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                               COLLECTION

                                   OF

                            GERMAN AUTHORS.

                                VOL. 15.


                           *   *   *   *   *


                THE DEAD LAKE & OTHER TALES BY P. HEISE.


                             IN ONE VOLUME.






                             THE DEAD LAKE

                                  AND

                              OTHER TALES

                                   BY

                               PAUL HEYSE


                           FROM THE GERMAN BY
                                   BY
                              MARY WILSON.


                         _Authorized Edition_.




                              LEIPZIG 1870
                          BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
           LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON.
                  CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
          PARIS: C. REINWALD & Cie, 15, RUE DES SAINTS PERES.




                               CONTENTS.


      A FORTNIGHT AT THE DEAD LAKE
      DOOMED

      BEATRICE

      BEGINNING, AND END





                              A FORTNIGHT

                                   AT

                             THE DEAD LAKE.




                             THE DEAD LAKE.


Summer was at its heighth, yet in one corner of the Alps an icy cold
wind revolted against its dominion, and threatened to change the
pouring rain into snow flakes. The air was so gloomy that even a house
which stood about a hundred paces from the shore of the lake, could not
be distinguished, although it was white-washed and twilight had hardly
set in.

A fire had been lighted in the kitchen. The landlady was standing by it
frying a dish of fish, while with one foot she rocked a cradle which
stood beside the hearth. In the tap room, the landlord was lying on a
bench by the stove, cursing the flies which would not let him sleep. A
barefooted maid of all work sat spinning in a corner, and now and then
glanced with a sigh, through the dingy panes at the wild storm which
was raging without. A tall strong fellow, the farm servant of the inn,
came grumbling into the room: he shook the rain-drops from his clothes,
like a dog coming out of the water, and threw a heap of wet fishing
nets into a corner. It seemed as if the cloud of discontent and
ill-humour which hung over the house, was only kept by this moody
silence from bursting into a storm of discord and quarreling.

Suddenly the outer door opened, and a stranger's step was heard groping
through the dark passage; the landlord did not move, only the maid
rose, and opened the door of the room.

A man in a travelling suit stood at the entrance, and asked if this was
the inn of the dead lake. As the girl answered shortly in the
affirmative, he walked in, threw his dripping plaid and travelling
pouch on the table, and sat down on the bench apparently exhausted; but
he neither removed his hat heavy with rain nor laid down his walking
stick, as if intending to start again after a short rest.

The maid still stood before him, waiting for his orders, but he seemed
to have forgotten the presence of any one in the room but himself,
leant his head against the wall, and closed his eyes; so deep silence
once more reigned in the hot dark room, only interrupted by the buzzing
of the flies, and the listless sighs of the maid.

At last the landlady brought in the supper; a little lad who stared at
the stranger carried the candle before her. The landlord rose lazily
from his bench, yawned and approached the table leaving to his wife the
charge of inviting the stranger to partake of their meal. The traveller
refused with a silent shake of the head, and the landlady apologized
for the meagreness of their fare. Meat, they had none, except a few
live ducks and chickens. They could not afford to buy it, for their own
use, and now travellers never came that way, for two years ago, a new
road had been made on the other side of the mountain, and the post
which had formerly passed their inn now drove the other way. If the
weather was fine, a tourist, or a painter who wished to sketch the
environs of the lake now and then lodged with them; but they did not
spend or expect much, neither was the selling of a few fish very
profitable.

If however the gentleman wished to remain over night, he would not fare
badly. The bedrooms were just adjoining, and the beds well aired. They
had also a barrel of beer in the cellar, good Tyrolese wine, and their
spirits of gentian was celebrated. But all these offers did not tempt
the guest; he replied that he would stay for the night, and only wished
a jug of fresh water. Then he arose and without casting a single look
at the people seated round the table, and silently eating their supper,
or taking any notice of the little boy of ten, although the child made
the most friendly advances, and gazed admiringly at his gold watch
guard, which sparkled faintly in the dim light. The maid servant took
another candle from the cornice of the stove, and showed him the way to
the next room, where she filled his jug with fresh water, and then left
him to his own thoughts.

The landlord sent an oath after him. "Just their usual luck," he
grumbled, if any guest ever came to them, it was always some idle
vagrant who ordered nothing, and finally took his leave without paying
for his bed, often disappearing in company with the bedclothes. His
wife replied that it was just those folks, who regaled themselves on
all that larder and cellar could supply, and tried to ingratiate
themselves with the landlord. This gentleman was ill in mind or body,
as he neither ate nor drank. At this moment the stranger again entered
the room, and asked if he could have a boat, as he wished to fish on
the lake by torchlight, as soon as the rain had ceased.--The landlady
secretly poked her husband in the side, as if to say "Now, you see! he
is not right in the head; don't contradict him for heaven's sake."

The landlord who was fully aware of the advantage to be gained by this
singular demand, answered in his surly manner, that the gentleman could
have both his boats, though it was not the fashion in these parts to
fish at night, but if it amused him he was welcome to do so. The farm
servant would prepare the torch immediately--so saying, he made a sign
to the tall fellow who was still occupied in picking his fish bones,
and opened the door for his guest.

The rain had not ceased and the water was dashing and gushing from the
gutters. The stranger seemed insensible to any outward discomfort; he
hastily walked towards the shore, and by the light of the lantern which
the farm servant had brought with him, he examined the two boats, as if
he wished to make sure which of them was the safest. They were both
fastened under a shed, where different fishing implements were lying
under some benches. Then sending back the farm servant under some
pretext or other, he sought on the shore of the lake for a couple of
heavy stones, which he placed in the largest of the two boats.--He drew
a deep breath, and stood for a moment with his eyes fixed on the dark
water, which as far as one could see by the light of the lantern was
furrowed by the drizzling rain. The wind had ceased for a moment, the
surf foamed, and dashed round the keel of the small boats; from the
house, one could hear the monotonous sing song of the landlady who was
lulling her baby to sleep. Even this sounded melancholy, reminding more
of the cares of motherhood than of its joys, and heightened the dismal
impression made by the forsaken aspect of this corner of the world.

The stranger was just returning to the house, when he heard on the road
coming from the south, along which he had also