The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Hell! Hell!” groaned Hmmetschnur and ran his hands through his wild hair. “If only I could get away from here!” I said good night to him and went to my room. By the light of the burning candle, I searched for the lady of hell’s little pot and cut with the knife around the rock-hard, dried-up bladder. Inside was a crisscrossed, cracked greenish- brown substance. This may have been an ointment, but the excessively long time had made it firm and brittle. I thought that perhaps the candle flames might warm it up enough for it to take on more or less its old consistency, and so I held the blue jar over my candlestick. The melting stuff stank disgustingly of old fat and pungent herbs, but I gradually managed to soften the sediment, so that I could investigate the ointment and test its magical nature. In the glow of my five wax candles I saw again the gray eyes of the Lady of Weinschrötter, who appeared to smile in amusement at my cheeky beginning. “Shall I not?” I addressed the painting. But neither an answer nor a sign came from the now lifeless painting, which yesterday had greeted me with a now vanished resemblance that had frightened me to my very soul. Was it the heat of the candles or the vaporous fat and poisonous herbs that made me behave in this way: a flying heat, which I had already felt in the afternoon during the walk, came over me, and when I undressed, I felt how leaden my limbs were. My blood pulsed in rapid throbbing as if a fever were near. Nevertheless, I remained stubbornly determined or forced by something to stick to my plan to try the ointment. I took off my shirt, spread the stuff on my chest, belly, hands, feet and forehead, as I had learned from the horror stories, that old Margaret had told me in childhood, and still remembered the witch’s spell: “Out the top and nowhere on!” laughed at myself for my silliness, blew out the candles, and lay down in the creaking four-poster bed. The blood rang in my ears, a tingling sensation ran through my limbs. I saw the half moon in the window, which I had forgotten to close. And then I slowly sat up in bed, slipped out from under the low canopy and floated between the ceiling and the floor, without me finding this strange. I had often flown like this in my dreams, with casual movements of the arms or some footsteps to steer the flight. But I now saw myself lying in bed, illuminated by the blue moonlight. Open-mouthed with two sharp wrinkles in my face, that went from my nostrils to my chin as the result of some evil experience. I saw the extinguished candles with the long scrolls, the bare cleaning scissors, and my robe on an upholstered chair, the open hair bag. I was amazed at nothing, nor was I startled when Lady Heva Weinschrötte- cautiously climbed out of the picture frame and floated out through the open window. I kicked the air with a feeling of well-being, like a swimmer treads the water that carries him. All of them followed after Heva. An old Jew with a caftan, another one, whose white, scabby skull peered out of the raised trapdoor, a hunchbacked woman with a snuffy nose and eternally smacking mouth, and with a black tomcat that sat on the hump and a white, lame little dog that was running after her, another ugly, goggle-eyed woman, who sneaked to my bed, hissed at the resting body and with crooked fingers reached for the little pot to quickly lubricate her yellow, wrinkled skin. And then in infinite well-being I turned to the open window and flew in an instant over the bent and wind-shredded poplars, full of joy at the regained skill of flying. At will, I ascended with a very light hand and foot stirring up and down, shooting light as a feather upwards or slowly downwards, turned immediately, let the air carry me horizontally or sank like a rock, just as I liked. Nevertheless, it continued like that without me being frightened, and I drifted like a flying feather before the wind. Even if I remained motionless, I saw beneath me tree tops, reflecting water, meadow surfaces and lonely little houses gliding past. But this did not worry me at all; rather I surrendered with full pleasure to the bliss, liberated from the weight of the body and floated through the silvery moon light like a cloud. Also I made no steering movements any more, but gave myself completely to such bliss of an earth-liberated state. Then, however, I saw closer and more distant figures in the milky air, on the same path as me, gently drifting and hovering like old wives’ summer. Young women with white and golden brown limbs, with loose hair and willingly naked, their eyes closed as if in sleep, their arms spread out; but in between also bony and shapeless hags, then again fat ones with sagging and flabby fullness, scrawny old women, disgustingly hairy and coarse male figures, slim-limbed girls with weakly curved breasts, beautiful boys and skinny, miserable bodies of gaunt old men. However, as soon as I made an effort to focus more sharply on a face, it became a vague round egg of whirling mist and dissolved. But even that did not put me in fear or astonishment. Rather, everything had long been familiar and quite right, as if I had experienced and seen this many times. And effortlessly, I was blown, through the will-less, delicious detachment of my own limbs and the lightness of my body, by the air between clouds, moon, stars which drew me toward the friendly tugging of the earth deep below. I sank. The figures gathered more densely around me. I went down into the depths, gently sinking. A pale glow dazzled. Lights bounced beneath me, bluish and yellow lights. Faces with slanting eyes and flaring scoops of fire. And there was fire everywhere. Between bushes and grass there was a swarming and jumping, a twisting and turning of innumerable figures that surrounded me. Some squatted in rigid clusters around red- yellow brushwood flames, murmuring in swelling, nasal song from books, keeping the beat with their hands. A brown boy with pointed ears, handsome and cheeky, round-hipped like a woman, was chasing a black, bearded shaggy goat with wild heel kicks through the midst of couples, who were twisting in spasmodic entwinement as they rolled in the leaves. Gray wolves whose dark sweat dripped from their muzzles crept with glowing red eyes between beautiful, naked women. A crippled man without legs pushed with agile monkey arms the rest of his body through the tumult in a wheelchair and looked out of long distended eyes like those of a crab. One, whose skin stretched like parchment over the fleshless bones, blew squawking on a hollow leg bone, while glow worms crawled around in his eye sockets. A dwarf’s body consisted of a bagpipe, and the purring and humming pipes protruded from the back of his trousers, while the trunk-mouth blew into the air tube and the twisted fingers of his hands wandered over the indecent flutes. A row of gray-toothed women with dangling tits danced hand in hand in circles around these musicians. “Are you here too? Hussah!” There was a bellow next to me, and when I looked, Montanus had just passed by, and his belly was hanging red like glowing iron from the inflated trousers. More and more new dance groups formed. I saw legs from which the skin was hanging in shreds and laughing mouths, out of which white and yellow worms crawled. Dissolute children with disgustingly twisted eyes were writhing in the arms of hermaphrodite creatures, women cried out ruthlessly and dragged giggling, skinny boys to their steaming wombs, from goat udders fat milk ran into the toothless mouths of old men. One with broken, buckling limbs led another, who, leaden-grey faced, had a rope around his neck and displaying a monstrous manhood stumbled forward to a black-haired woman who was shrieking and twitching and rolling. Flames danced and shot pointedly out of the earth, and from out of a bush in front of me rose the deathly sad, pale face of the Bavarian Haymon with the crushed red nose, and his mouth whispered: “Take some advice and see that you will come again, Mahomet!” There arose a tremendous shouting, whooping and wild singing. They waved with their hands, their legs flailing and jerking against a high black stone block, on which, in the wavering, uncertain light, a figure was crouched, his knees drawn up to his chin, angular and silent. I stared at it and recognized with raging horror Fangerle. As if fused to the rock, he squatted there, his evil, pinched face under the big peasant hat glowed like rotting wood, and his long-hunters coat glowed in all its buttonholes, as if blue fire was hidden under them. The piercing goat eyes were directed straight at me, full of indescribable malice. And then he uttered the horrible scream that Heiner had in front of the wheel. “I-i-i-ilih!” A thousand arms, fingers, claws and nails stretched out towards me. I wanted to rise quickly into the free kingdom of the air, but they hung on to my feet, pulled me down. “Catch him! Stop him!” shrieked Satan on the block. Desperately, I kicked my feet and flailed around. But new ones came, arms of women wrapped heavy and soft around my neck, hot lips pressed sucking against my face, claws tore at my hair; heavy masses clung to me, squeezing out my breath. I could no longer get up, saw in deathly fear the yellow goat eyes stare, the saw teeth bared, paralysis was like tough dough around my limbs, my heart was hammering, close to bursting, my breath caught, choking my throat. “Lord, my God!” I cried out in deathly peril. Then the hand of Fangerle grabbed me and flung me high into the air. Scornful laughter rang out behind me, neighing. The fires went out in the deep night, shadows flitted. Whirled, it whistled in the air, cried, screamed, howled —. I lay in my shirt in the middle of a wet meadow.
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
Tiredly I groped behind the others, who had the bunch of keys from the innkeeper’s belt and now climbed into the cellar. In the hallway lay, big as a calf, the dog shot by Garnitter. Behind empty wine barrels and other junk we found an iron door, discovered the key on the key ring and opened it – rusty dust flew into our eyes – but, good heavens! What was this? All four of us jumped back in horror. There were probably twenty corpses, brown, dried up, withered, eaten by rats, stripped of all their clothes. And on their shoulders they carried wide-squeezed disks with mouth gaps, hair tangles, jumbled white teeth. One could see an ear, a lower jaw, which was pressed up to the empty eye sockets, a worm-like black tongue that stretched sideways, clenched hands, blood crusts, splintered bones — We rumbled up the stairs, ran out of the house and sat down on the mossy stone balls, breathing deeply, and the rain trickled down on us. In the east it shone drearily. When it became quite light, we fed the fat horse of the innkeeper with oats and hay, and then harnessed him. Before that, Hoibusch had looked in on the girl. She hung with twisted eyes as if fainted in the ropes. – Then they climbed up into the innkeepers’ bedroom, rummaged in cupboards and chests and found a whole hoard of gold and silver coins, jewelry, precious garments, fine linen and weapons of all kinds. In the meantime, I crept into the chamber of horror. The girl was awake, and her face was shining with tears. Silently I went there and cut the ropes with the landlady’s knife, which I had picked up, cut the ropes in such a way that she herself could untie herself. “Wait until you hear us leave,” I said, “and then see to it that you save yourself -.”A glow of hope passed over her decayed face, in which, despite all the depravity, showed the harmless child of old. “Gracious Herr-” she stammered. “Be silent and do not stir until we are gone. Perhaps that you may become honest again, girl. I dare on it!” “Every day I will pray to God for thee, Lord,” she whispered, “that he may have mercy on you as you have had on Bärbel -“. Quickly I went out. I asked the three boys, as they came out of the house to leave me out of the game, since I had important things to do at Krottenrieder castle and the court could ruin all my plans. It was all right with them, and since the way to the town would certainly pass by the castle, we traveled with each other through the dull morning toward the army road, the shivers of the night in all our limbs. “With all my heart I pity the young blood on the column,” said Garnitter after a while. “She is not at all guilty of any serious crime, and even if she came to listen, because she had to, and one or the other prey fell into her lap. “What are you babbling about?” Hoibusch said and he struck at the lame gray horse. “One can see that you are a windy philosopher and know nothing of legal matters. I know the Roman law as well as the famous Carpzov enough to already know today the judgment that she will and must be given. And besides, I know myself to be of one mind with Baron Dronte and the Sollengau -“. “There is also a jus divinum, and of that you are obviously ignorant. Of course, it has nothing to do with scholarship, and has no paragraphs and subtleties and is better to be found in simple-minded people than in those who, like peacocks, have a green-gold wheel to beat, but have a nasty, inhuman voice,” Garnitter replied. “Are you trying to cheat me?” asked Hoibusch and pulled back on the reins. “No fighting, gentlemen,” I admonished. “Let us rather be grateful to Providence, which has saved us from death.” “This is also my opinion!” agreed the squire. Thus peace was restored, and the Philosopher shook hands with the jurist. But no matter how often we tried to turn the conversation to more pleasant things, again and again the terrible night came to our minds and the danger from which we had escaped, but from which the unfortunates in the cellar and our companion, Haymon, the last Baron of Treidlsperg, had fallen victim to. Around noon we met on a heath, which lost itself into the forest, an old shepherd with his herd and asked for the way that led to Krottenriede castle. “The gentlemen have to drive far around there,” said the old man and stroked his wolfhound. “Or else get down from the wagon and take the narrow forest path on the right hand. It goes straight to the castle, whose sheep I herd.” Then I quickly climbed down from the wagon, took my coat bag and shook hands with the good fellows who had brought me this far, wishing them all the best in their lives. Garnitter, however, I looked especially into the eyes; at first I liked Hoibusch the best when I entered the Ball Mill, but now because of the kindness of his heart, I was sorry that I had not talked to him a few more times. Once again, I asked them to let me, who had neither had to make use of a gun nor had I been harmed, keep silent to the courts, that I was involved in other matters that were extremely important to me. They promised me cordially and then drove on and went to fetch the courtiers, to clean out the robber’s nest and to arrange for Christian burials for the lamentable corpses in the cellar, and also to redeem Haymon from the death stone and bury him as well. As I turned to go, Hoibusch stood up in the carriage and shouted: “Baron Dronte, I have sensed that you are on the side of the philosopher, and that out of love for you, I want to turn it so that Bärbel gets away from the tower and keeps her life!” I waved back at him and slowly went my way. But then I had to sit down under the trees and cry. I cried for the Bavarian Haymon and about our young years–. The path I had taken on the advice of the shepherd was an old, dilapidated horse path, which led quite steeply uphill. In places, falling water and landslides had torn away many meters, and I had to, badly hindered by the coat bag, climb over the steep clay slopes. But the higher I got, the better the climb became, because all kinds of bushes and alluvial forest strengthened and thus protected the path from destruction. The hike lasted long enough, and it was getting late when I reached the uppermost part of the moderately high castle. After a bend in the path I stood unexpectedly before castle Krottenriede, where I longingly hoped, I would finally be granted an audience with Ewli. But if there was something even sadder, neglected and gloomier than the Ball Mill, it was this castle. A monstrous, gray stone box with formerly red-white-red shutters, now faded, peeled off and crooked on their hinges, it stood between disheveled, thorny, mighty poplars and two ponds with brown, putrid water, which was overgrown by poison-green lentils. On the steep, damaged roof was a weather vane bent by the storms and eaten by verdigris- representing an upright lion. Part of the window panes were gray with dust, other parts had only jagged shards in the rotten frames. A large pile of garbage, in which broken bottles, scraps of clothing, rags, bones and ashes were mixed together, piled up not far from the main entrance, a pointed arched gate, over which a Moor’s head was carved as a coat of arms, in one eye of which was an arrow. Since no one was to be seen, I entered the castle courtyard and was immediately attacked by a pack of spotted hounds. But before the wild males could quite snap at me a silent young man with a sullen wrinkled face appeared and whipped them into their stone kennel, whose torn down iron grille had been replaced and strengthened with a couple of heavy stones leaning against it. I saw that both of his ears had been smoothly cut from his head. I was about to turn to him, but out of a gate a huge, fat, white-haired man with a red face and a glowing nose approached me and gruffly asked for my name and desire. I named myself, and his face became immediately cheerful. He held out his hand to me and shouted loudly while he shook my right hand: “What?”How? A Dronte? Melchior Dronte, perhaps even the son of my old crony and Willow comrade?” When he then learned the name and last place of residence of my dead father, he embraced me, blew his warm, wine-scented breath into my face and shook me by the shoulders. “My lord Baron, I rejoice to the depths of my eighty- year-old hunter’s soul to get to know you. Your godly father was a hunter comme il faut, and there will not be many more like him in these shitty times. Ei, how the time goes by, and now I get to know Melchior, whose birth we celebrated with champagne from the big ducal silver cup, called the “Sauglocke”, and look, this child, whom I saw with wet panties already has gray hair at the temples. But what is the reason? Has the skinny hunter already put the bullet in the barrel, in order to lay an old deer on my blanket? So let’s be happy my Lord Baron, and commemorate the knightly days of which your name reminds me so fiercely.” I thanked him, strangely and not pleasantly moved by the fact that he had been my father’s friend. Even the morose man who was missing his ears and who was now ordered to find a place for me to stay somewhere in the castle, did not make me feel very cheerful. “But now I want to introduce myself formally,” said the old gentleman and stood up straight in his green coat. “I am the Master of the Hound of the erstwhile Duke of Stoll- Wessenburg, Eustach von Trolle und Heist, and I have been sitting here for twenty years among crows and owls, with a small salary on Krottenriede. We hadn’t a thought at the time squire, not a single thought, your Herr Father and I, as we held Serenissimo’s head when the wine was about to run out for those at the top.”
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?
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.”
“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
The accursed bird intervened with a wild laughter between them. “Apollonius sees through you.” Laurette let out a small reproachful sigh. “You’ve always been a lover of youth and innocence, Baron Dronte.” “That remark touches something in me that is unforgettable and valuable enough to shine like a bright star for my entire life.” “Oh – you are gallant!” She offered me her hand to kiss, and stood up, excited and glowing, as it seemed to me. I rose and resolved to leave her now- constrained by conflicting and peace less feelings. “How will I fare?” I addressed the bird once again. “Since I did not succeed in winning your friendship -?” “Off with his head! Off with his head!” the beast screamed shrilly and looked at me with devilish joy. I paid no more attention to the parrot and left. Laurette accompanied me to the yellow room. The curtain had hardly been drawn when I perceived a sudden pallor in her, and just in time I was able to save her from falling by taking her in my arms. I laid her quickly on a small sofa and looked around. On a table stood a golden flask. I pulled the stopper and rubbed the strongly scented essence on her temples. She slowly opened her eyes. “The abominable one frightened me so”, she flirted and wrapped her arms around my neck. Gently, I pulled free. “I am a captive,” she lamented softly, “the satanic beast guards me better than humans have been able to do. Do you hear how it screams and beats with its wings? That is the signal for the paid maid to come in and look after me. But she is not here, I sent her to him with a note — we are alone -.” Again her soft arms wrapped around my neck, and before I knew it her hot red lips were sucking at my mouth. Lorle-poor Lorle-, I thought, and then the most burning longing for Zephyrine, whom I hoped to find in the hunchbacked doctor’s house. Tenderly I loosened her arms and looked into her eyes: “Forget me, Lorle,” I admonished softly. “Don’t put your happiness at risk for the sake of a fleeting minute.” A flame flashed in her eyes. “I thank you for your concern for me,” she said harshly. “Now I know that you love another. And that I am nothing to you anymore!” “Lorle -!” I stammered. “Go! Go!” she said, and tears stood in her eyes. “Why are you trying to lie?” Then I walked slowly through the yellow room and closed the door between me and the sobbing woman. I passionately pursued my research. The house “Zum Fassel” was soon found, but it seemed foolish to enter Doctor Postremo’s apartment under any pretext. I certainly would not have succeeded in entering his mansion with the fair Zephyrine in his presence, and even if this could have happened by chance, not a word between us would have remained unheard. That the doctor must have had a bad memory of me from the gambling house was another factor. It was therefore necessary to find a time in which either the doctor was away from home and the niece was in the apartment, or hope for the luck to see Zephyrine on one of her exits. But although I spent all my time on such scouting, and opened the door of the spacious house, which was inhabited by many people, neither the one nor the other opportunity presented itself. Then something happened to me, which newly shook me and tormented me with puzzling questions and, strange as it sounds, at the same time filled me with confidence. I was walking through the nearby Greeks alley, to take a quick meal in an inn. Groups of Greek and Turkish merchants were plying their business on the street, according to the custom of the Orient transplanted here, and it sometimes took patience to get through the obstacle of those eagerly talking and absorbed in their trade. Just now I was about to look for a way through such a crowd of people, when I saw an apparition at the end of the narrow alley, which put me in great excitement. A man with a black turban, his bright eyes fixed on me, and seemed to want to meet me. I saw clearly his pure features, the amber necklace around his neck, the reddish-brown robe. This time I had to get close to him. I forcefully made my way through the astonished merchants, and I had to take my eyes off the man in the robe for only a second and when I looked in that direction again, he had disappeared, as he had every time I was close to reaching him. I hurried as fast as I could to the exit of the narrow alley, but it was in vain. Neither to the right nor to the left, my eyes saw nothing but indifferent people who slowly or quickly made their way. Desperate and with the feeling that the sight of the unusual man meant something important and decisive, which must be imminent, I came up with the idea of the Levant merchants who had just been pushed aside, in the hope that a person living in Vienna, who walked along in oriental costume, must be known to them. So I went back the way I came and spoke to an old Turk with a good-natured face and a long white beard, who, despite the warmth, was wearing a precious coat, trimmed with sable fur, and seemed to be very respectable, judging by the behavior of the bystanders. With polite words, I asked him to forgive me for the nuisance, and immediately added my inquiry about the man who had disappeared from me. The Turk touched his forehead and mouth with his right hand and replied to me in fairly good German exceedingly politely that he did not know this man and that he had never seen him. At the same time his eyes were fixed with a strange expression on the small red scar, which I owed to the fall of broken glass, when I, still a child, escaped the collapsing ceiling of my room, and said with a peculiar expression of reverence: “You, Lord, who bear the mark of Ewli, ask questions of me?” I did not understand what he meant, and described the turban and the robe of the stranger. “It is the clothing of the Halveti dervishes”, said the Turk, bowing to me. “Grant me your goodwill, Effendi!” He stepped back, and I saw the others pestering him with questions, to which he answered quietly. What he said seemed to have been about me, because when I passed through the crowd once more, they all bowed to me and voluntarily formed a kind of trellis, through which I strode half ashamedly. I took a simple meal in a restaurant with uneasy feelings and thoughts of the stranger, whom I could not approach. Then I wanted to return to my post opposite the house “Zum Fassel”. On the way I passed by the Greek coffeehouse and involuntarily took a quick glance through the windows. There I saw to my joyful astonishment the hunchbacked figure of Doctor Postremo. He was sitting bent over a Backgammon board, on which the stones were jumbled, and talked with waving hands to a mockingly smiling, black-haired and yellow-skinned man with long, crooked nose, whose behavior had obviously infuriated him. I stopped and noticed that the stones were immediately again in position and a new game began. Thus the house had still another exit, which had escaped my attention and which the Italian used. Now or never I had to dare. I quickly entered the building and asked the first person who met me on the dark stairs, for the doctor’s apartment. Sullenly I was given the information that it was located on the second floor. I effortlessly found the door with the name and a bell pull, with the figure of a yellow hand pointing to it. Just as I reached out my fingers for it, a shadowy gray woman came scurrying up the stairs, slipped past me and inserted a key into the door lock. When she entered and looked at me questioningly, I quickly pushed past her and said: “Don’t be alarmed, good woman. I must speak to the Demoiselle Zephyrine at once -.” At the same time I pressed a prepared number of imperial ducats into her withered hand. That seemed to do the trick. The ugly hag grinned and pulled me through a gloomy corridor into a half-dark chamber, which, like the whole apartment was filled with the smell of bitter almonds. “Wait here!” she hissed and scurried out. Not without uneasiness and expecting an ambush I let my eyes wander around the eerie room. In one corner stood two human, gruesomely bent over skeletons, where one could see that the curved spine and the arched shoulder blades during life had formed a hunchback, like the one Postremo himself had on his back. Perhaps he had wanted to study his own mutated limb structure. On a rack, whose green curtain was only half drawn, blue, brown and yellowish organs floated in large glass vessels in clear liquid. A dried brain lay like the core of a giant nut on a table, whose top was formed from some type of polished rock that was unknown to me. Gray, greenish blue and rose-colored snake-like figures with white angular spots in them and dark red, sharply bordered sections – was this colored marble? I ran my fingers over the greasy, egg-round slab and suddenly realized with disgust that here was the smoothed cut surface of a fossilized corpse before me, as they knew how to make in Bologna. In a glass box at the window sat a completely twisted, misshapen chameleon, which I at first thought was dead, until it slowly turned its protruding eye on me and turned its gray color into a dirty red. Then a curtain rustled in the background. A white figure stood motionless, with half-closed eyes. “Zephyrine!” I enfolded her in my arms, and sung a thousand tender words into her little ear, drank in the heady scent of her hair and covered her white face with kisses.
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.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
On the other side of the bankholder an old man leaned low in the chair with almost extinguished eyes, whose long fingers crawled like spider legs out of the lace cuffs when it was necessary to reach for gold. A daunting, ugly, hunchbacked person with a deep brown face, finger-thick, coal-black eyebrows and sharp, thin lips ate sweets from a gold paper bag, and the pungent smell of bitter almonds, which I had already noticed when I entered the room. Between him and a dark green, silver-laced hussar with hairy hands shyly sat a young girl all huddled together, who immediately attracted my attention. Nevertheless my glance also took in as well a man in expensive clothes, whose nose consisted of fiery red turkey flaps and a high official, judging from his embroidered jacket, who turned a blue-white, blind horse’s eye toward me. All the people at that gaming table were somehow marked in some way. But the young girl, whose completely unexpected charm so deeply touched me, had an indescribable resemblance to my Aglaja, my dead cousin, was of perfect grace and beauty and looked like a wonderful flower in a heap of rubbish. She looked at me with a pleading and help-seeking look, as it were that penetrated my heart like sweet fire, and in a moment filled it with fierce tenderness. It was as if Aglaja were sitting opposite me in a slightly changed form, with a silent plea for protection and salvation from some danger. Soon I heard her name, which the hunchback pronounced in a strange German and always in a harsh commanding tone: “Zephyrine.” And every time the monster spoke of some service from the fair and lonely child, the toothless mouth of the spider- fingered old man, whom they called Count Korony, lit up with an unspeakably repugnant and lascivious grin. I immediately made up my mind to approach this girl, who I loved at first sight and to offer her my services, of which she seemed to need. This feeling became so violent in me, that I could hardly control myself and several times I was tempted to approach her, especially when her gray, gold-flecked eyes looked at me and I could see Aglaja’s unforgettable stars directed at me. Nevertheless, I was wise enough not to admit a completely incomprehensible affection and to wait for a favorable moment, which would allow the inconspicuous beginning of a conversation. Meanwhile, the game was played very high, and the bankholder with the hooded eye raked in whole mountains of gold. Apart from him, the feisty Spanish Jewess was in luck. At first I played well and doubled twice, but I lost on the very next play. And little by little I got into a heat, tried to quickly bring back what I had lost and again and again repeatedly lost. The girl’s gaze clung sadly to me, and once it was as if she reminded me with an almost imperceptible wink of her eye to be careful and to keep an eye on the bankholder. I had to reach deeper and deeper into my money cat, more and more of my gold pieces went into the hands of the bankholder and the fat woman, and as midnight approached, I realized with a nameless horror that my cash was exhausted and only a few gold pieces were my own. Bitter remorse seized me for my imprudence. Too late I thought of the fact that such secret playhouses were only set up for the catching of bullfinches, and I remembered how often I had heard that the apparent opposing players after the departure of the plundered divided the profit that had been taken from their victim. This was thanks to the skilful way in which they worked together. But as much as I was on my guard after Zephyrine’s secret hint and looked at the bankholder’s hands, I could find little wrong that would have given me the right to declare the game invalid and demand the lost money back. But even then my rebellion would have been in vain and ridiculous because these numerous people were prepared for such things. I didn’t even know where this house was located and would never be able to find it the next day! In despair, I bet two of my four remaining gold pieces, when the clock on the mantelpiece of the fireplace struck midnight and played a hoarse, mournful gavotte. At that moment the double door was opened, and a strange, hollow-eyed man, dressed entirely in black mourning livery pushed a new player in a wheelchair to the table. It was an ancient, quite frail old man with a white wig, just like the servant, only more expensively dressed in black. His face betrayed great wisdom, but also an eventful life. For it was crisscrossed by countless wrinkles and furrows. But the waxy color and the strange immobility of the wrinkles gave this well- educated head of a witty old man something eerily corpse-like and dead. Uncertain memories penetrated agonizingly on me. Unconcerned about the poorly concealed astonishment of the table company, the old man slid a roll of money onto the cloth and immediately joined in the game without speaking a word. Whispering, everyone looked at him. It seemed to me that the candles had been burning darker since he had come into the hall with his servant. Then the man in the wheelchair turned two black, lusterless eyes on me and said with a voice that seemed to come from unfathomable depths: “Herr von Dronte, I invite you to play with me en compagnie!” I only managed to nod. Like mist it sank on Zephyrine’s lovely face, on her shimmering hair, on the ring-laden hands of the Spanish Jewess and the nimble fingers of the bankholder. The cards fell. Silently, the old man slipped me half of his winnings, a whole roll of golden sovereigns. The bankholder mumbled something between his teeth, the fat woman was wiping sweat and grease powder from her forehead, and the hussar uttered a half-loud Hungarian curse. Again the cards fell, thin old man’s fingers pushed new gold pieces to me. The time passed, fell in golden drops down on me. I saw that people from the other tables stood up, that a ring of curious faces surrounded us. But all were silent. Only the quiet fall of cards, the few words necessary for the game and the metallic, fine clink were heard. Soon I could no longer put both hands around the gold treasure in front of me. I began stealthily to fill my money cat. When it was full to bursting I stuffed the ducats into my pockets. Already I had three times more money than I had possessed when I entered this house. The coattails hung down heavily, the vest bulged at the pockets. Everyone lost – the man with the horse eye, the fat Jewess, the bankholder, the hussar, the red-nosed one, the courtly one, the count, the hunchback next to Zephyrine. With trembling hands they rummaged in pockets and bags, their faces shone with sweat, the spit shine of the brows melted into sooty blackness, their eyes gawked –. I was rich. I could not even accommodate any more gold. Then the clock on the fireplace gave the single stroke of the hour after midnight and began to play the out-of-tune gavotte. Immediately the black servant grabbed the chair, and the old man, looking frail and suffering, nodded to me with a faint smile, and the wheelchair passed soundlessly through the open door through which it had entered an hour ago. I jumped up and hurried out of the completely frozen group of people around the table to express my thanks to him. No one hindered me. I still felt how an ice-cold, small, trembling hand sought mine, and I clenched my fingers around a folded piece of paper, which she pushed toward me. I ran as fast as I could into the anteroom. Where was the man in the wheelchair? A sleepy servant handed me my coat, hat and sword. I gave him a few gold foxes and hurried down the stairs. The old woman stood at the gate as if she had just let someone out. She opened the door indifferently. While walking I heard the raging, shouting and wild curses in the rooms upstairs. But I had no time; I had to thank my rescuer. But the street was empty. Nowhere a trace of the old man. I ran into side alleys. Nothing. Nowhere a sound. How had he disappeared so quickly? Then – suddenly – I saw with terrible, indescribable clarity, like a picture on a dark background, the chapel with the dead man before me, from whose defenseless hand I was supposed to take a cross – for Fangerle, the desecrator of the corpse. Half fainting, I leaned against a wall, and I almost fell from fright, as the hinges of the lantern over me shrieked in the wind. I still held Zephyrine’s note in my cramped hand, I unfolded it and read: “Save me!” In my great desire to protect Zephyrine from a danger unknown to me, but of which she was well aware, I remembered my childhood friend Lorle, with whom I had met on the day of my arrival in Vienna in such an unusual way. As strong as my nostalgia for her body had been, the acquaintance with a being who reminded me in the deepest way of Aglaja, had been enough to cool my desires with regard to the beautiful Laurette Triquet, as she now called herself, and her sensual embers. But no one could be of better help to me, in my hitherto futile effort to find this beloved girl and her hunchbacked guardian than that clever girl and, judging from her rise, she was in possession of valuable relations. In Schönlatern Street, I was directed to an old house, which, similar to that gambling house, from the outside didn’t show any of the comfort and beauty of its furnishings. A magnificent marble group, the robbery of Proserpina, stood at the foot of the stone stairs I was climbing, and Venetian Moorish boys, painted in gold and colors, stood in their wooden immobility on their heels, holding up lanterns. The cute chambermaid, who, with coquettish skirts walked in front of me up the stairs, opened the door to a pale yellow silk room for me, then disappeared with an apology through the heavy curtain held by cupids, behind which there was a small door. At the opening of this I briefly heard a shrieking laughter, which filled me with astonishment, since I had never met a person with such a hideously piercing voice.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
There was a loud calling and it came closer. Two gravediggers, an old man and a sturdy young fellow, came running with bludgeons and confronted me. What had happened here and why had I shot? I talked to them and described to them the guy with the satchel, who once before had been suspiciously at an unburied corpse in the past, and also at the execution of the blacksmith Fessl in a tree and with his new corpse-desecrating behavior, had now put me in such a rage that I fired my pistol at him, but apparently did him no harm, after he had laughed, escaped and flitted away. They listened to me calmly and seriously, and the old man nodded his head as if to indicate that the man was well known to him, and that he, like me hated him to his very soul. Then he asked me my name, and when I told him, he said: “The Baron may now do as he pleases. We have the vested right to punish offenses against the sanctity of the place on the spot, or to punish the offence if the penalties are not paid to the court. For shooting on consecrated ground, a man shall pay only one silver thaler.” I threw the man two thalers. But he gave one of them back to me and said: “I am not allowed to take excess money. It is only a pity that your shot will never been able to harm him. -“ “What do you mean? Is he frozen?” I asked. The boy laughed, and the old man shrugged: “If the gentleman has not buried a cross in his bullet mold, as it should never be lacking and thus imprints itself on the leaden birdie, then he has not even hurt him, however powerful the weapon may otherwise be.” “I do not carry a cross on the bullets.” “So it’s a pity about the shot and about the penalty for it.” The old man cradled the hairless head back and forth. “But the fact that the Lord can see him is significant.” “Why?” “Not everyone can see him, only the blessed.” the younger man interjected. “Like, for example, father here, who has often shooed him from fresh graves, and I would give anything if I could ever catch sight of him. But I am days and nights in vain and have not seen him. And yet he has been there.” “Who is that fellow?” asked I fiercely. “Fangerle,” said the old man, making a cross. “Is it a man or is it-?” But they gave me no more answer and looked toward the entrance in the quietly falling rain. From there, with singing and many-voiced prayer came a funeral procession. “I always thought that he would show himself at the graves of the miserly,” the old man muttered and climbed into the pit. They did not pay any further attention to me, and when I asked again, the boy said gruffly, “It is better for the Lord to pray!” Confused and saddened in my soul, I walked away along the side paths to reach the exit, while the coffin of the miser was swaying towards the open pit. Before the post coach left, I noticed the faded and sealed box that the notary had given me as an inheritance from my Muhme, Aglaja’s mother. I tore off the lacquer seal and lifted the lid. On the white, yellowed silk rested a red-gold curl of my unforgettable, beloved cousin and her silver finger ring, which I had often seen on her small child’s hand. It was formed with the finest art from two slants which wound around a round-cut fire opal. I pressed countless kisses on the mysteriously shining and iridescent stone, on the silvery, scaly adder’s liver, which had once held a finger of the sweetest hand, and called out the name that had been cut into my heart and painfully scarred there.
But on the evening of the day I arrived in the great city of Vienna and marveled at the life in the streets, the many carriages, the many carts, and sedan chairs, adventures of such a peculiar kind happened to me that I thought of the influence on my life of dark and sinister powers. The first thing I encountered was of course of noble origin and graceful species. When I walked across the square on which St. Stephen’s Cathedral stretches its stone carving into the sky, I was caught in a crowd of carriages and sedan chairs, and was so close to a very distinguished, finely painted sedan chair with two dark red liveried porters, that I had to stand close to the lowered side window eye to eye with the occupant. But who can describe the astonishment I felt when I recognized in the highly toupeed, nobly dressed lady, Sattler Höllbrich’s Lorle? She too knew me again immediately, for she uttered a slight cry and called my name. With my hat drawn, I remained, enraptured by her unimaginable, fully blossomed beauty, enhanced by small arts, and asked in quiet, urgent pleading words for an early reunion. She pointed with a short, openly fearful movement towards the dark red carriers and then said very loudly, “Well, Doctor, you can bring the new ointment for my complexion to my house. Just ask for Madame Laurette Triquet in Schönlatern Street.” With that she nodded at me pathetically, in fact condescendingly, and gave the porters a sign to go on. After an exquisite dinner, I left my room in the evening and went to Himmelpfort Street quarter again and thought to mingle a little with the evening walkers who were glad of the pleasant breeze after the hot day. Already for some time I thought I had noticed an extremely graceful and neatly dressed young lad following after me at every turn. And really, it did not take long, and then he was beside me and said half aloud: “If you desire exceptionally good and amusing company and would like to play a game, I would be prepared to take the gentleman to a house where you can find such things of the best quality.” Gladly willing to spend my evening hours in a pleasant way, and hoping to increase my money supply I agreed to follow the man. He modestly went ahead as a guide, only looking back from time to time to see if I was behind him. After a long back and forth through dark, poorly lit and bumpy streets, we finally reached a crooked and very narrow alley. In front of a large gate, the young man stopped and made four quick knocks with the knocker, followed by two stronger ones. We had to wait a while and I noticed how a dark eye looked at us through a crack in the most precise way. Then, however, in the large gate, which was covered with heavy iron plates, a small door was opened, in which an older, cunning looking woman appeared and looked at us with a burning candle for quite a long time. Only when my guide quietly whispered something that seemed to me to be a word of recognition or a password, the woman stepped back so that we could pass her. We walked over a large, damp, ivy-covered courtyard, in which water poured from a triton’s mouth, and then climbed a steep, barely lit spiral staircase. On the second floor, my apparently disinterested guide asked to be let in the same way as downstairs, and when the servant opened the double doors to let me enter, I stood for a moment as if dazzled in the brightness, the hundreds of fragrant wax candles spread. A gold dressed lackey took our swords, hats and cloaks from us and told us to go on. I saw at once that the ugly, dilapidated outer appearance of the isolated house, the unpleasant darkness on the stairs and in the courtyard were only intended to keep away the curious, and the lavish furnishings and the abundance of light into concealment. For here the walls sparkled with gold, magnificent tapestries partially concealed the scarlet silk wallpapers, the floor was bare and smooth as glass, hundreds of candles burned in Venetian prismatic chandeliers and silver chandeliers. On tables with priceless plates of Malachite, lapis lazuli and ruin marble stood the most exquisite delicacies and drinks. “The Baron of Dronte might like to go to the playroom,” said my pale guide with a smile. “How do you know me?” I asked not very friendly. The young man smiled superiorly. “We take an interest in all strangers of distinction who arrive, and are informed by the Stagecoach drivers in good time. Thus I know that the Baron has taken lodgment with the widow Schwebs- küchlein, and I made it my business to introduce the Baron to a certainly agreeable circle, in which equally chivalrous amusement, as well as something from Fortuna’s horn of plenty.” During this speech we stepped into brightly lit, magnificent adjoining rooms, in which Pharaoh and Landsknecht were being played at several tables. The players hardly turned their heads toward me, when my name was shouted loudly, because at the largest of the tables, where I was standing at, all eyes were fixed on the Bankholder, who was putting on his apron. Muffled exclamations rang out from everywhere like “Va tout!” or “Va banque!” and the soft clinking and rolling of the louisdors on the green cloth that was stretched over the stone slabs of the tables. I reached for the money cat, which I was wearing under my vest as a precaution against thieves, and approached the large table. Immediately the young man, who had brought me here, offered me a comfortable armchair and then disappeared, when I sat down with a light greeting. Before I began to play, I looked at the people with whom I was dealing, and found that I had stumbled into a gathering of distorted images. The bankholder had a colorless, pinched face, which had been devastated by a restless and wild life. He wore over the right sunken eye a black cloth patch, a square piece of cloth on a ribbon, which crossed the forehead and ran further behind the right ear. Next to him sat a tremendously obese, heavy- breathing woman with a white powdered pumpkin head, fanning her pressed-up bosom. She was tastelessly covered with pearls and jewels of all kinds and seemed to me to be a Spanish Jewess, judging by her facial features. Enthroned beside her, upright and haughty under half-closed lids, a very skinny woman of standing, whose yellow monkey face had been plastered with beautiful patches in the form of palms, butterflies and little birds. Her bloodless fingers rummaged greedily in a whole pile of gold pieces that lay in front of her.
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