The Breaking of the Storm, Vol. I.Spielhagen, Friedrich
General
The Breaking of the Storm, Vol. I.
Spielhagen, Friedrich
Fiction
Was it an enchantment? He had seen more beautiful women without being
so struck with their appearance: he had thought himself in love,
perhaps had loved, but never at first sight; bit by bit the feeling had
grown--but here it had come upon him like a storm, like a whirlwind,
which threw all his sailing-gear into confusion, and gave no time for
reefing and tacking, tore down masts and rigging, made all steering of
the ship impossible, and tossed the helpless wreck from wave to wave.
What business had he, a stranger to the sphere in which she moved, to
be thinking of such things? Were not these foolish aimless fancies
childish even in his own eyes? Was he now to make himself ridiculous to
other eyes, perhaps to hers? Had he not already done so when he
unresistingly obeyed her command? Would she not say to him scornfully:
"I only wanted to see if you really were such a helpless, poor-spirited
fool"?
Strange! that now, just now, the most terrible moment of his life
should recur to his memory, when, riding alone through the Cordilleras
from Santiago to Mexico, he was taken prisoner by Indians between
Mazatlan and Inpic, forced to ride at full speed through mountain
gulleys, away from the track into the desert, with the fear that the
end of the ride might be a couple of shots, and a bleeding corpse
falling from the saddle, and writhing in the last death-agony on the
dried-up grass.
The only apparent chance of escaping with his life lay in the absolute
obedience with which he complied with every order of the Indians, and
yet he found it easier to resolve to extinguish that last ray of hope,
and begin the mad struggle for freedom, than any longer to endure the
shame of being in the power of these wretches. But a man can snatch
from his holsters a pistol, overlooked by the robbers, and, setting
spurs to his horse, plunge from the steep path down the sides of the
ravine, so as at least to die in his own fashion; while he cannot jump
from the seat of a smart dog-cart, into which he has climbed at the
command of a pretty girl, and take refuge in the forest, even if the
fine gentleman sitting beside him had no objection to such a flight,
and would merely laugh at it.
"Here we are!" said the Count.
They had come to an opening in the forest, in the centre of which stood
a stately building, flanked as it seemed with towers, and whose windows
were brightly illuminated. The carriages rolled quickly over the smooth
approach, and stopped at the entrance, from which several servants now
came forward, to assist the visitors to alight.
CHAPTER VIII.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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