Conscious that, as a serf, not even the
provocation which he had received would be allowed as a justification
of his conduct, he hastily collected together what money he could lay
his hands upon, and, as we were then in the depth of winter, he put
his horses to the sleigh, and taking his children with him, he set
off in the middle of the night, and was far away before the tragical
circumstance had transpired. Aware that he would be pursued, and that
he had no chance of escape if he remained in any portion of his native
country (in which the authorities could lay hold of him), he continued
his flight without intermission until he had buried himself in the
intricacies and seclusion of the Hartz Mountains. Of course, all that
I have now told you I learned afterwards. My oldest recollections are
knit to a rude, yet comfortable cottage, in which I lived with my
father, brother, and sister. It was on the confines of one of those
vast forests which cover the northern part of Germany; around it were
a few acres of ground, which, during the summer months, my father
cultivated, and which, though they yielded a doubtful harvest, were
sufficient for our support. In the winter we remained much in doors,
for, as my father followed the chase, we were left alone, and the
wolves, during that season, incessantly prowled about. My father
had purchased the cottage, and land about it, of one of the rude
foresters, who gain their livelihood partly by hunting, and partly
by burning charcoal, for the purpose of smelting the ore from the
neighbouring mines; it was distant about two miles from any other
habitation. I can call to mind the whole landscape now: the tall pines
which rose up on the mountain above us, and the wide expanse of forest
beneath, on the topmost boughs and heads of whose trees we looked down
from our cottage, as the mountain below us rapidly descended into the
distant valley. In summertime the prospect was beautiful; but during
the severe winter, a more desolate scene could not well be imagined. "I said that, in the winter, my father occupied himself with the
chase; every day he left us, and often would he lock the door, that we
might not leave the cottage. He had no one to assist him, or to take
care of us--indeed, it was not easy to find a female servant who would
live in such a solitude; but, could he have found one, my father would
not have received her, for he had imbibed a horror of the sex, as the
difference of his conduct towards us, his two boys, and my poor little
sister, Marcella, evidently proved. You may suppose we were sadly
neglected; indeed, we suffered much, for my father, fearful that we
might come to some harm, would not allow us fuel, when he left the
cottage; and we were obliged, therefore, to creep under the heaps of
bears'-skins, and there to keep ourselves as warm as we could until he
returned in the evening, when a blazing fire was our delight. That my
father chose this restless sort of life may appear strange, but the
fact was that he could not remain quiet; whether from remorse for
having committed murder, or from the misery consequent on his change
of situation, or from both combined, he was never happy unless he
was in a state of activity. Children, however, when left much to
themselves, acquire a thoughtfulness not common to their age. So it
was with us; and during the short cold days of winter we would sit
silent, longing for the happy hours when the snow would melt, and the
leaves burst out, and the birds begin their songs, and when we should
again be set at liberty. "Such was our peculiar and savage sort of life until my brother Caesar
was nine, myself seven, and my sister five, years old, when the
circumstances occurred on which is based the extraordinary narrative
which I am about to relate. "One evening my father returned home rather later than usual; he had
been unsuccessful, and, as the weather was very severe, and many feet
of snow were upon the ground, he was not only very cold, but in a very
bad humour. He had brought in wood, and we were all three of us gladly
assisting each other in blowing on the embers to create the blaze,
when he caught poor little Marcella by the arm and threw her aside;
the child fell, struck her mouth, and bled very much. My brother ran
to raise her up. Accustomed to ill usage, and afraid of my father,
she did not dare to cry, but looked up in his face very piteously. My father drew his stool nearer to the hearth, muttered something
in abuse of women, and busied himself with the fire, which both my
brother and I had deserted when our sister was so unkindly treated. A
cheerful blaze was soon the result of his exertions; but we did not,
as usual, crowd round it. Marcella, still bleeding, retired to a
corner, and my brother and I took our seats beside her, while my
father hung over the fire gloomily and alone. Such had been our
position for about half-an-hour, when the howl of a wolf, close under
the window of the cottage, fell on our ears. My father started up, and
seized his gun: the howl was repeated, he examined the priming, and
then hastily left the cottage, shutting the door after him. We all
waited (anxiously listening), for we thought that if he succeeded in
shooting the wolf, he would return in a better humour; and although
he was harsh to all of us, and particularly so to our little sister,
still we loved our father, and loved to see him cheerful and happy,
for what else had we to look up to? And I may here observe, that
perhaps there never were three children who were fonder of each other;
we did not, like other children, fight and dispute together; and if,
by chance, any disagreement did arise between my elder brother and me,
little Marcella would run to us, and kissing us both, seal, through
her entreaties, the peace between us. Marcella was a lovely, amiable
child; I can recall her beautiful features even now--Alas! poor little
Marcella." "She is dead then?" observed Philip. "Dead! yes, dead!--but how did she die?--But I must not anticipate,
Philip; let me tell my story. "We waited for some time, but the report of the gun did not reach us,
and my elder brother then said, 'Our father has followed the wolf, and
will not be back for some time. Marcella, let us wash the blood from
your mouth, and then we will leave this corner, and go to the fire and
warm ourselves.' "We did so, and remained there until near midnight, every minute
wondering, as it grew later, why our father did not return. We had
no idea that he was in any danger, but we thought that he must have
chased the wolf for a very long time. 'I will look out and see if
father is coming,' said my brother Caesar, going to the door. 'Take
care,' said Marcella, 'the wolves must be about now, and we cannot
kill them, brother.' My brother opened the door very cautiously, and
but a few inches; he peeped out.--'I see nothing,' said he, after a
time, and once more he joined us at the fire.