Selected Prose of Heinrich Von Kleist (10 page)

Just as the Russian troops came pouring in, backed by heavy howitzer fire, the left wing of the commandant's quarters caught fire, obliging the women to flee. Rushing along behind the marquise and her children, the commandant's wife cried out that they had best stick together and take refuge on the lower floors; but at that very moment a grenade exploded in the house, causing total chaos. The marquise and her two children stumbled out into the front yard, where shots had been ringing out all night long through the thick of battle, chasing the poor, bewildered woman back into the
burning building. Here, unfortunately, wanting to slip out again through the rear door, she ran into a troop of enemy sharpshooters, who, at the sight of her, suddenly went silent, slung their rifles over their shoulders, and with the crudest gestures dragged her away. The marquise cried out in vain to her trembling ladies-in-waiting, who shrank back, as she found herself dragged along now here, now there by the terrible rabble, who were fighting among themselves. They pulled her off to the rear courtyard where, having to endure the most abominable abuse, she was on the verge of collapse, when, overhearing the woman's pitiful cries, a Russian officer suddenly appeared, and with wild thrusts of his saber scattered the dirty dogs who lusted after her. To the marquise he seemed like a heavenly angel. With the handle of his dagger he struck full in the face the last filthy scoundrel who had his arms around her slender body, so that the latter tumbled backwards, blood pouring from his mouth; then, with an obligatory French salutation, he offered his arm to the lady, herself rendered speechless by all that had happened, and led her to another wing of the palace, one that had not yet caught fire, where she promptly collapsed in a faint. “Here” – he called for a doctor, once she'd been joined by her terrified ladies-in-waiting; and after assuring them that she would soon revive, he plunked his hat back on his head and returned to battle.

In a short time the yard was completely overrun, and the commandant, who only continued to resist because his request for a reprieve had been declined, drew back with waning strength into the portal of his burning castle just as the Russian officer staggered out, flushed in the face, calling on him to surrender. The commandant replied that he had been awaiting this request, handed over his
dagger and begged permission to go back inside to search for his family. The Russian officer, who, judging from the role he played, appeared to be one of the leaders of the assault, accorded him this liberty, under the accompaniment of a guard; proceeded with some dispatch to lead a detachment to where the battle still raged and quickly took control of the last holdout positions of the fortress. Soon thereafter he returned to the yard, gave orders to put out the flames that had begun to rage wildly all about, and pitched in with startling effort when his orders were not followed with adequate zeal. Now he clambered, hose in hand, amongst the burning gables, directing the jet of water; now he poked his head into the arsenal, making his Asian troops tremble, and rolled out powder kegs and loaded bombs. The commandant, in the meantime, upon entering his residential quarters and learning of the attack on his daughter, was deeply upset. The marquise, who had already, just as the Russian officer had promised, completely revived from her faint without the aid of a physician, overjoyed to see her nearest and dearest gathered safe and sound around her, only stayed in bed to assuage their concerns, assuring her father that she had no other wish than to be allowed to get up and express her thanks to the man who had saved her. She had already learned that he was the Count F . . . , lieutenant colonel of the T . . . n Riflemen's Corps, and a knight decorated with the Order of Merit and many other medals. She asked her father to implore him not to leave the citadel without first making a brief appearance in the castle. Honoring his daughter's request, the commandant promptly returned to the fort, and as the Russian officer was engaged in a never-ending deluge of orders relating to the war, and no better moment could be found to talk, right then
and there on the ramparts, from which the latter surveyed the state of his wounded troops, the commandant conveyed his daughter's ardent wish. The count assured him that, as soon as he had a free moment following the completion of his duties, he would pay his respects. He was still waiting to hear how Madame la Marquise was faring when the formal report of several officers dragged him back into the melee of battle. At daybreak, the commanding officer of the Russian troops arrived and visited the fort. He conveyed his respects to the vanquished commandant, expressing his regret that fortune did not favor his courage, and accorded him, on his honor, freedom of passage to go where he willed. The commandant assured him of his appreciation and declared what a great debt of gratitude he owed on this day to the Russians in general, and in particular, to the young Count F . . . , lieutenant colonel of the T . . . n Riflemen's Corps. The Russian general inquired as to what had happened; and upon being informed of the shameless attack on the commandant's daughter he was outraged. He called for Count F . . . by name. And after first briefly praising him for his own noble behavior – whereby the count turned red in the face – he concluded that he intended to have the scoundrels who besmirched the czar's good name shot by firing squad; and he ordered the count to tell him who they were. Count F . . . replied in a rambling statement that he was unable to give their names, since it had been impossible to recognize their faces in the dim light of reverberating gunfire. The general, who had heard that the castle was in flames at the time of the attack, expressed his surprise; he remarked that even at night one could well recognize familiar people by the sound of their voices; and ordered the count, who shrugged his shoulders and looked askance, to make haste to
investigate the matter rigorously. At that moment someone who pushed his way forward from the rear reported that one of those scoundrels wounded by the count had collapsed in the corridor, and that the commandant's people had since dragged him to a holding cell, where he could still be found. The general had the latter brought up by a guard for a brief interrogation; and after the knave had named the whole gang, five in all, the general had them shot. This having been accomplished, and after leaving behind a small occupying detail, the general gave orders for the decampment of all remaining troops; the officers hastily dispersed among their various corps; amidst the confusion of the scattering soldiers, the count approached the commandant and expressed his regrets that, under these circumstances, he was compelled to respectfully bid farewell to Madame la Marquise; and in less than an hour the entire fort was once again free of Russians.

The family pondered how in the future they might find an occasion to show some expression of their gratitude to the count; but how great was their horror upon learning that on the very day of his departure from the fort he met his death in an engagement with enemy forces. The messenger who brought this sad news back to M . . . had with his own eyes seen him mortally wounded in the breast, carried to P . . . , where, according to an irrefutable source, at the moment the stretcher-bearers lowered him from their shoulders he gave up the ghost. The commandant, who personally went to the guardhouse to confer with the messenger and inquire as to the specific circumstances, learned that on the battlefield, at the moment he was hit by the shot, he was said to have cried out: “Julietta! This bullet avenges your dishonoring!” whereupon his lips shut forever.
The marquise was distraught that she had let the opportunity pass to fling herself at his feet. She heaped the bitterest blame upon herself that, in light of his heart-stirring hesitation to make an appearance in the castle, due, no doubt, in her view, to his modesty, that she had not taken the initiative to seek him out herself; she felt profound pity for her unlucky namesake, of whom he had thought at the moment of dying; she sought in vain to find out where the woman lived so as to inform her of this sad and stirring occurrence; and many months passed before she herself could put him out of her mind.

The family was obliged to quit the commandant's residence to make room for the Russian commanding officer. They considered at first retiring to Colonel von G . . . 's country estate, to which the marquise felt a great attachment; but since the colonel did not like country life the family moved into a house in the city, fitting it out as a permanent residence. Everything returned to normal. The marquise resumed the long-interrupted education of her children, brought out her easel and books for leisure moments, whereupon, heretofore the epitome of good health, she felt herself beset by repeated indispositions, taking her out of circulation for weeks at a time. She suffered from bouts of nausea, dizziness, and fainting, and did not know what to make of her curious condition. One morning, as the family sat at tea, and the father had for an instant left the room, the marquise, as though awakening from a long, drawn-out daze, said to her mother: “If a woman told me that she had the kind of feeling I just had as I reached for the cup, I'd think to myself that she was anticipating a blessed event.” Madame von G . . . replied that she did not understand. The marquise explained again that she had just felt the same sensation she had felt back when she was pregnant
with her second daughter. Madame von G . . . said she would perhaps give birth to a fantasy, and laughed. Morpheus, at least, or one of the dream knights in his retinue, would be his father, she joked. But the colonel returned to table, the conversation was interrupted, and since in a matter of days the marquise was well again, the subject was forgotten.

Shortly thereafter, at a time when the Forest Warden von G . . . , the commandant's son, happened to be home, the family experienced a singular shock when a servant burst into the room to announce Count F . . . . “Count F . . . !” father and daughter intoned at the same time; and the astonishment rendered all speechless. The servant assured them that he had seen and heard rightly, and that the count was already standing in the antechamber waiting. The commandant himself leapt forward to open the door, whereupon the count, handsome as a young god yet a little pale in the face, strode in. Following the inconceivable scene of surprise, responding to the parents' declaration that he was supposed to be dead, he assured them that he was alive, and promptly turned with deep emotion to their daughter, and asked her right off how she was. The marquise assured him that she was very well indeed, and only wished to know how
he
had sprung to life. But sticking to his guns, he replied that she was not telling him the truth; a curious frailty washed over her face; either he was completely deluded or she was indisposed and suffering. To which the marquise, charmed by his heartfelt words, responded: “Well, yes, this frailty, if you wish, could well be the lingering trace of an infirmity I suffered some weeks ago”; but added that she did not now fear any lasting effect on her health. To which, with a burst of joy, he replied: “Nor did I!” and added: “Will you
marry me?” The marquise did not rightly know what to make of this behavior. Red in the face, she looked at her mother, and the latter, somewhat taken aback, looked at the son and the father; while the count came close to the marquise, taking her hand in his as if he intended to kiss it, and asked again if she had grasped his meaning. The commandant asked if he did not wish to be seated, and in a courteous, albeit somewhat formal, manner, pulled over a chair. His wife said: “Indeed, we will hold you to be a ghost until you tell us how you rose out of the grave in which they laid you in P . . . . ” Dropping the hand of the marquise, the count sat down and said that the circumstances compelled him to be brief; that he had suffered a deadly shot in the chest and was taken to P . . . ; that for many months he had doubted he'd pull through; that during that time he thought only of Madame la Marquise; that he could not put into words the joy and pain entwined with that thought; that following his recovery he returned to the army; that he had suffered the greatest disquiet; that many a time he had picked up a pen to unburden his heart to the Lord Commandant and Madame la Marquise; that he was suddenly sent to Naples; that he could not say for sure that he might not be redeployed from there to Constantinople; that he might even be obliged to return to St. Petersburg; that he would find it impossible to go on living all the while if he did not come clean concerning a certain imperative of the heart; that on his return passage through M . . . , he had not been able to resist the urge to make a detour with this purpose in mind; in short, that he harbored the ardent desire to be blessed with Madame la Marquise's hand in marriage, and that he most respectfully, most earnestly and urgently beseeched them to respond to this request. Following a long pause, the commandant
replied that if, as he did not doubt, the count was serious in his request, he found it very flattering. However, at the death of her husband, the Marquis of O . . . , his daughter had resolved not to remarry. Nevertheless, seeing as he had recently ingratiated himself by such a great kindness, it might not be impossible that her resolve had thereby been swayed in a manner that might favor such a request; in the meantime, he begged the count's leave, on her behalf, that he might accord her a bit of time to consider his request. The count assured the commandant that this kind-hearted reply was all he could hope for; that under other circumstances, he could ask no more; that he was painfully aware of the impropriety of not being content therewith; that pressing matters, however, concerning which he could not now be more explicit, made a more definitive answer most desirable; that the horses that were to take him to Naples were already harnessed to his carriage; and that he beseeched them, if there were any persons in this house well disposed toward him, whereby he cast a glance at the marquise, that he not be left to drive off without a word of assurance. Somewhat taken aback by this behavior, the commandant replied that the gratitude the marquise felt permitted him to presume a great deal, but not to presume that much; that she could not take an action that would have a decisive effect on her happiness in life without careful reflection. It would be indispensable for his daughter, prior to any reply, that he honor her with the pleasure of his closer acquaintance. He invited him, following the conclusion of his business trip, to return to M . . . and spend some time as a guest of the family. If at that point Madame la Marquise might hope that he could make her happy, then he too – but not before – would be glad to hear that she had given him a definite
answer. A redness rising to his face, the count replied that throughout his entire trip he had foreseen this answer to his impatient wishes; that he had meanwhile felt gripped by a great grief; that given the regrettable role he was now obliged to play, a closer acquaintance could only help his cause; that he believed himself justified in standing by his reputation, if elsewhere this most ambiguous of all qualities should be called into question; that no one knew of the only villainous act he had ever committed in his life, for which he was already in process of making amends; that he was, in a word, an honorable man, and begged leave to presume their assurance that they would accept this assurance as truthful. Cracking a smile, albeit without any ironic intent, the commandant responded that he approved of all these pronouncements. He had indeed never made the acquaintance of any young man who in such a short time had managed to amass so many inestimable qualities of character. He was almost certain that a short period of consideration would resolve any hesitation that still lingered in their minds; yet, nevertheless, before he could seek the consensus of his own, as well as the count's family, no other answer than the one already given would be possible. Hereupon the count replied that he was an orphan and free, therefore, to answer for himself. His uncle was General K . . . , of whose consent he could assure him. He added that he possessed a considerable fortune and would be prepared to make Italy his home. The commandant made an obligatory bow, once again reiterated his intention, and asked his interlocutor to speak no more of this matter until his return. After a moment's pause, during which the count gave every indication of the greatest distress, he turned to the marquise's mother and insisted that he had done his utmost to avert this
trip; that the efforts he had dared make to that end in his appeals to the commanding general, and to his uncle, General K . . . , stretched the limits of military decorum; but that his superiors thought, thereby, to shake him out of a lingering dejection in the wake of his injuries; and that he now felt as if he'd been sent to his doom. The family did not know what to make of all these declarations. Rubbing his forehead, the count continued that if there were any hope of thereby expediting his cherished wish, he would do his best to defer his journey for a day and even a bit more. Whereupon, he turned, respectively, from the commandant to the marquise and then to her mother. The commandant peered down with a look of displeasure and did not reply. His wife said: “Go then, go then, Sir Count; take care of your affairs in Naples; and upon your return, accord us the pleasure of your presence by visiting with us for a while; the rest will take its due course.” The count remained seated for a moment and seemed to be considering what to do next. Thereafter rising and pushing back his chair – since he was hopeful, he said, and since his immediate departure might be taken as over-precipitous, and the family insisted upon a closer acquaintance, to which he had no objection, he would send the dispatches back to headquarters in Z . . . , for someone else to take, and would accept the family's kind invitation to be a houseguest for a few weeks. Whereupon, still grasping the back of the chair, with his back to the wall, he stood there a moment and peered at the commandant. The latter replied that he would find it most regrettable if the feelings that the count appeared to have developed for his daughter were to be the cause of serious repercussions for him; that he must surely know what he had to do and not do, whether or not to send back the dispatches; and that the rooms
would be made ready for him. With these words, a pallor falling over his face, the count respectfully kissed the mother's hand, bowed to the others and left the room.