Best Short Stories Omnibus - Volume 3

A Night on the Borders of the Black Forest-2

“Ach, Herr Gott!” said one, “I brought my folks from Frühlingsfeld—near upon ten stunden—and shall have to take them back by and by. That’s as much as my beasts can do in one day, and they shouldn’t do more for the king!”

“I’ve just refused five florins to go less than half that distance,” said another.

At length one fellow, being somewhat less impracticable than the rest, consented to drive us as far as a certain point where four roads met, on condition that we shared his vehicle with two other travellers, and that the two other travellers consented to let us do so.

“And even so,” he added, “I shall have to take them two miles out of their way—but, perhaps, being fair-time, they won’t mind that.”

As it happened, they were not in a condition to mind that or anything very much, being a couple of freeshooters from the Black Forest, wild with fun and frolic, and somewhat the worse for many potations of Lager-bier. One of them, it seemed, had won a prize at some shooting-match that same morning, and they had been celebrating this triumph all day. Having kept us waiting, with the horses in, for at least three-quarters of an hour, they came, escorted by a troop of their comrades, all laughing, talking, and wound up to the highest pitch of excitement. Then followed a scene of last health-drinkings, last hand-shakings, last embracements. Finally, we drove off just as it was getting dusk, followed by many huzzahs, and much waving of grey and green caps.

For the first quarter of an hour they were both very noisy, exchanging boisterous greetings with every passer-by, singing snatches of songs, and laughing incessantly. Then, as the dusk deepened and we left the last stragglers behind, they sank into a tipsy stupor, and ended by falling fast asleep.

Meanwhile, the driver lit his pipe and let his tired horses choose their own pace; the stars came out one by one overhead; and the road, leaving the dead level of the plain, wound upwards through a district that became more hilly with every mile.

Then I also fell asleep—I cannot tell for how long—to be waked by-and-by by the stopping of the charrette, and the voice of the driver, saying:—

“This is the nearest point to which I can take these Herren. Will they be pleased to alight?”

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. It was bright starlight. Bergheim was already leaning out, and opening the door. Our fellow-travellers were still sound asleep. We were in the midst of a wild, hilly country, black with bristling pine-woods; and had drawn up at an elevated point where four roads meet.

“Which of these are we to take?” asked Bergheim, as he pulled out his purse and counted the stipulated number of florins into the palm of the driver.

The man pointed with his whip in a direction at right angles to the road by which he was himself driving.

“And how far shall we have to walk?”

“To Rotheskirche?”

“Yes—to Rotheskirche.”

He grunted doubtfully. “Ugh!” he said, “I can’t be certain to a mile or so. It may be twelve or fourteen.”

“A good road?”

“Yes—a good road; but hilly. These Herren have only to keep straight forward. They cannot miss the way.”

And so he drives off, and leaves us standing in the road. The moon is now rising behind a slope of dark trees—the air is chill—an owl close by utters its tremulous, melancholy cry. Place and hour considered, the prospect of twelve or fourteen miles of a strange road, in a strange country, is anything but exhilarating. We push on, however, briskly; and Bergheim, whose good spirits are invincible, whistles and chatters, and laughs away as gaily as if we were just starting on a brilliant May morning.

“I wonder if you were ever tired in your life!” I exclaim by and by, half peevishly.

“Tired!” he echoes. “Why, I am as tired at this moment as a dog; and would gladly lie down by the roadside, curl myself up under a tree, and sleep till morning. I wonder, by the way, what o’clock it is.”

I pulled out my fusee-box, struck a light, and looked at my watch. It was only ten o’clock.

“We have been walking,” said Bergheim, “about half an hour, and I don’t believe we have done two miles in the time. Well, it can’t go on uphill like this all the way!”

“Impossible,” I replied. “Rotheskirche is on the level of the river. We must sooner or later begin descending towards the valley of the Neckar.”

“I wish it might be sooner, then,” laughed my companion, “for I had done a good twenty miles today before you overtook me.”

“Well, perhaps we may come upon some place half way. If so, I vote that we put up for the night, and leave Rotheskirche till the morning.”

“Ay, that would be capital!” said he. “If it wasn’t that I am as hungry as a wolf, I wouldn’t say no to the hut of a charcoal-burner to-night.”

And now, plodding on more and more silently as our fatigue increased, we found the pine-forests gradually drawing nearer, till by and by they enclosed us on every side, and our road lay through the midst of them. Here in the wood, all was dark—all was silent—not a breath stirred. The moon was rising fast; but the shadows of the pines lay long and dense upon the road, with only a sharp silvery patch breaking through here and there. By and by we came upon a broad space of clearing, dotted over with stacks of brushwood and great symmetrical piles of barked trunks. Then followed another tract of close forest. Then our road suddenly emerged into the full moonlight, and sometimes descending abruptly, sometimes keeping at a dead level for half a mile together, continued to skirt the forest on the left.

“I see a group of buildings down yonder,” said Bergheim, pointing to a spot deep in the shadow of the hillside.

I could see nothing resembling buildings, but he stuck to his opinion.

“That they are buildings,” he said, “I am positive. More I cannot tell by this uncertain light. It may be a mere cluster of cottages, or it may be a farmhouse, with stacks and sheds close by. I think it is the latter.”

Animated by this hope, we now pushed on more rapidly. For some minutes our road carried us out of sight of the spot; but when we next saw it, a long, low, white-fronted house and some other smaller buildings were distinctly visible.

“A mountain farmstead, by all the gods of Olympus!” exclaimed Bergheim, joyously. “This is good fortune! And they are not gone to bed yet, either.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because I saw a light.”

“But suppose they do not wish to take us in?” I suggested.

“Suppose an impossibility! Who ever heard of inhospitality among our Black Forest folk?”

“Black Forest!” I repeated. “Do you call this the Black Forest?”

“Undoubtedly. All these wooded hills south of Heidelberg and the Odenwald are outlying spurs and patches of the old legendary Schwarzwald—now dwindling year by year. Hark! the dogs have found us out already!”

As he spoke, a dog barked loudly in the direction of the farm; and then another, and another. Bergheim answered them with a shout. Suddenly a bright light flashed across the darkness—flitted vaguely for a moment to and fro, and then came steadily towards us; resolving itself presently into a lanthorn carried by a man.

We hurried eagerly to meet him—at all, square-built, heavy-browed peasant, about forty years of age.

“Who goes there?” he said, holding the lanthorn high above his head, and shading his eyes with his hand.

“Travellers,” replied my companion. “Travellers wanting food and shelter for the night.”

The man looked at us for a moment in silence.

“You travel late,” he said, at length.

“Ay—and we must have gone on still later, if we had not come upon your house. We were bound for Rotheskirche. Can you take us in.”

“Yes,” he said sullenly. “I suppose so. This way.”

And, swinging the lanthorn as he went, he turned on his heel abruptly, and led the way back to the house.

“A boorish fellow enough!” said I, as we followed.

“Nay—a mere peasant!” replied Bergheim. “A mere peasant—rough, but kindly.”

As we drew near the house, two large mastiff pups came rushing out from a yard somewhere at the back, and a huge, tawny dog chained up in an open shed close by, strained at his collar and yelled savagely.

“Down, Caspar! Down, Schwartz!” growled our conductor, with an oath.

And immediately the pups slunk back into the yard, and the dog in the shed dropped into a low snarl, eyeing us fiercely as we passed.

The house-door opened straight upon a large, low, raftered kitchen, with a cavernous fire-place at the further end, flanked on each side by a high-backed settle. The settles, the long table in the middle of the room, the stools and chairs ranged round the walls, the heavy beams overhead, from which hung strings of dried herbs, ropes of onions, hams, and the like, were all of old, dark oak. The ceiling was black with the smoke of at least a century. An oak dresser laden with rough blue and grey ware and rows of metal-lidded drinking mugs; an old blunderbuss and a horn-handled riding-whip over the chimney-piece; a couple of hatchets, a spade, and a fishing-rod behind the door; and a Swiss clock in the corner, completed the furniture of the room. A couple of half-charred logs smouldered on the hearth. An oil-lamp flared upon the middle of the table, at one corner of which sat two men with a stone jug and a couple of beer-mugs between them, playing at cards, and a third man looking on. The third man rose as we entered, and came forward. He was so like the one who had come out to meet us, that I saw at once they must be brothers.

“Two travellers,” said our conductor, setting down his lanthorn, and shutting the door behind us.

The players laid down their greasy cards to stare at us. The second brother, a trifle more civil than the first, asked if we wished for anything before going to bed.

Bergheim unslung his wallet, flung himself wearily into a corner of the settle, and said:—

“Heavens and earth! yes. We are almost starving. We have been on the road all day, and have had no regular dinner. Is this a farmhouse or an inn?”

“Both.”

“What have you in the house?”

“Ham—eggs—voorst—cheese—wine—beer—coffee.”

“Then bring us the best you have, and plenty of it, and as fast as you can. We’ll begin on the voorst and a bottle of your best wine, while the ham and eggs are frying; and we’ll have the coffee to finish.”

The man nodded; went to a door at the other end of the room—repeated the order to some one out of sight; and came back again, his hands in his pockets. The first brother, meanwhile, was lounging against the table, looking on at the players.

“It’s a long game,” he said.

“Ay—but it’s just ended,” replied one of the men, putting down his card with an air of triumph.

His adversary pondered, threw down his hand, and, with a round oath, owned himself beaten.

Then they divided the remaining contents of the stone jug, drained their mugs, and rose to go. The loser pulled out a handful of small coin, and paid the reckoning for both.

“We’ve sat late,” said he, with a glance at the clock. “Good night, Karl—good night, Friedrich.”

The first brother, whom I judged to be Karl, nodded sulkily. The second muttered a gruff sort of good night. The countrymen lit their pipes, took another long stare at Bergheim and myself, touched their hats, and went away.

The first brother, Karl, who was evidently the master, went out with them, shutting the door with a tremendous bang. The younger, Friedrich, cleared the board, opened a cupboard under the dresser, brought out a loaf of black bread, a lump of voorst, and part of a goat’s milk cheese, and then went to fetch the wine. Meanwhile we each drew a chair to the table, and fell to vigorously. When Friedrich returned with the wine, a pleasant smell of broiling ham came in with him through the door.

“You are hungry,” he said, looking down at us from under his black brows.

“Ay, and thirsty,” replied Gustav, reaching out his hand for the bottle. “Is your wine good?”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“Drink and judge for yourself,” he answered. “It’s the best we have.”

“Then drink with us,” said my companion, good-humouredly, filling a glass and pushing it towards him across the table.

But he shook his head with an ungracious “Nein, nein,” and again left the room. The next moment we heard his heavy footfall going to and fro overhead.