That journey to Elsbethstein has etched itself for ever on my soul: steep vineyards sweep down to a river which has scoured out tight curves in the valley; we careered wildly round them. In between, spread out like smooth cloth, shone the soft green of the meadows waving through the dust and glittering light. Villages flashed past, fluttering in our wake. Thoughts and fears were torn apart, blown away like autumn leaves dancing in the gale; the soul cried inaudible warnings; the senses, too weary for amazement, merely registered a blur of images.
The limousine raced up the slope towards the crumbling buttresses of Elsbethstein, skidded round in a screaming curve, which threatened to land us all in the river below, and screeched to a halt before the gate of the outer wall; its flanks seemed to heave with the effort.
We got out and entered the inner courtyard in twos. I led the way with Lipotin and the women followed slowly, trailing farther and farther behind. I turned back and saw Jane in animated conversation with the Princess whose characteristic peal of laughter rang out. I felt reassured to see them chatting happily together with no signs of any dispute.
There is little left to see of the steaming springs; they have been led into stone basins with ugly wooden huts above them. Sleepy workmen were pottering about the courtyard. We inspected everything, but there was a voice deep within me saying that all this keen interest was only a thin pretext for the quite different things which had brought us here and which we were all waiting for with concealed trepidation. As if by tacit agreement, we all began to make our way to the keep whose massive door, as at our last visit, was ajar. In my mind I was already hurrying on up the steep, dark, rotting stairs to the feeble-minded old gardener’s kitchen. And I knew why I wanted to visit him: I wanted to ask the strange old man ... Suddenly Lipotin stopped and grabbed my arm:
“Look, over there! We are spared a visit to the kitchen. Here comes our Ugolino from his tower. The lord of the dagger has seen us already.”
At the same moment we heard a faint cry from the Princess. We turned round. With a half laugh and a wave of the hand she called to us:
“Not the old madman, not now.” She turned away with Jane. We automatically followed the two ladies and caught them up. Jane had a serious look on her face; the Princess laughed and said:
“I don’t want to see him again. I find people who are not right in the head rather creepy. And he won’t give me any of his dilapidated ... kitchen utensils, will he?” It was meant as a joke, but I felt there was an undertone of injured pride or jealousy of Jane.
The old gardener was standing there by the door of the keep and seemed to be watching us in the distance. He raised his hand, as if he were waving to us. The Princess saw it and pulled her coat tighter around her, as if she felt a shiver of cold. An odd gesture on this warm, late summer’s day.
“Why have we come back to this creepy old ruin? The very stones are hostile,” I heard her murmur to herself.
“But you were in favour of it yourself,” I replied innocently. “It would be a good opportunity to ask him where he got the dagger.”
The Princess’ reply was curt:
“What do I care for the ramblings of an old fool! – – Jane, my dear, I suggest we leave these gentlemen to satisfy their curiosity whilst we find a more comfortable spot from which to admire the picturesque charms of this spooky ruin.” She took Jane by the arm and set off with her towards the gate of the courtyard.
“You want to leave already?” I asked in astonishment and Lipotin also looked rather bewildered.
The Princess nods; Jane turns to me with a strange smile:
“That’s what we’ve arranged. We are going to take a round trip together. Now, as you know, a round trip ends where it started. We’ll see ...” The wind blew away her final words.
Lipotin and I were so nonplussed that we just stood there. By the time we had come back to our senses the women were too far away to hear our objections. We hurried after them, but the Princess was already in the car and Jane about to get in. I was gripped by an inexplicable fear and called to her:
“Jane, where are you going? He waved to us. We must go and talk to him.” Somehow the words came to my lips, any words just to stop Jane.
Jane seemed to hesitate a second; she turned her face towards me and said something that I could not hear: for some reason the chauffeur revved up the car and the engine roared like some primeval monster in its death throes; the hellish racket drowned out every word. Then the car shot forward so abruptly that Jane was jolted back into the seat; the Princess pulled the door shut. I screamed over the roar of the engine:
“Jane! Don’t go! What are you ...” – it was a wild cry from the depths of my heart. But the car plunged down the track with a screech of tyres; the last thing I saw was the figure of the chauffeur leaning back from the wheel as the machine-gun fire of the exhaust faded; in the distance it looked like a glider sweeping down the precipitous slope.
I turned to Lipotin with a questioning look. He was staring after the car, eyebrows raised. His yellow face seemed fixed, like a faded mask from some past century stuck between the leather cap and coat of a twentieth-century motorist.
In mute accord we turned back to the castle courtyard. In the
