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Ebook has 654 lines and 56357 words, and 14 pages

Illustrator: Charlotte Weber-Ditzler

Translator: A. L. Wister

The Lonely House

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1907

Published October, 1907

I TAKE PLEASURE IN INSCRIBING THIS TRANSLATION--THE LAST I SHALL EVER COMPLETE--TO THE CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN OF THOSE WHO SO KINDLY WELCOMED THE FIRST, PUBLISHED A LIFE-TIME AGO.

ANNIS LEE WISTER

"Lindenshade," Walungford, Pa. September, 1907

Contents

"You Must Help Me!"

Then Began a Struggle, a Fight for Life and Death

The Lonely House

The scenery of Southern Ukraine is not thought to be very fine: the mountains are much less imposing than in other Alpine districts, but the Carpathian range is said to have many very interesting caves, and strange formations of rock, while for the naturalist its fauna and flora offer a rich field for investigation in its mountain fastnesses and deep valleys.

If travel in that section of the country were only not attended with such risk and inconvenience! Travellers who seemed thoroughly familiar with its political and social condition warned me seriously not to attempt going thither. The only tolerable accommodation for strangers, they said, is to be found in the larger towns--Laibach, Adelsberg, etc., and on the high road followed by tourists; as soon as the traveller attempts to penetrate the interior he finds only wretched inns, no comfort of any description, and a poverty-stricken peasantry, speaking the dialect of the country, and understanding not one word of German. All expeditions into the valleys are fraught with discomfort and even hardships. Nevertheless, little alluring as were the accounts given me of the country, the prospect of adding to my collections--I am a naturalist--an entomologist--was so tempting that when I had a longer vacation than usual I determined to fulfil a long cherished desire and to pass a spring in Southern Ukraine.

And then the question arose as to what place I should make my headquarters. A naturalist cannot travel hither and thither like an ordinary tourist; he must establish himself somewhere, and make excursions into the surrounding country, which he must investigate thoroughly or he can hope for no results from his labours; moreover, the paraphernalia of his profession are too bulky to be moved easily from place to place.

Unfortunately all the guide books were too incomplete to give me the least assistance; I had recourse to the admirable maps of the Austrian Government, and in them I found a small town--Luttach--which seemed well fitted for my purpose. It is situated in a deep valley in the midst of the Carpathians, at the foot of a long spur of Mt. Nanos on the road from Adelsberg to G?rz--a road once much travelled, but fallen into disrepair since the intrusion of the railroad. From Luttach the topmost peak of Mt. Nanos could be reached in a few hours, and in the valley itself there was sure to be a mingling of the southern fauna and flora with those of the Alps proper. I might promise myself rich additions to my collections. Moreover the many German names of the surrounding villages, and indeed the German name of the town itself, were very attractive for me, giving me hopes that there might be German elements mingling with the Slavonic civilization.

Luttach it should be then. My two huge travelling trunks were duly packed and I was provided with every requisite for collecting. The last of April I left Berlin full of pleasant anticipations.

In Vienna, where I stopped for a day as I passed through, I called on a friend; he gravely shook his head when he heard that I had chosen Luttach for a stay of some weeks. "I never heard before of this God-forsaken hole," said he; "I should not risk going there, but since you are determined to go, provide yourself at least with a good revolver, for without it you never ought to venture among the dreary deserts of the Carpathians, or to wander in those primeval woods and forests. It is dangerous for an elderly man like yourself. You know besides that there are still bears and wildcats in the forest on Mt. Nanos, not to mention those two venomous reptiles native to the rocky retreats of the Karst range--the cross-adder and the sand-viper. More to be feared than all these, moreover, is the human beast of prey whom you will surely meet in your wanderings there. You had really best relinquish your plan of visiting so inhospitable a region. But if you insist upon it, pray be cautious. Go well armed, and do not venture too far among those desert fastnesses."

The road was excellent, leading through an attractive mountain region among low hills, although loftier eminences bounded the horizon. I should have liked to know the names of those giant mountains, but my driver was a genuine Slav, who could not understand a word of German, and who was too stupid to comprehend signs, so all intercourse with him was impossible. We drove swiftly, almost as swiftly up-hill as down-hill, through a charmingly varied landscape, through forests, past meadows and cornfields, with only a glimpse of the desolate Karst range now and then in the distance, until we rapidly approached the bare gray rocks of Mt. Nanos--which, as we descended by a winding road to the valley of Luttach, stood out boldly against the sky.

Time passed rapidly during the long drive; there was so much to see, and everything that I saw was distinctly in contrast with what I had been led to expect in Southern Ukraine. The numerous villages through which the road ran were entirely different from the ruinous Polish hamlets with which I was familiar in Upper Silesia; they consisted mostly of flourishing farms, with very few straw-thatched cottages. The peasants whom we met greeted me as we passed along with friendly courtesy--they could not recognize me as a hated German--and the inns as we drove by them, so far from presenting pictures of dirt and decay, were most attractive, and invitingly clean.

And when in the valley we drove among meadows bright with the luxuriant growth of spring--past vineyards where each vine showed careful culture and was just putting forth its tender leaves--along a road bordered on the left by hillsides under full cultivation, where countless white cottages in the midst of blossoming orchards betokened a numerous population, I could hardly fancy that I was in the midst of the ill-reputed desolate Karst range, in a corner of the world of which scarce a hint was to be found in the guide books. The bald rocky mass of Mt. Nanos alone, clothed at its feet only with a forest of oaks, and the bare peaks of the high range that seemed to close in the valley in the distant west, showed that vegetation was not as luxuriant everywhere in the Karst range as I found it on the hills to the left and in the valley itself.

"Luttava!" my driver called out, nodding to me and pointing with his whip towards a little town near at hand, nestling at the very foot of Nanos, its white houses seeming to cling to the rocks. In a few minutes we had reached it, and after driving along a street too narrow for more than one vehicle, turned into the gateway of a large building, before which a tall pole supported a sign whereon a golden grape vine declared it to be the inn recommended to me before I left Adelsberg.

The carriage stopped beneath the dim gateway before a door opening directly into a spacious kitchen, where in the huge chimney-piece a bright fire was blazing. Through the door I could see several men, some standing, some seated upon low benches, about the fire, all of whom regarded the newcomer with curiosity. A plainly clad but spotlessly clean dame busied herself on the hearth, moved a steaming pot to one side, and hurried out to receive me, opening the carriage door to help me to alight.

"Can I have a room!"

"Certainly! If the gentleman will kindly go upstairs," was the reply, delivered in excellent German, although with a strong accent. "Mizka, show the gentleman up to Number Two."

Mizka, a pretty slender girl, tripped lightly before me up the stairs leading up two flights directly from the kitchen to a wide entry, where she threw open the door of Number Two, and courteously held it open for me to precede her.

The room was large, low, and square, with two small windows, looking out upon the street. It probably looked larger than it really was from the absence of much furniture along its walls. Between the two windows there was an old-fashioned sofa covered with gay chintz, and above its high back hung an oval mirror in a black varnished frame, while before it stood an extension table, which if pulled out to its fullest capacity would have accommodated twenty-four persons. A tall cedar clothes press, a washstand, six chintz-covered cushioned chairs, and a huge bed which had to be clambered into by the help of a chair, completed the furniture of the room. The walls, painted light green, were adorned with four gaily colored prints, each portraying a quarter of the earth in the guise of a very ugly and scantily clothed dame, whose distorted limbs reclined upon a fantastically shaped couch.

This was Number Two, my room. It certainly did not look inviting for a long stay; it was too bare, but it as certainly possessed the unexpected attraction of perfect cleanliness. Not a speck of dust lay upon the few articles of furniture, the bare floor was spotless, and the creases in the white bed linen bore testimony to its freshness.

"Will the gentleman take his supper here, or below in the dining-room?" Mizka asked me in very good German.

"I will come down as soon as I have washed," was my reply.

"I will bring fresh water immediately;" and she hurried away, returning presently with a can of crystal-clear water, and a supply of fresh towels, and followed closely by two gigantic porters, each of whom bore upon his shoulders one of my heavy trunks. Assuredly thus far I could not complain of lack of promptitude in the service of a Slav inn.

When I had freed myself from the dust of travel, and had changed my coat, I went down to the dining-room; the way led through the kitchen, where several men were sitting or standing around the hearth, talking familiarly with the hostess, who was busy meanwhile with her cooking. All greeted me politely as I passed through the room.

When Mizka showed me into the spacious dining-room, I took it all in with a rapid glance. Its arrangement could not be called elegant, but the cleanliness of the scoured tables atoned for its simplicity. There were but a few persons present. At a table near a window a young man sat alone, apparently absorbed in a newspaper. He looked up for a moment as I entered, disclosing a singularly handsome face, which was immediately hidden behind his paper. The face was thoroughly German. Such deep blue eyes, such fair, close curls are to be found nowhere save in Germany. He was certainly handsome, but his expression was too grave, perhaps even too stern and hard to allow of his being thoroughly attractive.

As far from this young man as the size of the room would permit, at a large round table near the tall stove, sat six or eight men, smoking long cigars, with glasses of wine before them. They evidently saw me enter and look about for a seat, and one of them instantly rose and motioned courteously with his hand, placing a chair at the table, while the others moved aside to give it room.

I was amazed at so polite a reception in this notoriously hostile Slav country, and I was not quite pleased. I should have liked to observe the magnates of Luttach, who were apparently here assembled, from a distance, at my leisure, before making their acquaintance, whereas now, when I accepted their invitation, and introduced myself as a German, a Prussian, and worse than all, from Berlin, whose citizens are never popular, their amiability might decrease. "Permit me to present myself to you, gentlemen," I said, "as Professor Dollnitz from Berlin, who hopes to spend some weeks with you here in your beautiful country, collecting plants and butterflies, beetles and chrysalids. I am an old naturalist who looks forward to much gratification here in your richly endowed Southern Ukraine."

I observed a fleeting smile pass around the circle upon hearing that I, so old a man, was running after butterflies and beetles, but I am used to that; all sensible men regard us old entomologists as cranks, and sometimes jest rather rudely at our expense; but this was not the case here; the gentlemen, as I could see, suppressed their smiles at my butterfly mania; they rose very politely and formally introduced themselves as the District Judge Foligno, his Assistant Herr Einern, Burgomaster Pollenz, a retired Captain Pollenz, a landed proprietor, Gunther by name, Herr Weber, a merchant, and Herr Dietrich, a notary. Strange! All German names save that of the district judge.

Chance had surely brought me among Germans. I was strengthened in this belief by finding that they all spoke excellent German, not merely with me, but among themselves; only now and then was there heard a brief remark in Slavonic. I soon found out my mistake, however, when in the course of conversation I mentioned that I had been warned in Vienna and in G?rz not to visit the Ukraine on account of the hostility of the Slavs to Germans. The Burgomaster Pollenz, a reverend old man, made reply, speaking with emphasis, and so loudly that even the young man sitting by the window at the other end of the room could hear every word distinctly: "That is unfortunately a widespread error which has brought our good Ukraine into ill-repute. We are all Slavs, and are proud of being so. Our ancestors were Germans, but we are not. The Ukraine is our home. Whoever is born here and lives here must feel himself a genuine Slav. Those only do we hate among us who are disloyal sons of their native land, who would rob us of our language, our customs, and make Germans of us; we have no hatred for Germans born. There are none of them dwelling among us; our entire population is Slavonic, and you will soon find that as a native-born German you will be kindly received everywhere. It is not so in Laibach, or where, as there, the population is mixed, and national prejudice has free sway, causing constant strife, but even there the Slavs are seldom the aggressive party."

"Then you think I can chase my butterflies alone among your woods and mountains without fear of insult? I was expressly warned in Vienna not to leave the house here without a loaded revolver in my pocket to protect me from robbers."

I was answered by a burst of laughter. "I assure you there is no tract of country in the realm of Austria as perfectly safe as ours," the Burgomaster replied. "We have had no robbery here for many years and I will guarantee you as a German against any insult, unless, indeed," he raised his voice again, and spoke very loud, "you should consort with the only Slav among us who is disloyal to his country; friendship with him would cause you to be suspected of hostility to our nation."

The young man by the window had hitherto seemed heedless of our conversation; now he arose and approached us. His flashing eyes seemed to defy each member of the circle, but their expression grew gentler as he addressed the Burgomaster. "I cannot be angry with you, Herr Burgomaster," he said gravely, but not unkindly. "Your words were offensive, but I know that you mean well by me and by the strange gentleman. You have called me a disloyal son of my country, which I am not! I am a whole-souled Austrian, but one also who can never forget that he is sprung from German and Austrian blood. You have all of you forgotten this; I am true to the German tongue and to German customs. You are the faithless ones, not I!"

"Do you want to pick a quarrel with us all, Franz?" asked the Burgomaster, regarding the young man disapprovingly.

"No, but I cannot allow you to give the strange gentleman a false idea of me. Moreover, you need not fear that I shall force my friendship upon him. I know too well that it might cause him annoyance. Good-night!" He turned upon his heel and left the room without bestowing a further glance upon the company.

When the door had closed behind him, the District Judge said: "Franz Schorn always was and always will be a most disagreeable fellow. He deserves a thrashing for his insolence in calling us all faithless."

"Your cane is just beside you in the corner; why did you not use it!" the Captain asked with a sneer. "In fact, Franz is not altogether wrong. My brother irritated him unnecessarily; he would never have forced his company upon the Herr Professor. He lives so quietly and is so reserved that he cannot be accused of officiousness."

"'Tis natural that you should espouse the cause of your future cousin," remarked the District Judge with a contemptuous emphasis upon the word "cousin."

"I should be glad to have him for my cousin; he is a thoroughly brave, honest fellow."

"But a German."

"I am half German myself, and at all events I should prefer a German to an Italian cousin. The Italians are always squinting over at Italy, and Franz is, as he says, a German-Austrian at least."

"Leave off bickering," the Burgomaster admonished his brother. "What will the Herr Professor think of us, if we quarrel so before him over our wine?"

During this short skirmish of words I took occasion to observe the two antagonists narrowly. I liked the Captain's frank, manly face and bearing, but the District Judge Foligno produced a very unpleasant impression upon me. He was a man of about forty, with a worn, sallow countenance. His features were regular; he might have been accounted handsome but for some ugly lines about his mouth, half hidden though they were by a glossy black moustache, and a false, unsteady expression in his piercing black eyes. Before his war of words with the Captain he had taken no part in the conversation, but had sat gloomily silent, with downcast eyes, smoking his long cigar and drinking far more than the others. In the short time that I had been present Mizka had twice filled his tall glass.

The Burgomaster's efforts to restore peace were unavailing; the District Judge renewed the quarrel by a malicious remark about old army officers who no longer knew what nation they belonged to. The Captain retorted angrily, more bitter words ensued, the other gentlemen presently took part in the dispute, which principally concerned the character of young Franz Schorn. The Burgomaster alone was silent; of the rest only the County Clerk, Herr Einern, sided with the Captain. While the others all agreed with the District Judge's abuse of Franz Schorn as a rough, arrogant fellow, a recreant Slav, who was detested and despised all through the countryside, and were unanimous in declaring that "old Pollenz" was perfectly right in forbidding Franz to hang around the Lonely House watching for pretty Anna, that it was the old man's patriotic duty to shield his charming daughter from Schorn's advances, the Clerk and the Captain warmly espoused his cause. The Clerk, in fact, did not mince matters, but frankly characterized as exaggerated and unjust his chief's tirade against Franz. The boldness that he showed in doing this without in the least overstepping the bounds of civility impressed me very favourably.

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