The Wolves of Cernogratz

by Saki

"Are there any old legends about the castle?" Conrad asked his sister. Conrad was a wealthy Hamburg businessman, but he was also the one member of his entirely practical family who had an interest in anything that did not concern money.

Mrs. Gruebel shrugged her plump shoulders.

"There are always legends about these old places. They are not difficult to invent and they cost nothing. In this case, there is a story that when anyone dies in the castle the dogs in the village and the wild animals in the forest howl all night long. It wouldn’t be very pleasant to listen to, would it?"

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

"Anyhow, it isn't true," said Mrs. Gruebel. "Since we bought the place we’ve had proof that nothing like that happens. When my old mother-in-law died last spring we all listened, but there was no howling. It’s just a story that adds mystery to the place without costing anything."

"The story is not as you have told it," said Amalie, the grey old tutor. Everyone turned and looked at her in astonishment. She usually sat silent and prim and faded at the table, never speaking unless someone spoke to her, and there were very few people who bothered to make conversation with her. Today she was suddenly talkative; she continued to speak, quickly and nervously, looking straight in front of her and not seeming to address anyone in particular.

"It’s not when anyone dies in the castle that the howling is heard. It was when one of the Cernogratz family died here that the wolves came from far and wide and howled at the edge of the forest just before the hour of death. There were only a couple of wolves that stayed in this part of the forest, but at times like these the servants say there would be a hundred of them, moving about in the shadows and howling, and the dogs of the castle and the village and all the farms around would howl in fear and anger at the wolf chorus, and as the soul 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. But for a stranger dying here, of course, no wolf would howl and no tree would fall. Oh, no."

There was a note of contempt in her voice as she said the last words. The well-fed, much too well-dressed Mrs. Gruebel stared angrily at the old woman who had spoken so disrespectfully.

"You seem to know quite a lot about the von Cernogratz legends, Miss Schmidt," she said sharply. "I did not know that family history was a subject you were supposed to be an expert in."

The old lady’s answer was even more unexpected and astonishing than the words which had caused it.

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

"You a von Cernogratz? You!" came a disbelieving chorus.

"When we became very poor," she explained, "and I had to go out and give lessons, I took another name. I thought it would be more appropriate. But my grandfather spent much of his time as a boy in this castle, and my father used to tell me many stories about it, and, of course, I knew all the family legends and stories. When one has nothing left except memories, one guards them with special care. I never thought when I began to work with you that I would one day come to my old family home. I wish it had been anywhere else."

There was silence when she finished speaking and then Mrs. Gruebel turned the conversation to a more comfortable topic than family histories. But afterwards, when the old tutor had gone away quietly, there was a loud voicing of disbelief.

"It was rude," shouted out Mr. Gruebel, his eyes showing outrage. "Imagine the woman talking like that at our table. She almost told us we were nobodies, and I don't believe a word of it. She is just Schmidt and nothing more. She has been talking to some of the peasants about the old Cernogratz family and repeated their history and their stories."

"She wants to pretend she is important," said Mrs. Gruebel. "She knows she will soon be too old to work and she wants to make us feel sorry for her. Huh, her grandfather!"

Mrs. Gruebel had the usual number of grandfathers but she never, never boasted about them.

"I dare say her grandfather was a kitchen boy or something like that in the castle," laughed Mr. Gruebel. "That part of the story may be true."

The businessman from Hamburg said nothing. He had seen tears in the old woman's eyes when she spoke of guarding her memories or, perhaps because he was imaginative, he thought he had.

"I shall give her notice as soon as New Year is over," said Mrs. Gruebel. "Till then I shall be too busy to manage without her."

But she had to manage without her because, in the cold weather after Christmas, the old tutor fell ill and stayed in her room.

"It is most annoying," said Mrs. Gruebel, as her guests sat round the fire on one of the last evenings of the old year. "All the time that she has been with us I cannot remember that she was ever seriously ill, too ill to do her work, I mean. And now, when I have the house full, and she could be useful in so many ways, she gets sick. I am sorry for her, of course, she looks so withered and small, but it is extremely annoying all the same."

"Most annoying," agreed the banker's wife, sympathetically; "it is the intense cold, I expect, it affects old people most. It’s been unusually cold this year."

"The cold is the worst we’ve known in December for many years," said Mr. Gruebel.

"And, of course, she is quite old," said Mrs. Gruebel; "I wish I had given her notice some weeks ago, then she would have left before this happened to her. Why, Wappi, what’s the matter with you?"

The small dog had jumped suddenly down from its chair and crept under the sofa. At the same moment an angry barking came from the dogs in the yard and other dogs could be heard barking in the distance.

"What is disturbing the animals?" asked Mr. Gruebel.

And then the humans, listening carefully, heard the sound that had excited the dogs to fear and rage; heard a long howl, rising and falling, seeming at one moment miles away, at others moving across the snow until it appeared to come from the castle walls. All the starved, cold misery of a frozen world, all the hunger of the wild seemed concentrated in that howling. "Wolves!" cried Mr. Gruebel.

"Hundreds of wolves," said the Hamburg businessman, who was a man of strong imagination.

Moved by some impulse which she could not have explained, Mrs. Gruebel left her guests and made her way to the narrow, cheerless room where the old tutor lay watching the hours of the closing year pass by. In spite of the cold of the winter night, the window stood open. Angrily, Mrs. Gruebel rushed forward to close it.

"Leave it open," said the old woman in a voice that, although weak, had an authority that Mrs. Gruebel had never heard before from her lips.

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

"I am dying in any case," said the voice, "and I want to hear their music. They have come from far and wide to sing the death-music of my family. It is beautiful that they have come. I am the last von Cernogratz that will die in our old castle and they have come to sing to me. Listen, how loudly they are calling!"

The cry of the wolves rose on the still winter air and floated round the castle walls in long painful howls. The old woman lay in her bed with a look of long-delayed happiness on her face.

"Go away," she said to Mrs. Gruebel. "I am not lonely anymore. I am one of a great old family . . . "

"I think she is dying," said Mrs. Gruebel when she had re-joined her guests; "I suppose we must send for a doctor. And that terrible howling! I would not die with that noise for any amount of money." “That noise cannot be bought with money,” said the Hamburg businessman.

"Listen! What's that other sound?" asked Mr. Gruebel, as a crashing noise was heard.

It was a tree falling in the park.

There was a moment of nervous silence, and then the banker's wife spoke.

"It is the extreme cold that is splitting the trees. It’s also the cold that has brought the wolves out in those large numbers. It’s many years since we have had such a cold winter."

Mrs. Gruebel quickly agreed that the cold was responsible for these things. It was the cold of the open window, too, which caused the heart attack which made the doctor unnecessary for the old lady. But the notice in the newspapers looked very good:

"Amalie von Cernogratz, for many years the dear friend of Mr. and Mrs. Gruebel, died on December 29th at Castle Cernogratz."