The Wolves of Cernogatz

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　The Baroness Gruebel shrugged her plump shoulders.

　　"There are always legends hanging about these old places. They are notdifficult to invent and they cost nothing. In this case there is a storythat when any one dies in the castle all the dogs in the village and thewild beasts in forest howl the night long. It would not be pleasant tolisten to, would it?"

　　"It would be weird and romantic," said the Hamburg merchant.

　　"Anyhow, it isn't true," said the Baroness complacently; "since we boughtthe place we have had proof that nothing of the sort happens. When theold mother-in-law died last springtime we all listened, but there was nohowling. It is just a story that lends dignity to the place withoutcosting anything."

　　"The story is not as you have told it," said Amalie, the grey oldgoverness. Every one turned and looked at her in astonishment. She waswont to sit silent and prim and faded in her place at table, neverspeaking unless some one spoke to her, and there were few who troubledthemselves to make conversation with her. To-day a sudden volubility haddescended on her; she continued to talk, rapidly and nervously, lookingstraight in front of her and seeming to address no one in particular.

　　"It is not when any one dies in the castle that the howling is heard.It was when one of the Cernogratz family died here that the wolves camefrom far and near and howled at the edge of the forest just before thedeath hour. There were only a few couple of wolves that had their lairsin this part of the forest, but at such a time the keepers say therewould be scores of them, gliding about in the shadows and howling inchorus, and the dogs of the castle and the village and all the farmsround would bay and howl in fear and anger at the wolf chorus, and as thesoul of the dying one left its body a tree would crash down in the park.That is what happened when a Cernogratz died in his family castle. Butfor a stranger dying here, of course no wolf would howl and no tree wouldfall. Oh, no."

　　There was a note of defiance, almost of contempt, in her voice as shesaid the last words. The well-fed, much-too-well dressed Baroness staredangrily at the dowdy old woman who had come forth from her usual andseemly position of effacement to speak so disrespectfully.

　　"You seem to know quite a lot about the von Cernogratz legends, FrauleinSchmidt," she said sharply; "I did not know that family histories wereamong the subjects you are supposed to be proficient in."

　　The answer to her taunt was even more unexpected and astonishing than theconversational outbreak which had provoked it.

　　"I am a von Cernogratz myself," said the old woman, "that is why I knowthe family history."

　　"You a von Cernogratz? You!" came in an incredulous chorus.

　　"When we became very poor," she explained, "and I had to go out and giveteaching lessons, I took another name; I thought it would be more inkeeping. But my grandfather spent much of his time as a boy in thiscastle, and my father used to tell me many stories about it, and, ofcourse, I knew all the family legends and stories. When one has nothingleft to one but memories, one guards and dusts them with especial care. Ilittle thought when I took service with you that I should one day comewith you to the old home of my family. I could wish it had been anywhereelse."

　　There was silence when she finished speaking, and then the Baronessturned the conversation to a less embarrassing topic than familyhistories. But afterwards, when the old governess had slipped awayquietly to her duties, there arose a clamour of derision and disbelief.

　　"It was an impertinence," snapped out the Baron, his protruding eyestaking on a scandalised expression; "fancy the woman talking like that atour table. She almost told us we were nobodies, and I don't believe aword of it. She is just Schmidt and nothing more. She has been talkingto some of the peasants about the old Cernogratz family, and raked uptheir history and their stories."

　　"She wants to make herself out of some consequence," said the Baroness;"she knows she will soon be past work and she wants to appeal to oursympathies. Her grandfather, indeed!"

　　The Baroness had the usual number of grandfathers, but she never, neverboasted about them.

　　"I dare say her grandfather was a pantry boy or something of the sort inthe castle," sniggered the Baron; "that part of the story may be true."

　　The merchant from Hamburg said nothing; he had seen tears in the oldwoman's eyes when she spoke of guarding her memories--or, being of animaginative disposition, he thought he had.

　　"I shall give her notice to go as soon as the New Year festivities areover," said the Baroness; "till then I shall be too busy to managewithout her."

　　But she had to manage without her all the same, for in the cold bitingweather after Christmas, the old governess fell ill and kept to her room.

　　"It is most provoking," said the Baroness, as her guests sat round thefire on one of the last evenings of the dying year; "all the time thatshe has been with us I cannot remember that she was ever seriously ill,too ill to go about and do her work, I mean. And now, when I have thehouse full, and she could be useful in so many ways, she goes and breaksdown. One is sorry for her, of course, she looks so withered andshrunken, but it is intensely annoying all the same."

　　"Most annoying," agreed the banker's wife, sympathetically; "it is theintense cold, I expect, it breaks the old people up. It has beenunusually cold this year."

　　"The frost is the sharpest that has been known in December for manyyears," said the Baron.

　　"And, of course, she is quite old," said the Baroness; "I wish I hadgiven her notice some weeks ago, then she would have left before thishappened to her. Why, Wappi, what is the matter with you?"

　　The small, woolly lapdog had leapt suddenly down from its cushion andcrept shivering under the sofa. At the same moment an outburst of angrybarking came from the dogs in the castle-yard, and other dogs could beheard yapping and barking in the distance.

　　"What is disturbing the animals?" asked the Baron.

　　And then the humans, listening intently, heard the sound that had rousedthe dogs to their demonstrations of fear and rage; heard a long-drawnwhining howl, rising and falling, seeming at one moment leagues away, atothers sweeping across the snow until it appeared to come from the footof the castle walls. All the starved, cold misery of a frozen world, allthe relentless hunger-fury of the wild, blended with other forlorn andhaunting melodies to which one could give no name, seemed concentrated inthat wailing cry.

　　"Wolves!" cried the Baron.

　　Their music broke forth in one raging burst, seeming to come fromeverywhere.

　　"Hundreds of wolves," said the Hamburg merchant, who was a man of strongimagination.

　　Moved by some impulse which she could not have explained, the Baronessleft her guests and made her way to the narrow, cheerless room where theold governess lay watching the hours of the drying year slip by. Inspite of the biting cold of the winter night, the window stood open. Witha scandalised exclamation on her lips, the Baroness rushed forward toclose it.

　　"Leave it open," said the old woman in a voice that for all its weaknesscarried an air of command such as the Baroness had never heard beforefrom her lips.

　　"But you will die of cold!" she expostulated.

　　"I am dying in any case," said the voice, "and I want to hear theirmusic. They have come from far and wide to sing the death-music of myfamily. It is beautiful that they have come; I am the last vonCernogratz that will die in our old castle, and they have come to sing tome. Hark, how loud they are calling!"

　　The cry of the wolves rose on the still winter air and floated round thecastle walls in long-drawn piercing wails; the old woman lay back on hercouch with a look of long-delayed happiness on her face.

　　"Go away," she said to the Baroness; "I am not lonely any more. I am oneof a great old family . . . "

　　"I think she is dying," said the Baroness when she had rejoined herguests; "I suppose we must send for a doctor. And that terrible howling!Not for much money would I have such death-music."

　　"That music is not to be bought for any amount of money," said Conrad.

　　"Hark! What is that other sound?" asked the Baron, as a noise ofsplitting and crashing was heard.

　　It was a tree falling in the park.

　　There was a moment of constrained silence, and then the banker's wifespoke.

　　"It is the intense cold that is splitting the trees. It is also the coldthat has brought the wolves out in such numbers. It is many years sincewe have had such a cold winter."

　　The Baroness eagerly agreed that the cold was responsible for thesethings. It was the cold of the open window, too, which caused the heartfailure that made the doctor's ministrations unnecessary for the oldFraulein. But the notice in the newspapers looked very well--

　　"On December 29th, at Schloss Cernogratz, Amalie von Cernogratz, for manyyears the valued friend of Baron and Baroness Gruebel."