”. “Supposedly there were many a man there with heavy stones on their feet, without clothes and possessions, in the depths of the black moor waters, to the delight of crayfish, water beetles and eels.” he babbled, his teeth chattering. “Lord, how about we turn the foreheads of our nags to where we came from?” I gave him no answer, and so he drove on with a deep sigh. The area was gloomy and sad. Between shimmering pools stood ancient and gnarled trees, covered with warts and goiters. Dead trunks and those peeled by lightning desperately spread their twisted serpentine arms. On water covered with a skin of thick green slime, lurked crippled willows, on which hungry crows squatted. Trunks and branches were whitewashed with the droppings of the resting birds. Sometimes a duck would rise out of the reeds with a whistle and beating wings. Very distant, mournful notes from a flute purred in the wind, and gray misty women dragged their dripping gowns through the treetops. “Here it’s called the Damned Quarry”, the farmer began again. “And the path there, between the young birches, leads to the Ball Mill, where we can spend the night.” But it went on for a long time, until we arrived in front of the dark gray and unfriendly building. Large, stone balls, green with moss, eaten by rain and snow lay next to the door, and a moldy soft spot still showed where the dammed waters of the moor brook had driven the mill, which had long since become an inn. The farmer got off the wagon with a crooked back and shouted a few times: “Hey there, the inn!” But nothing moved, yet we thought we heard wild singing coming through the greenish windows behind the strong square bars. After long shouting the host finally appeared with a huge black and white spotted dog, whose dull, raw face was not unlike that of a man. The broad-shouldered man, who had an excessively long knife sticking out of his fat leather pants, looked at us unkindly enough and grunted: “Hoho, Rehwang, what do you bring us there for a distinguished gentlemen?” “The gentleman has a long way to go,” the farmer apologized. “And so goes inquiry on account of the night’s lodging.” “Still don’t know the household custom, you living cow patty?” the rude host dug at poor Görg Rehwang. “And if the emperor and the pope and all the electors and as far as I’m concerned, also the empress and the archbishop’s bed warmer come riding and driven, there is nothing else in the Ball Mill but a bundle of straw in the large room. – The Herr can do with it as he pleases!” he said with a treacherous look at me. Behind him, pointy-nosed, shabby and rattle-thin like the forest crows on the garbage heap by the building, suddenly stood, as if grown from the earth, the landlady who smiled wryly and said: “If it is convenient for the Herr he is welcome! While there is nothing but a poor man’s bed, we have good wine and a company in the house, where there is a great deal of fun.” “There is no lack of wine,” the innkeeper in the woollen doublet interjected much more friendly. “I just wanted to warn the gentleman that he does not expect anything fine from us and does not beat the wheel in disgust at the burping and farting of the sleeping companions around him.” I did not reply to the coarse lout’s rude speeches and entered the house. Roaring laughter and shouting rang out to me from the tavern when I opened the door, and stinging pipe smoke billowed out in clouds. At the long table, above which was an elaborately carved in wood, six-horse carriage with all the accessories hung in toy size, also burned six or seven candles in tin lanterns. Three students sat at it, their long swords strapped around them, their sleeves pinned up, drinking Runda. With them was a tree-tall, gaunt fellow with a bald skull and a fiery red vulture nose, dressed in a scuffed black robe, who held a cheeky brown- skinned woman on his lap, with his hand waving a yellow neck cloth in the air. The black-eyed woman laughed in such a way that her exposed breasts trembled, and she pinched the old beau in his drunkard’s nose, so that he cried out loudly and let her go.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Only one thing stood firm in my heart: the certainty that I would see Zephyrine again. She and Aglaja, because they were one and the same creature of God, destined for me and taken from me again and again for the unknown purposes of eternal powers. During the day I had stayed in my inn room and had answered every disturbance with the indication of indisposition and the need for rest. In the course of the night, as the hand approached the eleventh hour, I left the house and took the long way to the pleasure grove. The weather was damp and mild, and the spring wind rattled under the roof tiles and made the weather vanes creak. The path was dry. A long train of dark clouds chased across the bright moon, like strange, stretched out running animal shapes. Once or twice I was stopped by roundabouts or police check points and was forced to show my papers and to arrange my answers to the questions in such a way that it could be inferred that I was on a secret love affair, which would be unthinkable for a gentleman. In such a way, which caused me enough displeasure, it was possible for me to get through and even in the Egyptian darkness under the lanterns blown out by the storm, ask for further directions from the public. For it was not at all easy for me in such great darkness, which was illuminated only at times by the crescent moon, to find the way to the Lustwäldchen. There I went astray a few times between the shapeless tents and booths, which in the powerful darkness looked completely different than in broad daylight. But the Magus and his brother seemed to have attentively been on the lookout for me, because when I, after looking around in vain tried to go in another direction, a man suddenly stepped up to me, whom I recognized as the harlequin, grabbed my wrist and said softly and quickly: “Come, Baron – we have been waiting for a long time.” He led me between the darkened wagons and the canvas tents to a large booth, from the crevices of which a very dim, bluish light penetrated, opened a slit somewhere on the wall and gently pushed me in front of him. The next moment I was standing on the small stage behind the lowered curtain. In the background still hung the cemetery scene with the crosses and tombstones from the performance. The sides of the stage were closed with dark curtains, so that I found myself in a square of moving walls. A few oil lamps made of blue glass gave a weak but immensely pleasant and cold light, in which one saw quite well after some habituation. I sat down at the invitation of the brother in a reasonably comfortable chair that had been placed for me. A copper basin with weakly glowing coals stood before me. The brother approached me and whispered: “Don’t speak to him when he comes. -Have you brought the property of the person you wish to see?” After some persuasion, I took the silver ring with the fire opal out of my vest pocket and put it into his hand, and he went to one of the side curtains, in the folds of which he disappeared. Immediately he placed a bowl with grains in it next to the coal fire and a small three-legged stool. Then the curtain opposite me moved violently, and the magus appeared. He was clothed in a dark, wide robe and wore around his head a white cloth, as I had already seen in old pictures. His face was pale gray and decayed, his eyes half closed. He did not seem to see me and walked with his hands stretched out in front of him like a blind man towards the ember pan. His brother came quickly behind him, guided him with his hands and pushed him down on the stool. Motionless the magician remained seated. The brother took one of his hands hanging down, opened, as it seemed to me, the closed fingers, and put the ring in his hand, which immediately closed again. Then he pushed up a similar stool for himself and scattered grains from the copper bowl over the crackling and smoldering coals. Immediately a blue, pleasantly fragrant smoke rose up with a similar fragrance as that precious incense, used by the Catholic Church on high feast days. Immobile and without any sign of attention, the magus sat in front of me and slightly behind him the brother, on whose haggard and hollow-cheeked face the traces of progressed pulmonary addiction were easily recognizable as the seal of an early death. I turned my attention to the other again and now saw that his eyes were directed at me with a fixed, lusterless look. At the same time a swelling, melodic humming and ringing began and I discovered that the brother had a Jew’s harp between his teeth and was playing it with the index finger of the right hand keeping the tongue of the instrument in a constant buzz. The Magus sat there for the time being in unchanged posture. Slowly, however, his head sank crookedly against his right shoulder, and his mouth opened. The hand that held the ring began to twitch softly. Thus we sat for some time in the blue light, and the hum and whisper of the music rose and fell. Suddenly, however, I noticed between the open lips of the motionless magus something that looked like the end of a bluish-white, luminous cloth, which gradually began to emerge. Moreover, it began to throb and knock behind my chair, and this sound momentarily continued with even greater force into the wooden floor, to then rise again into the chair, so that I had to listen several times to the short, sharp blows with the greatest clarity at my back and involuntarily looked around. But there was no one behind or beside me, although the knocking continued with undiminished strength. The white tissue came out of the mouth of the sleeper almost to his chest and then disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and the knocking ceased with a crashing blow in the left armrest of my armchair. In the deep silence the brother reached past the magus once again into the incense bowl on the floor and sprinkled grains on the coals. Something cold touched my cheek unexpectedly and stroked my forehead. I reached out quickly, but grabbed the empty air. But on the Magus’s shoulder a large snow-white hand appeared, with its flat fingers shaped almost like a glove. But then it stretched in an excessively long, arm-like gesture over his head, sank down, and lay quietly for a while like a third arm on his knee, until everything faded away in a few moments and became invisible. However, the sleeper now began to become restless, swayed back and forth with his upper body and let a quiet, wailing singsong be heard, whose words I could not understand. It began to knock again very strongly against the floor and then against my chair, and an empty stool, which stood at the curtain and which I had overlooked so far, did four or five frog-like leaps towards me, then turned around, stayed for a while with its three legs stretched out in the air, and then began to turn slowly in circles on the seat board. I suspected that strong magnetic fluids were now active, which had been obviously lying in deep slumber at the beginning. But at the same time the trembling melody of the player strengthened and accelerated, and the so far rocking motions of the magus changed into violent and convulsive twitching, which seemed very uncanny, all the more so because the newly nourished fragrant smoke intensified and the two persons opposite me appeared quite shadowy and unreal. Then it seemed to me as if a folded, shimmering piece of white cloth was lying there next to the charcoal basin, which had not been there before. It moved in its center in an incomprehensible way, as if a very small child or an animal were covered by the linen and caused it to rise. But quickly the strange cloth or the luminous mist grew in height, became taller and narrower and seemed to want to take on the shape of a human being. I looked in the utmost expectation straining to see and believed to perceive the folds of a garment and limbs. It was a human figure that arose before me. And all at once, as if paralyzed by joyful fright, I saw the completely pale and almost transparent beloved face of Zephyrine, her eyes were fixed on me – but then something grew out of the delicate head, from fine threads – glittering and shining – Aglajas’ crown of the dead – I wanted to jump up, to wrap my arms around the woman that I so ardently longed for – But before my eyes veils were laid, my feet were stuck in leaden shoes, my heart stood still. Everything had disappeared. I saw only the raw stage floor, the smoky, sweet smoke, the magus, who had fallen from the stool with his eyeballs twisted and lay in convulsions. The music fell silent. Feet thumped on the flooring. The brother hurriedly pulled the magus up, ran his cloth-wrapped hand into his mouth and pulled out his tongue. With a wild gasp the magician opened his eyes, looked around him and heaved a sigh. “Wake up, Eusebius!” cried the brother, shaking him gently. “Wake up! Wake up!” The magus looked first at him, then at me, and then let his gaze go in circles, as if he first had to think about where he was. He shuddered violently, grabbed his forehead with his hand, stared at me and gurgled: “Two–two there were–two–“ The other hurriedly fetched a tin cup and a bottle, poured a dark, strong-smelling wine into the vessel and held it to the brother’s lips. He drank in greedy gulps, put it down, and drank again. I discovered that my cheeks were wet with tears. After a long effort, aided by his assistant, the necromancer stood up and walked swaying toward me. His face was slack and covered with sweat. “The ring –” he stammered. I took the silver jewel and kept it with me. “Why two?” He stretched out his hand toward me. It was trembling violently. “Why two, Herr?” I nodded and said softly, “There were two, and yet there is only one.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
The performance, which began with a few rough slaps for the harlequin, was as I had much expected with the magician, dressed as on the figurehead. With his beard hung around his neck he performed a series of quite artful sleight-of- hand and card tricks, baked an omelet in a hat, which a fat citizen hesitantly offered, fetched endless ribbons, white barnyard rabbits and a glass jar with floating little fishes from it and finally crushed a golden watch in a mortar, only to find it unharmed in the purse of an embarrassed giggling girl. Then he moved on to the more difficult arts and tore off the heads of a white dove and a black dove and healed them in the twinkling of an eye, so that the black bird had a white head, and the white bird now had a black head. But this showpiece produced such a violent nausea in me that I wanted to get up and leave the room. But since I would have had to fight my way through the crowded rows of people sitting and would have had to make everyone get up, I closed my eyes for a while until I felt that the discomfort was subsiding. When I looked up again, through murmurs of applause and the admiration of the spectators, I saw the well-done picture of a moonlit cemetery on the stage. A slender, beardless man, wrapped in a black cloak, walked up and down between the grave crosses and told in his soliloquy, that a ghost often appeared here, and that he wanted to find out who the evil doer was that was certainly behind the appearance of such spirits. Behind the stage the midnight hour was signaled by twelve tinkling bells, and after the fading of the last stroke, which was followed by an artificially generated whirring of the wind, a being wrapped in white shrouds floated between the crosses and approached the man. This man seemed to be frightened at first, but then he swiftly drew his sword and stabbed the ghost. One saw clearly, how the flashing blade went through the body of the ghost, without doing him any harm. But now the boastful one threw the sword away and fled, whereupon the white creature performed a triumphant dance and the curtain rushed down. The performance was over, and the audience departed highly satisfied. I also stood up and approached the stage. My guess was correct. The invulnerable apparition was a mirror image, through a slanting glass plate, in front of which, lying on a kind of platform, an actor made the ghost, whose image was thrown onto the stage. The glass plate was made of three equal pieces, set together, and the two dark, vertical stripes of shadow, which had been visible on the stage during the performance, had immediately led me to this assumption. I now thought of leaving and noticed that there was no one left in the audience but me. But nevertheless I was not alone. Inaudibly a person had crept up to me, probably unaware of my intentions, and even though I faced him so unexpectedly, I recognized in him the sleight of hand magician in a robe as well as the cemetery fencer. I apologized and told him that I only had a scientific interest in how it was done and was fully satisfied with it. In no case was it my intention, to retell what I had discovered, which by the way had been known to me for a long time, to impair his success. “The gentleman is obviously a connoisseur,” the man said very politely and bowed. “Perhaps I have the honor of seeing a master of white magic before me?” “Not this one,” I replied. “I only wanted to know whether the excellent effect produced by the phantom was created with the help of large concave mirrors or with the sloping glass plate. Glass plates of such size are, as far as I know very precious and, as I understand it, are made only in Venice” “I see that the gentleman is excellently instructed,” replied the magician. “The three plates are our most valuable possessions and require a great deal of caution when traveling.” I thanked him with a few words and went toward the curtain, in front of which the harlequin was once again making noise and shouting. “If, however, the gentleman wished to make use of my actual art,” said the other, falteringly, and made a gesture with his hand toward the ground on which we were standing. A foreboding seized me. “What you see here,” said the other, “serves only the curiosity of the uneducated people and the acquisition of the bare necessities of life. For the deeply initiated, I am the necromancer Magister Eusebius Wohlgast from Ödenburg, and I have indeed already been honored with the name of the Hungarian Dr. Faust. I would have to be very wrong, if the wishes of the gentleman, whose outward appearance already announces the deepest and unhealed sorrow, not to offer the most glowing reunion with a beloved person who had been torn from him by cruel death.” I laughed bitterly. “You think I am more simple-minded than I am, Herr Magus Wohlgast,” I returned. “With the smoke of poisonous herbs, which completely cloud the clear mind, and with a hidden laterna magica, one can show gullible people what they wish to see.” The man shook his head with a smile and replied gently and modestly: “People of my standing, who live in moving wagons, must put up with being counted among the great crowd of wandering jugglers and swindlers. To dispel this suspicion, I expressly declare to you that I do not claim any salary if you want to accept my services in this respect. It is entirely up to you whether or not you want to give me a reward after the work is done, or under the impression of having been duped, to refrain from such. I also know very well in whose service I put my art, and remain unconcerned about profit, as much as I have to reckon with a net income. Incidentally, I recently enjoyed the extremely high honor of receiving such a request from His Imperial Roman Majesty in the rooms of the Masonic Lodge “To the Three Fires”. Although His Majesty, as a result of a very gripping apparition which moved him to the other world, was frightened and had to spend a few days in bed until his insulted mind had calmed down again. I was granted a very handsome reward. It may serve as a testimony to you that neither His Majesty nor the noble gentlemen present regarded me as an impostor, but rather left the temple of the Freemasons very moved and in silence. Yes, it was even said to protect me from the persecution that Her Majesty the Empress ordered to be instituted against me, when she discovered through an informant gentleman the cause of the illness of her husband.” Contradictory feelings stirred in me. The man seemed to me to be honest and sure of his rare abilities. But my distrust could not be eliminated so quickly. “Whom or whose spirit did you make appear before His Majesty?” I asked. “To speak of that to anyone, even a trustworthy cavalier, I am neither permitted, nor is it in my habits,” he declined. “I would also decline to communicate with third persons about apparitions which might come to the Lord if my most humble services were to be called upon.” My desire to experience this man’s art grew at his words and I spoke: “If it would be possible for you to call back a person, who has departed from this life and is very dear to me, I would be more than grateful to you.” He made a dismissive movement. “That is left to the discretion of the Lord, who is, in spite of all the negligence of his exterior caused by his grief, is a distinguished nobleman.” “So how should I behave, and when should this summoning go ahead?” I asked quickly, because two people had already entered the tent and forced us to speak quietly. “I ask the Lord to be here in three days, half an hour before midnight. On the day when the work is to take place, the Lord must abstain absolutely from all food and drink, with the exception of pure water. Then a purification of the body and fresh, clean clothes are needed. In addition, an object should be brought that was the property of the deceased person, if possible, something that was worn on the body. Strictest secrecy against anyone, whoever it may be, is a commandment, the non-observance of which makes all in vain.” “I have understood and will observe all this,” I said. “Nothing else is required?” “Nothing more for the gentleman.” “And you?” “I, my lord, must fast from today, a full three days, fast. My brother and our assistant will hold the performance here. I must prepare myself in solitude until the hour of the invocation.” I looked at him doubtfully, but the place was so filled to such an extent that further conversation was not possible. The Hungarian Magus did not pay any further attention to me, but walked right away toward the curtain. I saw him speaking some hasty words with the colorfully dressed harlequin, who nodded seriously. “So in three days -” I said in passing. “Around midnight,” he replied, and disappeared into the crowd in front of the booth. When I deliberately passed by after a while, the harlequin had disappeared, and the man, who until then had attracted the public with his multicolored costume, was now standing in the robe in front of the entrance and invited the audience to enter. In deep thought, I started on my way home to my inn. God himself had annealed my soul in the furnace of pain. I felt it deeply in the loneliness of the day, on which I prepared myself fasting for the evening with the Magus. How different my whole being had become since that hour, when my beloved had slipped away into the realm of shadows. The old irascibility which had still sometimes flashed up in me, the arrogance, of which I often enough made myself guilty, the addiction to the pleasures of the table and diversions of various kinds, the tendency to lust – all this had fallen away from me and seemed to me void and stale. The glamour, with which life presents itself to a man, was extinguished for me under the gray dust of transience.
“If I had to say where I thought the problem was, I’d say it was in having us train six newbies before moving on. We could probably get by with training four or five instead.”
Then Tobal grinned at Zee and Kevin. “Still, that’s because we are good trainers. There are some people out here that still struggle to survive after two years. I would hate to train with them. I guess the bottom line is if you can survive out here for a year you must know what you are doing.”
“You have always done a good job training newbies,” Zee told him. “No one has ever complained about your training.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever complained about Becca, Fiona or Nikki either,” he reminded her. “I guess the best thing is to trust the Council of Elders to make these decisions for us.” He looked at Zee, “I have heard you are the most thorough trainer out here. You teach things many of us don’t even think about.”
She blushed and looked pleased. “Thank you Tobal. That was a very nice thing to say.”
Kevin nodded and gave her a squeeze. “We’d better get going. I want to get out of this rain.”
They laughed and with a final wave headed toward one of the shelters. Sarah’s, Anne’s, Derdre’s, Seth’s and Crow’s newbies were all going to be initiated along with Zee’s, Kevin’s, Fiona’s, Becca’s and Nikki’s. That was ten initiations and it was going to be a long night Tobal thought as he watched and listened to the Council of Elders.
Crow had proclaimed his newbie ready to solo but the Elders had not approved demanding one more month of training. Crow was pretty upset at this and it took quite a while before he was calmed down. He felt he was being picked on because he was so young and from the village. Tobal felt Crow had gotten a bad break and sympathized with him. Still it was true. No one else really knew him yet.
At circle Llana made quite an impression with her wolf cubs. She strolled in with the two cubs trailing at her heels. Tobal had not even been sure she would show up or that he would get his chevron. He hadn’t seen her since she had left to give her grandfather the message. The cubs were nervous and kept very close to her. He was glad to see her for several different reasons.
Tobal was officially recognized and given his 6th chevron along with the secret location where he was to be initiated into the 2nd degree in two weeks during the new moon. As soon as he could he moved over to where Llana was tying the cubs to a tree and kneeled down to scratch one of the pups behind the ears and smiled as it recognized him.
“Is your grandfather ok?” He asked.
She smiled, “Hi Tobal” and gave him a kiss and a hug. “Grandfather is doing fine. He was very excited to hear about Adam Gardener, Sarah’s father, and agreed that Adam was in serious danger so he left right away to talk with him.”
Then her face got very serious. “Someone broke into the store while they were talking and they needed to teleport out to escape. Neither one of them has been back to the store since. That was how close it was. They didn’t see who it was but they are assuming it was some of General Grant’s men. They also believe it is too dangerous to go back.”
She looked at him. “I gave your wand to grandfather since I thought he might need it. I hope that is ok?”
Tobal nodded, “I couldn’t take it with me to the Journeyman place anyway. It would not be safe there. Someone might discover it.”
“Tobal,” she said. “There has been a change in my plans. Grandfather and Adam have agreed to train both Crow and me in time travel to the locations that are open to us. We feel it is better to have four of us able to time travel than just two in case something happens to one of us.”
He swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. “That means you are going to quit the program?”
She nodded quietly. “We’re counting on you to stay in the program. I can meet you once or twice a month and continue your training so you will be ready to time travel as soon as possible. Without med-alert bracelets we will have much more freedom to come and go and meet with people.”
“How soon will that be,” he said in despair. “How soon will I be able to time travel?”
She sensed his disappointment and put her right hand gently on his shoulder. “You have learned a lot,” she told him quietly. “But there is still a lot to learn. Perhaps by the time you are a medic you will be ready. The ability to teleport is the key to the entire process. When you have learned how to do that you will be ready. In the meantime you will continue within the program itself. As Ron and Rachel’s son they will be watching you in the hopes that you will have the same abilities that your parents did. They will allow you to have as much training as possible before they attempt to use you. It is almost certain you will be chosen to be trained for Federation time travel.”
“Do I need to join those people?”
“We need to know exactly where your parents are kept if we are going to help them,” she reminded him. “We will also need someone on the inside that knows their way around. Crow is going to start training a group to teleport and time travel at the village. I am going to be working with you and your group.”
“Your group?” He asked puzzled.
“Yes, your group,” she smiled. “You didn’t think you were going to be doing this alone did you?”
“Well, kind of,” he admitted.
“As you continue through the training you will meet people you trust and become friends with,” she told him. “ Some of them will be chosen to continue on within the time travel program. If you and I also teach them the teleportation process in secret they will test well enough to be chosen. Your group can then infiltrate the organization.”
“How long will all of this take,” he said in despair. “My parents are dying!”
“Your parents have been dying for twenty years,” she said softly. “ They will stay alive as long as they know we are coming. They have told me that. We will need between one and two years to get your group trained and ready. That means you will all be medics by then.”
“When will I be able to talk with my parents like you and Crow do? I mean when I’m not at circle or astral projecting to the cave I can’t reach them.”
“That should start happening soon,” she told him. “Your coming initiation should assist in that process. In the meantime keep practicing your meditations and astral projection exercises. And remember, you can talk to your parents and learn from them already. Ask them what you should do.”
“You said we will continue meeting each month,” Tobal said. “When and where will we meet next?”
“Let’s meet in the morning three days after every circle at your base camp,” she decided. “That will work for starters. Later we can find a better location if we want to.”
They left it at that and he noticed Llana and the wolf cubs were gone shortly after that. She didn’t stay for circle or to talk with any of the others. He realized she had come just to talk with him and to make sure he got his sixth chevron.
Even with ten initiations there was a shortage of newbies and Tobal noticed that several clansmen including Tyrone, Mike and Butch were not at circle. They were presumably waiting at sanctuary for more newbies and had been waiting the entire month. Tempers were flaring around the newbie situation.
Mike was angry and so were Tara and Nick who decided to just stay together for the month. Wayne and Char didn’t really care and were back together. There were five other clansmen really angry about the newbie situation. It had reached the point where four Apprentices simply left for the coast. That was more than the monthly one or two that normally elected to drop out of the program.
Tobal had been doing some heavy thinking about the newbie situation and realized that most of the problems were because Nikki, Fiona, Becca and himself had all trained newbies within a month and created a bottleneck situation with the newbies. They were getting their training too fast. There had been a problem when Rafe was training newbies one a month but this was far worse since Rafe was just one person. Now there were several people training that fast. Tobal decided to talk to Ellen about it after circle that evening.
Angel was High Priestess for the circle and Tobal noticed Dirk was acting High Priest for the first time. He was closely monitored by the old High Priest but went through the entire ritual himself. Tobal thought he had done a good job. He could feel the Lord and Lady during each of the initiations but was not able to contact them. It seemed they were focused entirely on the initiates for some reason.
The ten initiations took a long time and he missed chatting with Becca and the others. He did sit beside Ellen though and asked her about making all the training two months long for everyone.
She turned an amused eye toward him, “The Council of Elders has already discussed that in depth. We decided if a newbie is properly trained and ready to solo we have no right to prevent them. If some people can do the training within a month they have the right to do so. If some trainers are motivated to move through the ranks more quickly than others they should be allowed to do that also.”
“But what about all the bad feelings among the clansmen?” He asked. “What about the shortage of newbies?”
Ellen sighed, “Fiona, Becca and Nikki are the only ones left that are training newbies that quickly. They are trying to get their last newbies right now. No one else is trying to train that fast and the problem will go away when they become Journeymen. It is not right to punish them for being good trainers. We did not punish you or Rafe.”
“All in all,” she continued. “It is an effective system and we are inclined to keep things the way they are.”
Tobal nodded and changed the subject as Rafe sat down and joined them at one of the pauses between initiations.
“So what has been happening with the City Council this past month?”
“Not much,” Ellen replied. “Last month’s meeting was cancelled. The mayor contacted us and said they were not ready for a meeting yet. The mayor had dark circles under his eyes and looked a lot older than I remembered. This must be pretty hard on him.”
Tobal changed the subject. “Rafe, you have an air sled now?”
Rafe was wearing his red Master’s robe for the first time to circle. “It’s over there.” He pointed to a location slightly outside of the gathering spot. “I’m still not sure how fast it will go.” He chuckled and glanced at Ellen.
She looked at Rafe with a concerned look. “It’s not a toy Rafe. There have been several air sled deaths.”
He pouted, “I’m just kidding. Don’t take me so serious. Besides,” he continued glumly, “They watch us like a hawk. I can’t get away with anything.”
He brightened a bit. “But I am going to check out some of those forbidden areas that are marked on this map though. Maybe I will have something interesting to add by next month.”
Tobal had almost forgotten the map of forbidden locations Rafe had gotten from Ellen several months ago. Without an air sled Rafe had not been able to check any of them out.
Ellen protested, “Rafe, I don’t really think you should be doing things like that right now. Things are getting dangerous and we don’t really know what we are up against.”
“Checking out these forbidden locations is one way of finding out what we are up against,” was Rafe’s stubborn reply.
“I’ve got an idea,” Tobal said suddenly.
Then he explained the situation with Crow and Llana and how Crow was going to take one group and start training them to teleport and be time travelers while Llana’s group would remain within the system but receive the same training.
“Count me in,” Rafe said.
“Me too,” was Ellen’s reply.
“Good,” said Tobal. “I will tell Llana to start meeting with each of you and training you in what you need to know. She won’t be wearing a med-alert bracelet anymore and can meet you just about anywhere you decide. She won’t show up on any of the monitors.”
He looked at Rafe. “You could even take her by air sled and drop her off at some of those forbidden locations and let her check them out. Then she could teleport out with the information about the area. I think she can only teleport to a place she has been before but once she knows where it is she would be able to go back when ever she wanted.”
Ellen and Rafe looked at Tobal and at each other and nodded. It seemed like a fairly good plan. They would be waiting for Llana to contact them. In the meantime Tobal would set things up with Llana and get his Journeyman initiation.
Both Ellen and Rafe said they were going to be at his Journeyman initiation. He had almost forgotten about it. The secret location turned out to be a cave. Tobal hadn’t realized there were so many caves in the area. He scouted the area ahead of time looking for trails that led into it. He found a safe hiding spot for the things that belonged to his parents and left them in a bundle to pick up later after his initiation.
Finally satisfied that he knew where he was supposed to go he went into the camp itself. No one had said anything about coming early and the late spring weather made travelling a bit uncertain. He felt it was better to show up early than to show up late. It was only a few hours early and they would be expecting him.
He decided the best course of action was to stay on the path and make no sudden moves remembering what had happened with Fiona. It turned out he didn’t need to be so cautious. Turning a corner in the path were two guards standing in the middle of the path as a roadblock. They had a small fire going and there was a lived in occupied look that made Tobal suspect this camp was always guarded.
They greeted him warmly and one guard remained on the trail while he was escorted to a chamber and told to wait. After about an hour of silence someone came for him and again his guide was female. This time it was a girl Tobal knew as Lea dressed in a black robe and hood that covered her honey colored hair.
“Do you seek the Light and Wisdom of our secret circle,” she asked as she approached him in the darkness.
“Yes, I do.”
“There is no Light for you here. In the Apprentice degree you have received all of our light. What you need now is more darkness so the Light within you can shine forth more brightly. That is how you will attain the wisdom of our circle. Will you permit me to be your guide into the darkness?” She asked.
Tobal was surprised and a little shaken by this and wondered what he was getting himself into but he remembered Rafe and knew it couldn’t be too bad.
“I will permit you to be my guide,” he told her.
“You must leave everything behind if you are to enter this degree,” she told him. Then she told him to strip completely. She fastened a large blindfold around his eyes so he couldn’t see anything and taking his left hand led him further into the cave. In the other hand she carried a burning torch. Tobal sensed the light from the torch but couldn’t see anything through the fabric of the blindfold. His guide led him for some way and then stopped. A bundle of clothing was pressed into his hands and he was told to dress himself.
“Are you willing to receive the darkness,” she asked him?
“Yes.”
“What are the two passwords into our sacred circle, she asked.
“Perfect love and perfect trust,” he replied.
“No, in this degree these are reversed. In this degree you must have perfect trust to find perfect love. In this degree we study the duality of opposites inherent in all of nature. Think upon these things as you wait on my return.”
She told him to sit down where he was and took his blind fold off. As his eyes adjusted to the glare of the torch she told him it was very important he stay where he was because the cave was large and he could get lost or killed if he wandered away in the darkness without knowing where he was going. She was going to go and see if things were ready for the initiation. In the meantime he was to quietly meditate and prepare himself.
She turned and left him sitting in the darkness. As he watched the torch grew smaller in the distance and then disappeared altogether as she turned a corner. He had never experienced such total darkness and it was unnerving. For a moment he fought the impulse to get up and run after her remembering what had happened with Fiona. In the darkness the rock and earthy feeling of the cave seemed to close in on him and press against his ribs making it hard to breathe.
There was a sound in the darkness behind him and a bolt of panic and fear tried to tear itself loose and gain control over him. It took a massive effort of will to fight the feelings back. He began concentrating on his breathing and centering as Crow had taught him. He deliberately pulled the earth energy up from the ground and from all around him and encircled himself with it and called on the Lord and Lady to be there with him.
In the blackness of the cave he began to see glowing lights and couldn’t tell if he was seeing them with his physical eyes or in his mind’s eye. There simply was not any way of knowing if they were figments of his imagination or if they were real. He wanted to believe they were real but whenever he tried to focus and look at them directly they would disappear. This continued for some time.
He could feel his heart beating and pulsing in his throat and arms and in his heart itself. It was a slow steady rhythm that seemed to comfort and protect him. It seemed like hours had passed and he wondered if he had been forgotten but was not particularly worried. He had found his center and surrounded himself with protection. Then he heard someone coming and saw the faint gleams of light from the torch.
The light blinded his eyes as Lea came up to him and told him they were ready. She handed a second torch to him and lit it.
“You carry your own light into our circle.” She told him. “In the Apprentice degree there were two passwords. What were they?”
“Perfect love and perfect trust.” He replied.
“And what are the passwords into the Journeyman degree?”
“Perfect trust and perfect love.” He replied.
“Remember these passwords.” She said. “You will need them to gain entry into our sacred circle.”
As Tobal was led deeper into the cave it opened into an enormous cavern. Torches had been placed around at various points for lighting and there was no large fire in the center of the cave. The smoke from the torches rose and lost itself high in the vaulted ceiling finding escape through some hidden airway. Four small fires marked the four quarters of the circle at a smooth and level spot in the cavern floor.
A circle had been formed by dark hooded figures standing silently waiting for him. The High Priest and High Priestess were dressed in red robes with large hoods that hid their faces. Looking at them, Tobal couldn’t make out who they were. The hooded figures around the circle looked eerie in the flickering torchlight. He was halted at the edge of the circle.
Lea pulled him forward. “An Apprentice is among us proven by the elements of nature and of the earth. He wishes to join his light with our own so our community might be more illumined and our wisdom grow. He further wishes to follow the ancient craft and learn the ways of our sacred circle.”
The High Priest came over and stood in front of Tobal staring intently into his eyes.
“I must remind you that this is not a matter to be lightly taken. Your immortal soul will be deeply committed to the path of the Lord and Lady. Do you desire to have your destiny joined with theirs?”
“I do.”
“Do you seek the way that reaches beyond life and death? Will you serve the Lord and reverence the Lady? Will you keep secret from the unworthy that which we show you?”
Tobal replied affirmatively to each of these questions in turn.
“So be it. Child of Earth enter the path of darkness.” Stepping back he motioned for Tobal to walk in front of him into the circle. But his guide quickly restrained him.
“You can’t enter our sacred circle unpurified.” She said. Then taking a bowl of water from the High Priest she sprinkled him with it.
“I purify you with water.”
She waved the torch over him, in front of him and behind him.
“I purify you with fire.”
Then the High Priest stepped forward once more.
“There are two passwords that will allow you to enter our sacred circle. What are they?”
Tobal replied, “Perfect trust and perfect love.”
“Then lead us with your light into the greater darkness.” Said the High Priest. “Show us the way.”
Tobal’s guide tugged him widdershins toward the North quarter and Tobal led the silent party to the small fire signifying the North quarter. He stood silently before the fire wondering what to do for several minutes as they bowed respectfully and waited. The cave’s chill seeped into his bones, stirring echoes of the altar’s glow from his astral visits, a faint reassurance in the void. Then he felt his guide nudging him toward the west and he led the party to the quarter of the circle representing west and water. As before they remained standing silent before the watchtower with bowed heads. Again his guide nudged him forward toward the south.
After paying homage to the watchtower of the south Tobal led them to the Watchtower of the East where the process was repeated. Then Tobal was nudged by his guide to continue widdershins until they arrived at the entrance path into the circle itself. The High Priest roared out in anger.
“Seize Him!”
Taking his knife the High Priest pressed it against Tobal’s chest and cried out in anger.
“We trusted you and you have only led us in a large circle. We have arrived back at the beginning. Why have you done this to us?”
Tobal had no answer to give and his guide remained silent.
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.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
I looked around the distinguished room in which I was kept waiting, and looked closely at the only picture, a man with olive-brown, finely chiseled features, dark, sad eyes, of rather unattractive facial formation, wearing a canary yellow uniform with red lapels and under the coat, which was open, a black breastplate. Then the maid reappeared, lifted the curtain and asked me to enter with a curtsy. I entered a boudoir entirely in gleaming gold with precious furniture and a brocade-covered resting bed, on which Laurette half sat, half lay. She smilingly held her hand out to me from a cloud of lace and thin silk, smiling, and I was again struck anew by the unusual charm that her pretty, rosy face radiated under the artful coiffure. But while I stared at her, not at all to her displeasure, enraptured, that disgusting, shrill laughter sounded close to us, and only then I noticed a chubby, bald-headed parrot of gray color, from whose crooked beak came the laughter. If my whole mind had not been filled with the image of that sweet child’s face and the reddish-gold hair, I would hardly have felt at ease in the presence of this blossomed woman, who had stirred my first emotions of love. I felt that I could not have restrained myself for long, and all the more so because Laurette, with consummate art, soon showed me a part of her perfectly beautiful breast, soon the noble shape of a leg or the curve of her classic arm. Nevertheless, I could not resist the desire to remind the distinguished lady of those days, when she was still called Lorle and had kissed me in the honeysuckle arbor behind her father’s house. But she slipped away from me in a playful mastery of the conversation, and thus forced me to respect the boundaries she wished to keep. Yes, when I, fired by my blissful memories, dared to touch her bare arm with my hand, she struck me on my fingers and pointed with peculiar, even serious, significance at the parrot, who was entertaining himself by wiping his beak on the silver perch. “Take care, my all too friendly cavalier, beware of this bird,” she said softly, as if she were afraid that the ruffled beast might be listening. “Apollonius does not like it when one caresses me in his presence. Besides, my little finger tells me, dear Baron, that you have not come to court me, but that you have called on my willingness to serve you in some other way.” “I cannot deny it,” I replied, somewhat affected, although it seems unclear to me from where you, my dear Laurette, have received such wisdom.” “Ei!” she laughed, “Don’t I have my soothsayer and at the same time protector and guardian next to me?” and less loudly she added: “It can be called a true good fortune, that the good Apollonius is becoming somewhat hard of hearing and is no longer able to overhear all that is spoken.” The fact that she lowered her voice seemed indeed to disgust the bird. He rolled his ball-eyes, stepped from one foot to the other, and struck the cage bar with his beak, so that it rang. “Louder!” he cried. “You see?” said Laurette, glancing shyly at him. “He’s in a bad mood today.” “He looks like an old Hebrew, your Apollonius,” I said aloud. “It is believed that animals of his species live to be over a hundred years old.” “Hihihi! Hehehe! I’m an animal?” cried the bird. “A hundred years! Imbecile!” “What do you mean, he speaks French?” I turned to the beautiful one. “He speaks all languages,” whispered Laurette. “Take care! He guards me, tells everything to the Spanish envoy – whose mistress I am,” she added hesitantly, her cheeks flushing slightly. “But Apollonius also bears witness to events and is able to see into the future.” Now I knew who the pimp was to whom she owed her well-being, and so naturally a faint feeling of jealousy would have arisen at this discovery. Not being of a jealous nature, I felt nothing of the kind. Nevertheless, I felt sadness and remorse that this once pure and benign child through my fault had been taken from the peaceful and safe shelter of her parents’ home to the glittering and uncertain splendor of a life based only on lust. At the same time, however, I clearly recognized that her restraint towards me was not due to gratitude towards a present friend and lover, but rather the fear of the treacherous gossip of the feathered fowl to which she obviously attributed intellect and human-like malice. That through such thoughts the extremely ugly, bald- headed animal became even more repugnant and hated by me than already at the first sight, is understandable. I was tempted to interact with the chattering bird. Or at least to check in every way, to what extent Laurette’s description about his intelligence was justified. How could this small, round bird’s head, behind these rigid, rolling eyes be anything different from that of other animals? The repeating and coincidentally making sense of learned words and randomly putting together learned words might be suitable to cause strange, astonishing effects. But I could not and did not believe in a human-like thinking ability. The only thing I understood was Laurette’s caution to speak softly, so that the hard-of-hearing bird would not parrot them back at inopportune times. I myself had heard a story, in which a starling, also a talking animal, had betrayed his mistress by singing in front of her husband in the most melting tones the first name of a young gentleman, who had been suspected for a long time of being the favored lover of the housewife. Without waiting for Laurette’s warm gesture, I turned to the parrot, looked at him and said: “Well, Apollonius, if you are really so clever as you are, tell me who won the most money the day before yesterday at the Pharaoh’s?” The bird ruffled its feathers, twisted its eyeballs in a ghastly way, chuckled a few times, and then cackled: “Defunctus” – the dead one. I looked at him, unable to speak a word. “I beg you, Melchior, let him go,” said Laurette quickly and quietly, and in her gaze there was fear. Then she said loudly, “Baron, don’t tease Apollonius, or he’ll tell me the nastiest things that deprive me of sleep at night. “It was I who won, infernal beast!” I cried, and pulled myself together. The gray one laughed and said with his head bent forward, eyeing me maliciously: “Donum grati defunctil”-a gift from the grateful dead. “Why don’t you turn the collar on such vicious vermin?” I angrily prodded. “Give him some peach pits and get some peace with it.” She shook her head. “He eats no poison, fair Herr! Little killer! Little murderer!” chuckled Apollonius and flapped his wings. “Perhaps you have murdered yourself, chewy, disgraceful beast!” I screamed and shook my fist at him. “Perhaps you are a soul damned by God and must now repent in the form of an animal!” There came a heavy, almost human sigh from the bar, a groan from a tortured chest. The parrot looked at me with a fearful and horribly desolate look, and hung its head. Slowly he pulled the nictitating skin over his eyes, and with an inner tremor I looked – by God in heaven! -, I saw two tears dripped from the eyes of the animal. But this lasted only a moment, because immediately after that he stared at me with such appalling insolence that I became hot and cold and my rising of pity quickly disappeared. But when I saw the troubled face of the beautiful Laurette, I thought how naughty and disturbing for her peace my behavior must have seemed to her, and to rectify my mistake, I decided to turn the matter into a joke. I bowed therefore with ironic politeness before the animal and said in a cheerful tone: “Do not be angry with me, venerable Apollonius, I did not mean to offend your wisdom. I am now converted and no longer doubt in your wonderful gift to see the past and the future. Would it not be possible to make friends with you, king of all parrots?” The feathered one shook with laughter, clucked his beak and whistled. Then he moved his head quite distinctly, after human style, violently denying, back and forth. “So we can’t be friends?” I continued and winked at Laurette. “I would have liked to ask a question – about a hunchback I’m looking for -.” My question was for Laurette, of course, and I was about to explain myself further, when it came buzzing from the bar: “Dottore Postremo.” “What do you want with him?” said Laurette, in astonishment. “Do you know him?” I asked, unable to conceal my excitement. A deep blush passed over her face. “As it happens –” she replied sheepishly. “What is it about him?” “He’s an Italian doctor — a lot of women go to see him who wish to remove the unpleasant consequences of a few pleasant hours. He has a reputation, and the courts have often dealt with him. But nothing could ever be proved. – But you must not think, Baron, that I might -“ I laughed politely, “How could I, beautiful Laurette?” “He is said, by the way, to have a very beautiful foster- daughter or niece,” she went on, looking at me lurkingly. “A girl who has hardly blossomed. He lives in the house called Zum Fassel.” She lowered her eyes and looked at me from under her lids. “Be careful! The man is capable of anything!” “You are mistaken, Laurette,” I lied. “It’s not a question of adventures.”
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