Selected Prose of Heinrich Von Kleist by Heinrich von Kleist Page B

Doubting her memory, she put her hand to her head and asked Toni: “Where in Heaven’s name could I have put the letter the stranger gave me?” After a moment’s silence, during which she looked down at the floor, Toni replied: “As I recall, the stranger took it back and tore it up in our presence in his room!” The mother gave the girl a puzzled look: “I’m quite sure I remember him handing me the letter and my putting it in that cupboard for safekeeping!” But after rummaging through all the shelves and still not finding it, not trusting her memory, on account of several such apparent lapses, she finally had no other recourse but to believe her daughter’s recollection. In the meantime, busying herself with other tasks, she could not hide her considerable vexation, muttering that the letter would have been of the greatest importance to the Negro Hoango, as it would have enabled them to lure the entire family to the plantation. At lunch and again at suppertime, as Toni served the stranger his meal, Babekan, who kept him company at table, took advantage of the opportunity to ask after the letter; but as soon as the talk turned to this dangerous issue, Toni managed skillfully to deflect or muddle the conversation, such that the mother was unable to make hide or hair of the stranger’s explanation concerning the letter. And so the day went by; after the evening meal, Babekan locked the stranger’s door, for his safety, she assured him; and after hashing out with Toni by what ruse she might lay her hands on such a letter the next day, she retired for the night and likewise told her daughter to go to bed.
    But as soon as Toni got to her room and assured herself that hermother was sound asleep, having longed for this moment, she took the painting of the Holy Virgin from where it hung on the wall beside her bed, set it on a chair, and knelt down before it with folded hands. In a fervent prayer, she implored, her godly Son, the Savior, to grant her the courage and perseverance to confess to the young man, her betrothed, all the crimes that burdened her young bosom. She swore not even to hide from him, however painful it might be to reveal, her merciless and terrible intent when she lured him into the house the previous day; but for the sake of the things she’d done since then to save him, she begged him to forgive her and to take her with him to Europe as his faithful wife. Feeling wonderfully fortified by this prayer, she rose, and reaching for the pass key to every room in the house, slowly made her way in the dark down the narrow corridor that ran through the middle of the house, feeling her way toward the stranger’s room. Quietly she unlocked the door and walked over to his bed, where he lay fast asleep. The moon lit up his radiant face, and the night wind that wafted through the open window played with the hair on his forehead. She gently leaned over him and whispered his name, inhaling his sweet breath; but he was preoccupied by a deep dream of which she appeared to be the object: for several times she heard his feverish, fluttering lips whisper back, “Toni!” Overcome by an indescribable wistfulness, she could not bring it upon herself to tear him out of his sweet heavenly illusions down into a mundane and miserable reality; and convinced that he would awaken sooner or later of his own accord, she knelt down beside his bed and covered his precious hand with kisses.
    But who can describe the horror that gripped her breast moments later upon suddenly hearing the sound of people, horses and rattlingarms in the courtyard, and clearly recognizing among them the voice of the Negro Congo Hoango, unexpectedly returned with his entire band from General Dessalines’ encampment. Careful to avoid being seen in the moonlight, she scrambled for cover behind the window curtains, and already heard her mother informing Hoango of everything that happened while he was gone,