Page:Der Freischütz (The Free-Shooter); A Lyric Folk-Drama (1849).djvu/28

 a refuge in the madhouse. He knew not whether it were reality or an illusion, which then appeared to him. After a while the old thing angrily threw him her stick, and with the words

hobbled slowly into the forest.

Then came a tremendous rattling, like the rolling of wheels and crack of whips. A chariot appeared drawn by six horses, and with out riders. “What’s this on our road?” cried the foremost; “Room there!” Wilhelm looked up; sparks flashed from the horses’ hoofs, and round the carriage-wheels glowed a phosphoric light. Wilhelm believed it to be an illusion, and remained tranquil. “Thorough! thorough! on! on! upon our way, away! away!” cried the outrider again, and that instant the whole troop made for the circle. Wilhelm fell to the earth as the horses bounded over his head; but the phantom steeds sprang with the chariot into the air, turned once round over the magic circle, and vanished in a whirlwind, which broke the surrounding twigs and branches, strewing them about.

Time passed on before Wilhelm had recovered from his fright. He attempted to steady his trembling hand, and cast with disquietude another bullet. Then the distant well-known tower-clock chimed. How comforting sounded its friendly voice from the world of life without, to the miserable mortal in the unhallowed circle; but the clock chimed twice,—thrice.—He shuddered at the rapid flight of the precious moments, for the third part of his labor was not as yet completed. It struck a fourth time! Wilhelm’s strength forsook him, every nerve appeared unstrung, and the bullet-mould fell from his trembling hand. He listened with a desperate resignation to the striking of the complete hour; the bell clashed, vibrated, and died away. The fearful power of the Fiend seemed to sport with the sound of the midnight-hour itself. Full of joyful expectation Wilhelm dashed out his watch; it told the half-hour only. He looked thankfully toward Heaven; a conviction strengthened his joy that he had triumphed over the powers of darkness, evidenced by a loud cry which then rang in his ears.

Nerved and strengthened against any fresh deception, he courageously set to work again. A deep stillness reigned around him, the owls only croaked, as it were, and struck the skulls against the bones from time to time. At length the bush rustled. The sound was too well known to the skilful hunter: he looked, and, as he had surmised, a wild sow brake through the thicket and made for the circle. Wilhelm felt that there was no deception here; he sprang up, pointed his gun, and fired on the animal: no spark, however, was struck from his flint; he drew his hanger, but the bristly beast sprang, like the chariot and horses, into the air, and vanished.

Wilhelm, alarmed, endeavoured to make up for his lost time. Sixty bullets were cast, he looked forward joyfully; the clouds opened, and the moon threw a clear light on the landscape. A piteous cry sounded in the wood: “Wilhelm! Wilhelm!”—it was the voice of Kate. Wilhelm beheld her rush through the bush, and cast on him a terrified glance. Behind her ran the old witch, and stretched her horny arms to catch the fleeting figure, whom she sought to lay hold of by the fluttering robe. Kate exerted her last remaining strength for flight, when he of the wooden leg stepped in her path: she stopped a moment, and the old woman clutched her with her bony fleshless hands. Wilhelm could contain himself no longer, he threw the mould with the last bullet from his hand, and just as about to spring from the circle, the clock struck twelve, the whole appearance vanished, the owls knocked the bones and skulls together and flew away, the fire expired, and Wilhelm sank fainting to the earth.

Now there came slowly up a rider on a coal-black steed. He halted before the scattered remains of the magic circle.

“Thou hast well survived the ordeal”—said he—“what wantest thou with me?”

“Nothing from thee!”—answered Wilhelm—“what I required, that have I obtained myself.”

“With my help”—continued the stranger—“therefore let me share.”

“Nothing!”—cried Wilhelm—“I neither bargained with thee, nor have called thee.”

The horseman laughed scornfully. “Thou art bold”—said he—“such as thee should be cared for. Take the bullets thou hast made. Sixty for thee, three for me; those hit, these miss: we meet again, then wilt thou understand.”

Wilhelm raised himself up. “I will never meet thee again”—he cried—“leave me!”

“Why dost thou turn from me?”—asked the stranger, with a fearful laugh—“know’st thou me not?”

“No, no!”—shrieked Wilhelm, shuddering—“I will not know thee, I know nought of thee! whoe’er thou art, leave me!”

The dark horseman turned his steed. “Thy hair on end”—said he, with dark earnestness—“tells that thou knowest me well. I am, whose mention breathes an icy shudder o’er the inmost soul!”

With these words he disappeared, and the trees beneath which he had taken stand, fell scorched in ashes to the ground.

“Merciful Heaven, Wilhelm, what has happened to thee?”—exclaimed Kate and mother Anne, as Wilhelm, all pale and agitated, returned home after midnight—“it seems as ye were risen from your grave!”

Tis through the night air”—answered Wilhelm—“what I have done hath made me fev’rish.”

“Wilhelm”—said the Forester, who then stepped in—“something has happened to thee in the forest. Why dost thou not tell us? you mystify me.”

Wilhelm was struck by the old man’s earnestness. “Yes”—replied he—“something has certainly happened to me. But have patience for nine days only. Earlier, if you will

“Willingly, dear son, willingly!willingly!” [sic]—interrupted the Forester—“Good sooth, it must be a secret, to be kept nine days. Let him alone, mother, tease him not, Kate! I had nearly done ye an injustice, Wilhelm! go now and rest, for ‘night,’ hath the adage, ‘is no man’s friend,’ only take courage, whoe’er is virtuous and walks uprightly, no nightly apparition haunts him ever.”

Wilhelm had need of all the dissimulation possible, in order not to betray how near the old man’s suspicions neared the truth. His beautiful paternal love, his unshaken trust when all things seemed to indicate his guilt, nigh broke the heart of Wilhelm. He hastened to his chamber, resolved to annihilate his magic work. “One bullet only—one only will I use”—he cried out, as, weeping, he raised his folded hands to Heaven—“The end in view will surely now absolve the middle course I take. Ten thousand full atonements will I give, if aught be sinful then in this my deed! Can I now draw back without I lose my bliss, mine honour, and my love?”

This intention lulled his heart, and he looked upon the morning sun with more tranquillity than he had hoped to do.

The royal Commissary arrived, and desired, before the Trial-shot, to make a hunting party with a few, including the young Forester. “Though”—said he—“it is right that we should honour the old solemnity, yet the hunter’s skill is best displayed in the forest. Up then, young heir-presumptive; to the field!”

Wilhelm turned pale, and would have excused himself, but as this would not hold with his superior, he begged to do as little as possible before his Trial-shot. The old Forester shook his head thoughtfully. “Wilhelm, Wilhelm”—said he, in a deep and earnest tone—“and have I guessed then rightly, yesterday?” Rh