The Monk and the Hangman's Daughter (by Ambrosius Gwinnett Bierce)
I
On the first day of May in the year of our Blessed Lord 1680, the Franciscan monks Ægidius, Romanus and Ambrosius were sent by their Superior from the Christian city of Passau to the Monastery of Berchtesgaden, near Salzburg. I, Ambrosius, was the strongest and youngest of the three, being but twenty- one years of age. The Monastery of Berchtesgaden was, we knew, in a wild and mountainous country, covered with dismal forests, which were infested with bears and evil spirits; and our hearts were filled with sadness to think what might become of us in so dreadful a place. But since it is Christian duty to obey the mandates of the Church, we did not complain, and were even glad to serve the wish of our beloved and revered Superior.
Having received the benediction, and prayed for the last time in the church of our Saint, we tied up our cowls, put new sandals on our feet, and set out, attended by the blessings of all. Although the way was long and perilous, we did not lose our hope, for hope is not only the beginning and the end of religion, but also the strength of youth and the support of age. Therefore our hearts soon forgot the sadness of parting, and rejoiced in the new and varying scenes that gave us our first real knowledge of the beauty of the earth as God has made it. The color and brilliance of the air were like the garment of the Blessed Virgin; the sun shone like the Golden Heart of the Savior, from which streameth light and life for all mankind; the dark blue canopy that hung above formed a grand and beautiful house of prayer, in which every blade of grass, every flower and living creature praised the glory of God.
As we passed through the many hamlets, villages and cities that lay along our way, the thousands of people, busy in all the vocations of life, presented to us poor monks a new and strange spectacle, which filled us with wonder and admiration. When so many churches came into view as we journeyed on, and the piety and ardor of the people were made manifest by the acclamations with which they hailed us and their alacrity in ministering to our needs, our hearts were full of gratitude and happiness. All the institutions of the Church were prosperous and wealthy, which showed that they had found favor in the sight of the good God whom we serve. The gardens and orchards of the monasteries and convents were well kept, proving the care and industry of the pious peasantry and the holy inmates of the cloisters. It was glorious to hear the peals of bells announcing the hours of the day: we actually breathed music in the air – the sweet tones were like the notes of angels singing praise to the Lord.
Wherever we went we greeted the people in the name of our patron Saint. On all sides were manifest humility and joy: women and children hastened to the wayside, crowding about us to kiss our hands and beseech a blessing. It almost seemed as if we were no longer poor servitors of God and man, but lords and masters of this whole beautiful earth. Let us, however, not grow proud in spirit, but remain humble, looking carefully into our hearts lest we deviate from the rules of our holy Order and sin against our blessed Saint. I, Brother Ambrosius, confess with penitence and shame that my soul caught itself upon exceedingly worldly and sinful thoughts. It seemed to me that the women sought more eagerly to kiss my hands than those of my companions – which surely was not right, since I am not more holy than they; besides, am younger and less experienced and tried in the fear and commandments of the Lord. When I observed this error of the women, and saw how the maidens kept their eyes upon me, I became frightened, and wondered if I could resist should temptation accost me; and often I thought, with fear and trembling, that vows and prayer and penance alone do not make one a saint; one must be so pure in heart that temptation is unknown. Ah me!
At night we always lodged in some monastery, invariably receiving a pleasant welcome. Plenty of food and drink was set before us, and as we sat at table the monks would crowd about, asking for news of the great world of which it was our blessed privilege to see and learn so much. When our destination was learned we were usually pitied for being doomed to live in the mountain wilderness. We were told of icefields, snow-crowned mountains and tremendous rocks, roaring torrents, caves and gloomy forests; also of a lake so mysterious and terrible that there was none like it in the world. God be with us!
On the fifth day of our journey, while but a short distance beyond the city of Salzburg, we saw a strange and ominous sight. On the horizon, directly in our front, lay a bank of mighty clouds, with many gray points and patches of darker hue, and above, between them and the blue sky, a second firmament of perfect white. This spectacle greatly puzzled and alarmed us. The clouds had no movement; we watched them for hours and could see no change. Later in the afternoon, when the sun was sinking into the west, they became ablaze with light. They glowed and gleamed in a wonderful manner, and looked at times as if they were on fire! No one can imagine our surprise when we discovered that what we had mistaken for clouds was simply earth and rocks. These then, were the mountains of which we had heard so much, and the white firmament was nothing else than the snowy summit of the range – which the Lutherans say their faith can remove. I greatly doubt it.
II
When we stood at the opening of the pass leading into the mountains we were overcome with dejection; it looked like the mouth of Hell. Behind us lay the beautiful country through which we had come, and which now we were compelled to leave forever; before us frowned the mountains with their inhospitable gorges and haunted forests, forbidding to the sight and full of peril to the body and the soul. Strengthening our hearts with spirits, we entered the narrow pass in the prayer and whispering anathemas against evil name of God, and pressed forward, prepared to suffer whatever might befall. As we proceeded cautiously on our way giant trees barred our progress and dense foliage almost shut out the light of day, the darkness being deep and chill. The sound of our footfalls and of our voices, when we dared to speak, was returned to us from the great rocks bordering the pass, with such distinctness and so many repetitions, yet withal so changed, that we could hardly believe we were not accompanied by troops of invisible beings who mocked us and made a sport of our fears. Great birds of prey, startled from their nests in the treetops and the sides of the cliffs, perched upon high pinnacles of rock and eyed us malignly as we passed; vultures and ravens croaked above us in hoarse and savage tones that made our blood run cold. Nor could our prayers and hymns give us peace; they only called forth other fowl and by their own echoes multiplied the dreadful noises that beset us.
It surprised us to observe that huge trees had been plucked out of the earth by the roots and hurled down the sides of the hills, and we shuddered to think by what powerful hands this had been done. At times we passed along the edges of high precipices, and the dark chasms that yawned below were a terrible sight. A storm arose, and we were half-blinded by the fires of heaven and stunned by thunder a thousand times louder than we had ever heard. Our fears were at last worked up to so great a degree that we expected every minute to see some devil from Hell leap from behind a rock in our front, or a ferocious bear appear from the undergrowth to dispute our progress. But only deer and foxes crossed our path, and our fears were somewhat quieted to perceive that our blessed Saint was no less powerful in the mountains than on the plains below.
At length we reached the bank of a stream whose silvery waters presented a most refreshing sight. In its crystal depths between the rocks we could see beautiful golden trout as large as the carp in the pond of our monastery at Passau. Even in these wild places Heaven had provided bountifully for the fasting of the faithful. Beneath the black pines and close to the large lichen-covered rocks bloomed rare flowers of dark blue and golden yellow. Brother Ægidius, who was as learned as pious, knew them from his herbarium and told us their names. We were delighted by the sight of various brilliant beetles and butterflies which had come out of their hiding-places after the rain. We gathered handfuls of flowers and chased the pretty winged insects, forgetting our fears and prayers, the bears and evil spirits, in the exuberance of our joy. For many hours we had not seen a dwelling nor a human being. Deeper and deeper we penetrated the mountain region; greater and greater became the difficulties we experienced in forest and ravine, and all the horrors of the wilderness that we had already passed were repeated, but without so great an effect upon our souls, for we all perceived that the good God was preserving us for longer service to His holy will. A branch of the friendly river lay in our course, and, approaching it, we were delighted to find it spanned by a rough but substantial bridge. As we were about to cross I happened to cast my eyes to the other shore, where I saw a sight that made my blood turn cold with terror. On the opposite bank of the stream was a meadow, covered with beautiful flowers, and in the center a gallows upon which hung the body of a man! The face was turned toward us, and I could plainly distinguish the features, which, though black and distorted, showed unmistakable signs that death had come that very day.
I was upon the point of directing my companions' attention to the dreadful spectacle, when a strange incident occurred: in the meadow appeared a young girl, with long golden hair, upon which rested a wreath of blossoms. She wore a bright red dress, which seemed to me to light up the whole scene like a flame of fire. Nothing in her actions indicated fear of the corpse upon the gallows; on the contrary, she glided toward it barefooted through the grass, singing in a loud but sweet voice, and waving her arms to scare away the birds of prey that had gathered about it, uttering harsh cries and with a great buffeting of wings and snapping of beaks. At the girl's approach they all took flight, except one great vulture, which retained its perch upon the gallows and appeared to defy and threaten her. She ran close up to the obscene creature, jumping, dancing, screaming, until it, too, put out its wide wings and flapped heavily away. Then she ceased her dancing, and, taking a position at the gibbet's foot, calmly and thoughtfully looked up at the swinging body of the unfortunate man. The maiden's singing had attracted the attention of my companions, and we all stood watching the lovely child and her strange surroundings with too much amazement to speak. While gazing on the surprising scene, I felt a cold shiver run through my body. This is said to be a sure sign that some one has stepped upon the spot which is to be your grave. Strange to say, I felt this chill at the moment the maiden stepped under the gallows. But this only shows how the true beliefs of men are mixed up with foolish superstitions; for how could a sincere follower of Saint Franciscus possibly come to be buried beneath a gallows?
»Let us hasten,« I said to my companions, »and pray for the soul of the dead.« We soon found our way to the spot, and, without raising our eyes, said prayers with great fervor; especially did I, for my heart was full of compassion for the poor sinner who hung above. I recalled the words of God, who said, »Vengeance is mine,« and remembered that the dear Savior had pardoned the thief upon the cross at His side; and who knows that there were not mercy and forgiveness for this poor wretch who had died upon the gallows? On our approach the maiden had retired a short distance, not knowing what to make of us and our prayers. Suddenly, however, in the midst of our devotions, I heard her sweet, bell-like tones exclaim: »The vulture! the vulture!« and her voice was agitated, as if she felt great fear. I looked up and saw a great gray bird above the pines, swooping downward. It showed no fear of us, our sacred calling and our pious rites. My brothers, however, were indignant at the interruption caused by the child's voice, and scolded her. But I said: »The girl is probably a relation of the dead man. Now think of it, brothers; this terrible bird comes to tear the flesh from his face and feed upon his hands and his body. It is only natural that she should cry out.« One of the brothers said: »Go to her, Ambrosius, and command her to be silent that we may pray in peace for the departed soul of this sinful man.« I walked among the fragrant flowers to where the girl stood with her eyes still fixed upon the vulture, which swung in ever narrowing circles about the gallows. Against a mass of silvery flowers on a bush by which she stood the maid's exquisite figure showed to advantage, as I wickedly permitted myself to observe. Perfectly erect and motionless, she watched my advance, though I marked a terrified look in her large, dark eyes, as if she feared that I would do her harm. Even when I was quite near her she made no movement to come forward, as women and children usually did, and kiss my hands.
»Who are you?« I said, »and what are you doing in this dreadful place all alone?« She did not answer me, and made neither sign nor motion; so I repeated my question: »Tell me, child, what are you doing here?« »Scaring away the vultures,« she replied, in a soft, musical voice, inexpressibly pleasing. »Are you a relation of the dead man?« I asked. She shook her head. »You knew him?« I continued, »and you pity his unchristian death?« But she was again silent, and I had to renew my questioning: »What was his name, and why was he put to death? What crime did he commit?« »His name was Nathaniel Alfinger, and he killed a man for a woman,« said the maiden, distinctly and in the most unconcerned manner that it is possible to conceive, as if murder and hanging were the commonest and most uninteresting of all events. I was astounded, and gazed at her sharply, but her look was passive and calm, denoting nothing unusual.
»Did you know Nathaniel Alfinger?« »No.« »Yet you came here to protect his corpse from the fowls?« »Yes.« »Why do you do that service to one whom you did not know?« »I always do so.« »How –!« »Always when any one is hanged here I come and frighten away the birds and make them find other food. See – there is another vulture!« She uttered a wild, high scream, threw her arms above her head, and ran across the meadow so that I thought her mad. The big bird flew away, and the maiden came quietly back to me, and, pressing her sunburnt hands upon her breast, sighed deeply, as from fatigue. With as much mildness as I could put into my voice, I asked her:
»What is your name?« »Benedicta.« »And who are your parents?« »My mother is dead.« »But your father – where is he?« She was silent. Then I pressed her to tell me where she lived, for I wanted to take the poor child home and admonish her father to have better care of his daughter and not let her stray into such dreadful places again. »Where do you live, Benedicta? I pray you tell me.« »Here.« »What! here? Ah, my child, here is only the gallows.« She pointed toward the pines. Following the direction of her finger, I saw among the trees a wretched hut which looked like a habitation more fit for animals than human beings. Then I knew better than she could have told me whose child she was. When I returned to my companions and they asked me who the girl was, I answered: »The hangman's daughter.«
|
Der Mönch und die Tochter des Henkers
Nachdem wir den
Segen empfangen und zum letzten Mal in der Kirche unseres Heiligen
gebetet hatten, fesselten wir unsere Kapuzen, zogen neue Sandalen
auf unsere Füße und machten uns auf den Weg, begleitet
von den Segnungen aller. Obwohl der Weg lang und gefährlich
war, haben wir unsere Hoffnung nicht verloren, denn Hoffnung ist
nicht nur der Anfang und das Ende der Religion, sondern auch die
Kraft der Jugend und die Unterstützung des Alters. Deshalb
vergaßen unsere Herzen bald die Traurigkeit des Abschieds
und freuten sich über die neuen und unterschiedlichen Szenen,
die uns unser erstes wirkliches Wissen über die Schönheit
der Erde, wie Gott sie geschaffen hat, gaben. Die Farbe und
Brillanz der Luft waren wie das Gewand der Seligen Jungfrau; die
Sonne schien wie das Goldene Herz des Erlösers, aus dem Licht
und Leben für die ganze Menschheit strömt; das
dunkelblaue Vordach, das darüber hing, bildete ein großes
und schönes Gebetshaus, in dem jeder Grashalm, jede Blume und
jedes Lebewesen die Herrlichkeit Gottes pries.
Als wir durch
die vielen Dörfer, Dörfer und Städte gingen, die
auf unserem Weg lagen, präsentierten uns die Tausenden von
Menschen, die in allen Berufungen des Lebens beschäftigt
waren, den armen Mönchen ein neues und seltsames Schauspiel,
das uns mit Staunen und Bewunderung erfüllte. Als auf unserer
Weiterreise so viele Kirchen in Sichtweite kamen und die
Frömmigkeit und Begeisterung des Volkes durch die Rufe, mit
denen sie uns begrüßten, und ihre Bereitschaft, unseren
Bedürfnissen zu dienen, zum Ausdruck kamen, waren unsere
Herzen voller Dankbarkeit und Glück. Alle Institutionen der
Kirche waren wohlhabend und reich, was zeigte, dass sie vor dem
guten Gott, dem wir dienen, Gnade gefunden hatten. Die Gärten
und Obstgärten der Klöster und Klöster waren gut
erhalten und zeugten von der Fürsorge und Industrie der
frommen Bauernschaft und der heiligen Häftlinge der Klöster.
Es war herrlich, die Glockenläuten zu hören, die die
Stunden des Tages verkünden: Wir hauchten tatsächlich
Musik in der Luft - die süßen Töne waren wie die
Töne von Engeln, die dem Herrn Loblieder sangen.
Wohin wir auch
gingen, wir begrüßten die Menschen im Namen unseres
Schutzheiligen. Auf allen Seiten waren Demut und Freude sichtbar:
Frauen und Kinder eilten auf den Weg, drängten sich um uns
herum, um unsere Hände zu küssen und um einen Segen zu
bitten. Es schien fast so, als wären wir keine armen Diener
Gottes und des Menschen mehr, sondern Herren und Meister dieser
ganzen schönen Erde. Lasst uns jedoch nicht im Geiste stolz
werden, sondern demütig bleiben und sorgfältig in unsere
Herzen schauen, damit wir nicht von den Regeln unseres Ordens
abweichen und gegen unseren gesegneten Heiligen sündigen.
Nachts
übernachteten wir immer in einem Kloster und wurden immer
herzlich empfangen. Viel Essen und Trinken war vor uns, und
während wir am Tisch saßen, drängten sich die
Mönche umher und baten um Nachrichten von der großen
Welt, von der es unser gesegnetes Privileg war, so viel zu sehen
und zu lernen. Als unser Ziel bekannt wurde, wurden wir
normalerweise dafür bemitleidet, dass wir dazu verdammt
waren, in der Bergwüste zu leben. Uns wurde von Eisfeldern,
schneebedeckten Bergen und gewaltigen Felsen, tosenden
Sturzbächen, Höhlen und düsteren Wäldern
erzählt; auch von einem See, der so geheimnisvoll und
schrecklich ist, dass es auf der Welt keinen solchen gibt. Gott
sei mit uns!
Am fünften
Tag unserer Reise, nur wenige Kilometer hinter der Stadt Salzburg,
sahen wir einen seltsamen und bedrohlichen Anblick. Am Horizont,
direkt an unserer Vorderseite, liegt eine Bank mächtiger
Wolken, mit vielen grauen Punkten und Flecken von dunklerem
Farbton, und darüber, zwischen ihnen und dem blauen Himmel,
ein zweites Firmament von perfektem Weiß. Dieses Schauspiel
hat uns sehr verwirrt und beunruhigt. Die Wolken hatten keine
Bewegung; wir beobachteten sie stundenlang.
Es überraschte
uns zu beobachten, dass riesige Bäume von den Wurzeln aus der
Erde gerissen und an den Seiten der Hügel
hinuntergeschleudert worden waren, und wir schauderten, als wir
darüber nachdachten, von welchen mächtigen Händen
dies getan worden war. Manchmal gingen wir an den Rändern
hoher Abgründe entlang, und die dunklen Spalten, die unten
gähnten, waren ein schrecklicher Anblick. Ein Sturm brach
aus, und wir wurden halb blind von den Feuern des Himmels und
fassungslos vom Donner tausend Mal lauter, als wir es je gehört
hatten. Unsere Ängste wurden endlich so stark geschürt,
dass wir jede Minute erwarteten, dass ein Teufel aus der Hölle
hinter einem Felsen in unserer Front springen würde, oder ein
wilder Bär aus dem Unterholz auftauchte, um unseren
Fortschritt in Frage zu stellen. Aber nur Hirsche und Füchse
kreuzten unseren Weg, und unsere Ängste waren etwas ruhiger,
um zu erkennen, dass unser gesegneter Heiliger in den Bergen nicht
weniger stark war als in den Ebenen darunter.
Schließlich
erreichten wir das Ufer eines Baches, dessen silbernes Wasser
einen sehr erfrischenden Anblick bot. In seinen kristallinen
Tiefen zwischen den Felsen konnten wir schöne goldene
Forellen sehen, die so groß waren wie die Karpfen im Teich
unseres Klosters in Passau. Selbst an diesen wilden Orten hatte
der Himmel freigebig für das Fasten der Gläubigen
gesorgt.
Ich war kurz
davor, die Aufmerksamkeit meiner Gefährten auf das
schreckliche Schauspiel zu lenken, als sich ein seltsamer Vorfall
ereignete: Auf der Wiese erschien ein junges Mädchen mit
langen goldenen Haaren, auf dem ein Kranz von Blüten ruhte.
Sie trug ein knallrotes Kleid, das mir erschien, die ganze Szene
wie eine Feuerflamme zu erhellen. Nichts in ihren Handlungen
deutete auf Angst vor der Leiche am Galgen hin; im Gegenteil, sie
rutschte barfuß durch das Gras, sang mit lauter, aber süßer
Stimme und winkte mit den Armen, um die Greifvögel, die sich
um sie versammelt hatten, zu verscheuchen, indem sie harte Schreie
aussprach und mit einem großen Beben der Flügel und dem
Schnappen der Schnäbel. Bei der Annäherung des Mädchens
flohen sie alle, bis auf einen großen Geier, der seinen
Sitzplatz am Galgen behielt und sich ihr zu widersetzen und sie zu
bedrohen schien. Sie rannte nah an die obszöne Kreatur heran,
sprang, tanzte, schrie, bis auch sie ihre breiten Flügel
ausstreckte und schwer weg flatterte. Dann hörte sie auf zu
tanzen, und, indem sie eine Position am Fuß des Galgens
einnahm, blickte sie ruhig und nachdenklich auf den schwingenden
Körper des unglücklichen Mannes.
"Kanntest du Nathaniel Alfinger?" " Nein." "Und doch bist du hergekommen, um seine Leiche vor den Hühnern zu schützen?" " Ja." "Warum tust du diesen Dienst für einen, den du nicht kennst?" "Das tue ich immer." "Wie -!" "Immer wenn jemand hier gehängt wird, komme ich und verscheuche die Vögel und lasse sie andere Nahrung finden. Siehst du - es gibt noch einen anderen Geier!" Sie schrie einen wilden, hohen Schrei aus, warf ihre Arme über ihren Kopf und lief über die Wiese, so dass ich sie für verrückt hielt. Der große Vogel flog weg, und das Mädchen kam leise zu mir zurück, und als sie ihre sonnenverbrannten Hände auf ihre Brust drückte, seufzte sie tief, wie vor Erschöpfung. Mit so viel Milde, wie ich in meine Stimme legen konnte, fragte ich sie:
"Wie ist dein Name?" " Benedicta." "Und wer sind deine Eltern?" "Meine Mutter ist tot." "Aber dein Vater - wo ist er?" Sie schwieg. Dann drängte ich sie, mir zu sagen, wo sie wohnt, denn ich wollte das arme Kind nach Hause bringen und ihren Vater ermahnen, sich besser um seine Tochter zu kümmern und sie nicht wieder an so schreckliche Orte zu lassen. "Wo wohnst du, Benedicta? Ich bitte dich, sag es mir." " Hier." "Was! Hier? Ah, mein Kind, hier ist nur der Galgen." Sie zeigte auf die Kiefern. Ich folgte der Richtung ihres Fingers und sah zwischen den Bäumen eine erbärmliche Hütte, die wie eine Siedlung aussah, die für Tiere besser geeignet war als für Menschen. Dann wusste ich es besser, als sie mir hätte sagen können, wessen Kind sie war. Als ich zu meinen Gefährten zurückkehrte und sie mich fragten, wer das Mädchen sei, antwortete ich: "Die Tochter des Henkers." |