"Der Erlkonig."

Thames Star, Volume XIV, Issue 4478, 12 May 1883, Page 1

"Der Erlkonig."

By Matjeice J. Biount.

»;dw:?^t£f-A<:l

Pretty Annie Western had just finished that lovely song "Der Krlkonig." The " 1 hank Yous " and the ' O howLovelys" had been murmured in the tpnea of rapture usual on such occasions,and had been more or less blushingly received, " when, by one of those strange turns which no one can account for; the conversation drifted to the subject of Imagination and the effect it has on actions, and from that to Conscience. There were a dozen of us in the room, a friend and myself staying with Mr Weston, a few ladies and gentlemen who had just dropped in to spend the evening, and the family.

The discussion became general, and everyone had some opinion to advance.. As the subjects are necessarily vague, in about ten minutes we bad exhausted all we did.knoyr about them; and then, as somebody says, we soared into the free and boundless realm of what we did know. "We argued! high, we argued low; we argued round about us," and as every one had a different theory on the question in hand, and the ones with the most unreasonable idea were the most vehement in expressing them, we were very far from arriving at a satisfactory conclusion. ,

At last after many arguments on all sides, Will £mi£h was demonstrating for* cibly to his own very evident satisfaction that imagination is nothing in the world but disordered digestion, and conscience synonymous with inactive liver, and that a judicious course of exercise, richy water, abstinence from tea and other exciting beverages, would enable a man to walk through a graveyard at midnight without taking a cow for a ghost— the advantage of which is obvious—or enable a man to run a man through, rob a bank, mismanage railways, or break the whole decalogue without feeling any of those'uncomfortable prickings known as the pangs of conscience, the advantages to which, to the world lit large, are not quite so obvious.

Just then old Mr Linton. who bad listened with an attention very flattering to the speakers, drew his chair forward from the corner where he had been sitting quietly all the evening, and said:—" lam sorry that I caunot agree with you, Mr Smith. lam an old man now. Perhaps if I had been born in an "advanced age " an advantage which you pos9e*g, I might have held your views, but as it is I am old-fashioned enough to believe that conscience: has been divinely implanted, ia our breasts for oar guidance^ and that imagination is a distinctive faculty of mind or brain—it is difficult to determine which—capable of greatly ennobling us if it is properly regulated. Bat in the regulation of it lies the difficulty. The song ADnie sang a little while ago, and the recent conversation, call to my remembrance a rather peculiar incident whioh has some bearing on the subject that we have all been speaking about. I say it is peculiar not because there is anything strange about it, but because it is uncommon, I think I heard of a similar case before, but this is the only one that came under my own obiervation."

The old gentlem-in paused, and amid murmurs of '* go~ on please/ he co»----tinued:—

" Eight years ago when I was living at Berungal was a magistrate there. My surgery and dispensary were in .the township, but our dwelling-house, which had plenty of land attached, was on the Sandhurst road, about two miles and a half from Berunga. I generally returned home about six, and my son, who was my partner, remained at the surgery. I had just come home one evening, and was dressing ror dinner, when the door-bell rang*and Jane, the house-maid; informed me that a gentleman wished to speak to me.

" Some patient." I thdught, " who will expatiate on his symptoms, ad nauseum. I wish people would not rome at dinnertime. However, there is no help for it" Then aloud to the girl:

" Tell your mistress not to wait dinner for me, and show the gentleman into the parlor." In a few minutes I- entered the room where I had told Jane to show the stranger. " I have not the pleasure—" I began, as he rose on my entrance. •' My name is Henry Harper," said he quietly, then earnestly and impetuously— " You are a magistrate P"

I bowed and waited, feeling very uncomfortable, for Mr Henry Harper was a strange»looking man of about five and thirty, very tall, very thin, deadly pale, with dark hair, and unpleasantly piercing black eyea.._'. ". .. * " You must think it very strange, sir," be said, " but I cannot—l will not offer any apologies. I did not come here of my own free will. I was impelled to it, driren to it by tbat which haunts me night and day, waking, sleeping when I can sleep, everywhere I go and in everything I do. I hear it now. Oh, God, my punishment is more than I can bear!" He nearly shrieked out the last words, and covering his face with his hands—" You must hear the voice,." said he, "it is louder than the roar of thunder."

My face must have betrayed my very ■strong dfiubls as to his sanity, for he said quietly, almost sadly : " You think that lam mad. lam Dot. I sometimes wish I were, then at intervals I should believe that the sounds which haunt me are unreal, but no, I am not mad, and I shall hear (hem till I die. I have- come, to you, as a magistrate, to make a confession, in the hope of obtaining peace from Hearen, and enjoying a moment's respite from the horror that hangs over my life." Here be spoke quite collectedly, and not-st all like a madman.

" You look ill; let me feel you pulse. I am a doctor," said I. He did look very ill, very ill. I felt his pulse. It was perfectly regular and normal, not at all feverish, His hand was very cold, but not unnaturally so ; his eyes, too, though so peculiar and piercing, bad nothing of that shifty and uncertain gaze, of a madman. They were merely the eyes of a person suffering great mental anxiety. In his whole bears ing; however, there was a most extraordin-

ary expression, one that I never—never, saw before or since, and which I could not define for some time. As he turned his bead while the hall clock, a very loud one struck seven, the attitude gave^me a key to the expression, it was that of listening, never ceasing listening, a 9if every limb and muscle and.nerve were employed in it continually. ■ The whole expression of a face and "body was a concentration of the power of all-absorbing listening. But as far as my medical experience could show, he was sane enough. How ever,.- I heartily .wished that he would make haste with What he had to say, and

go. I felt 1 could speed this parting guest with a great deal of pleasure. Although I was anything but an imaginative man—rather matter-of-fact than

otherwise—l felt there was, as the Scotch say, something " uncanny " abont my .visitor. ". He went on. "It was "an evil day that I ever left England. I was an only son. My father and I quarrelled so violently that I left home that night, and England the next day. This was ten years afto. My poor mother, it broke her heart. I killed

her with my violence and evil temper. I stabbed her. to the heart as certainly as though I had used a weapon. I landed in Melbourne, and as the gold fever was still lingering about, I joined several others who were going to the Berunga "rush." In the course of a few months those

with' whom I had originally come to Berunga had all left/and I settled down with a young fellow whose acquaintance I formed there. ' He seemed to be quite alene. So was I. And mutually attracted,- we-beeame " mates." Frank Glynu was a handsome fellow, and so amiable and clever, I never could understand why.he remained hidden at Berunga. I suppose it was family disagreements. He had a splendid voice, and, what was strange in those days, arid in/suph a place,it was nearly always German songs he sang—Ah, I loved him then!"; My visitor had taken a seat while saying this, and spoke in such a contained, selfspossessed way, and as there seemed to be nothing very startling in - what he was telling, I settled down half

expecting to hear rather a prosy story ; but still the listening—the intensely listening air, the earnest black eyes, and the 'ghastlin'ess of the face seemed at variance with the calm voice, and made me feel nervous every time I looked at him. • „• • Suddenly he started up, 'and continued - excitedly this time :— " I must hasten. It is driving me on. Ah, if I could but close my ears and brain for one moment!" : 111 bear nothing," said I; " the night is"very still, and tbe house is quiet." "No one but a cursed wretch like me can hear it," he said.

" I bear it always, perhaps if yoa had taken another's life you would hear something like it too, bat pray Hearen you , herer may! . Frank, Glynne and I were lucky, and 'going to leave Berunga. .

'.; • He had never liked it, and I had cccae . to loathe the place. We were going to start very early one . morning, walk to Sandhurst, and catch the evening coach, It was not far, five ■"'■■■ and twenty miles. * "- We spent our last evening at Clarke's Jem Clarke was the keeper of the little store! He had a, daughter so handsome, ' so made to be loved that I cannot think . of her calmly now. : r'Her father had ieft England thinking ; , to make a fortune quickly out here, and —. bad brought bis daughter with him. She was well educated, and could sing like an angel.

Frank often went to their place in the evenings, and while she sang he accompanied her on the violin, or joined her in what she was singing. I went too sometimes, but not often. It maddened me to see them together. I even hated to hear them sing, lovely as their voices were. Frank Glynn loved her, so did I. I did more, I worshipped her, reverenced her ; I do so now, but I began by degrees to hate him.

Strange, that love of one person slrould make us hate another.

That last evening they sang together, and I saw tbat she cared for him above everyone else in the world. They sang on,' saying it would be their last evening for a long while, but I heard Frank whisper " I will be back again soon, and then- -" I could not hear the rest. But I saw her look happy, and she smiled so brightly at his words that for a moment I nearly hated her. The last song they sang was " Der Erlkonig," the favorite with both of them. They sang it as if their souls were in it. We wished Mr and-Mrs Clarke and Nellie " good bye," and told them they need not expect to seeus again before we left, as we were going very early in the morning, before anyone else'was stirring.'

" You are going early," said Mrs Clarke. "Yes," replied Frank, " we wish to get well on our journey before the heat of the day commences." " A very good plan," said she ; and then we wished good.night and " Good byes " again.- .-<•■ "Good bye, Mrs Clarke, yon will hear from me soon," shouted Frank, in a tone intended for the ears of Nellie, who stood in the background.

(To be Continued. J