"'I once was young and fair,But my beauty's gone—ah, where?On my cheeks were roses red,And bright curls upon my head.When I was young and fair!When I was young and fair!'
"'I once was young and fair,But my beauty's gone—ah, where?On my cheeks were roses red,And bright curls upon my head.When I was young and fair!When I was young and fair!'
"I did not dispute her pretended forty years, and she now unrolled before my eyes a phase of life so varied and irregular, and yet again so full of the poetry of a vagabond existence, that Father Goethe would surely have been glad to have it to insert in 'Wilhelm Meister.' To make a short story of it, Professor Mattoni had really lovedher, when, in consequence of a mood, to her inexplicable, he transferred his affection to her fellow-actress. 'I was senseless from pain, Mademoiselle,' she threw in, 'but I governed myself. I became the most indispensable friend of Mattoni's young wife.'
"She now described this person as a dreamy creature, beautiful as a picture but quite uneducated; and the Professor, as an imperious man, who, when he failed to find in his wife the companionship of his soul's creation, treated her worse than a servant-maid. 'En vérité, Mademoiselle, she was stupid; the thickest wall would have—' And she made a gesture, as if to test withherhead whether the walls at Bütze were a match for it. 'Oh, the men, even the wisest and best of them are blinded when they love, Mademoiselle! He had received his punishment for his breach of faith toward me.'
"Then followed a description of the Mattoni household, in which Isabella Pfannenschmidt, as my informant was called, heartily interested herself. She became housekeeper for Frau Mattoni, who read novels all day long or played with her cat. The women lived in a little back room, and the Professor occupied two rooms as formerly. They received from him such scanty means of support that often they knew not how to satisfy their hunger. The troupe with which Isabella Pfannenschmidt had an engagement went away from Berlin, but she could not go with them: 'for, Mademoiselle, she and the child would have perished in dirt and misery; she was a person who would go hungry if food were not put right under her nose, rather than get up from her lazy position on the sofa, and the Professor took all his meals at a restaurant. He did not want people to find out that he had a wife and child, anyway. We dared not stir if any one was with him. Susanna's first frock was made from a cast-off red velvet dress, cut over, in which her mother once used to play queens. The father never looked at the charming child till his wife had closed her dreamy eyes forever. Then, as he went up to her bier, and his child reached out her little hand after the few scanty flowers I had bought with my last penny, he was first shaken out of the stupidity of the last few years. He knelt down with the child and prayed God to forgive him his wrong-doing! Well, good intentions are cheap, to be sure! He did give somewhat more for our household expenses, and I was enabled to dress Susanna so we could show ourselves publicly without attracting attention; he even let her have lessons, and she learned bravely. He never inquired for me, and yet I have remained true to him all these long years; it was as if my care and work were a matter of course. He had no longer a look for me, the past seemed to be wiped out from his memory; and yet I have passed my youth in sorrow for his sake, I have taken care of his wife and child, and now—now she is taken from me! What have I done to deserve this?'
"I was truly sorry for the little weeping woman, though the facts as to her age and former beauty might be somewhat different, and though her statement that he once had loved her might not be strictly true; at any rate, she had loved him as truly as a poor, weak woman's heart can love. For his sake she had loved his child, and without a murmur suffered want and hunger for her sake. And now he repaid her by taking the child away from her. Poor Isabella Pfannenschmidt, you have lived in vain! The flame which burns in your heart shines forth triumphantly over all the theatrical trumpery and baubles clinging to you, poor old Isabella! And yet it would be a pity for this child to have to breathe in that dusty, paint-scented atmosphere any longer. No, Isabella, you must go, though the heart of the once gay actress break over it.
"'Susanna will always be fond of you,' I comforted her, 'and never forget what you have done for her.'
"'Oh, that she will—that she will! She has her father's nature,' sobbed the old woman; 'she will forget me, and, what's more, she will be ashamed of me.'
"'You make a sad exposure of the child's heart, my dear,' said I reprovingly.
"She started up. 'Oh, no, no! she really is good.' she murmured, 'very good. And,' she continued, 'I shall not go very far away either, only to the nearest town. What should I do in Berlin? I should die of longing. I will hire a room in S—— and sew for money; I can embroider well, with colored wool and gold thread. And if the longing becomes too great, I can run up the highway, and if need be up here, to look at the house where she lives.'
"And now she began, amid streaming tears, to pick out one after another of the garments lying around, and to lay them in a white cloth, and in so doing caught up the little shoe on the table, and pressed the narrow sole to her cheek.
"'Don't forget the little jar of paint,' I whispered, in spite of my sympathy.
"She shook her head. 'No, no, I shall pack up everything. I will do it at once, for if she wakes I cannot say good-by. I shall go before daybreak.'
"I held out my hand to her, for I was sorry for her. 'Go away easy; the child is well off here—and may the thought console you, that it is for Susanna's best good.' I went out, and as I turned again, in closing the door, I saw in the dim light the little gypsy-like creature sitting on the floor, amid all her rubbish and trumpery, and weeping, her face buried in her hands."
"My first inquiry the next morning was for the old woman. She was gone, I learned, and the Fräulein was already with the stranger in her room. 'Anna Maria's education is beginning,' I said with a sigh, and ate my rye porridge less cheerfully than usual. Yesterday lay behind me like a confused dream, and Susanna's presence in the house oppressed me with the weight of a mountain. Soon I heard Anna Maria's metallic voice in the corridor; she was speaking French, so speaking to Susanna at all events. I caught only a few disconnected words, before she knocked at my door, and came into the room with the young girl.
"'We wish to say good-morning to you, aunt,' she began pleasantly. I gave a searching glance at Susanna; a pair of great tears still hung on her lashes, but the laugh—which was her element—lay hidden in the dimples of her cheeks and shone from her beautiful eyes, as if only waiting an opportunity to break forth.
"She wore her black travelling-dress of yesterday, but Anna Maria had tied a woollen wrap about her shoulders. In spite of that, the sight of her was like a ray of sunshine.
"'I would like to ask, Aunt Rosamond,' said Anna Maria, 'if you have some little duty for Susanna, and beg you to let her profit, in the future, by your skill in needlework. I have been examining her—she can do nothing!'
"'Certainly, Anna Maria!' I was glad to have, in a certain degree, a slight claim on the girl. 'Do you like knitting, Susanna?' I asked.
"She laughed and shook her head. 'Oh, no, no! I grow dizzy when I see knitting always round and round.'
"Anna Maria did not seem to hear this answer. 'Fräulein von Hegewitz will teach you netting and plain knitting,' she said; 'with me you shall learn to understand the mysteries of housekeeping. And now we will have breakfast, and then begin at once. Klaus has been in the field for a long time already,' she added; 'the first grass is to be cut to-day.'
"And they went. Susanna tripped along, with hanging head, behind Anna Maria. 'Is she pursuing the right method with this child?' I wondered. 'With her energy she will destroy all at once, all the results of former education; but it surely is not possible. God help her to the right way!'
"Later, as I was taking my walk through the garden, I saw Susanna coming along by the pond; she did not walk, she actually flew, with outstretched arms, as if she would press to her heart the green tops of the old trees, the golden sunshine, and all the birds singing so jubilantly to-day, and all nature. Her short skirts were flying, the woollen wrap had disappeared, and her white shoulders emerged like wax from the deep black of her dress. Indescribably charming she looked, thus rushing along; she must have escaped somehow from Anna Maria. Close by my hiding-place she stood still, and looked up at the blue sky; then, singing lightly, she stooped, picked a narcissus and fastened the white flowers in her bosom, and then put her hand into her dress pocket, and drew out something which she put quickly into her mouth, but which did not interfere with her singing, for now as she went on she trilled the words:
'Batti, batti, o bel Masettola tua povera Zerlina.'
'Batti, batti, o bel Masettola tua povera Zerlina.'
"I followed her slowly, and observed lying in the path a little object wrapped in white paper, which she had evidently lost. 'A bonbon! Well, that is the height of folly!' said I, taking it up in vexation. 'One could not expect anything different from such bringing up.' And as I unwrapped the thing, I found in it a French motto, a more sugary and frivolous one than which could scarcely have been composed in the time of Louis XIV., supposing that bonbon mottoes were known at that time. 'If Anna Maria knew of this, with her pure, maidenly mind!' I thought, shaking my head. 'Oh, Klaus, for my part, I wish your bird of paradise were in the moon, at any rate not here.' I overtook her at the next turn of the path, where there was a red thorn in the splendor of full bloom; it bent its branches almost humbly under this superabundance of rosy adornment, at which Susanna was looking admiringly.
"'Oh, how charming!' she cried, as she saw me. 'Oh, how wonderfully beautiful!' And the purest joy shone from her eyes. How did that accord with the bonbon motto?
"In that moment I resolved not to lose confidence in the girl's character, and at every opportunity to help lift the young spirit into higher regions. I have honestly striven to fulfil this promise. I may testify to it to myself—not so violently, not in so dictatorial and severe a manner as Anna Maria did I proceed; not like Klaus either. Ah, me—Klaus! Those first eight weeks in general! Ah, if I only knew how to describe the time which now followed! There is so little to say, and yet such an immense change was brought about in our house.
"Whether Susanna Mattoni ever missed her old nurse, I did not know. When she awoke on that first morning and found Anna Maria by her bed instead of the little actress, to inform her that the latter had left the house, great tears had streamed from her eyes. Anna Maria had said: 'Be reasonable, Susanna, and do not make a request that I cannot grant.' And Susanna had replied, with an inimitable mingling of childishness and pride: 'Have no fear, Fräulein von Hegewitz, I never ask a second time!'
"Anna Maria told me about it later, years afterward. Indeed, there was no slight amount of pride in that little head.
"Anna Maria began the practical education with the thoroughness peculiar to her in everything. With her iron constitution, her need of bodily activity, she had no suspicion that there were people in the world for whom such activity might be too much. Susanna had to go through kitchen and cellar, Susanna was initiated into the mysteries of the great washing, and Susanna drove with her, afternoons, in the burning heat into the fields, in order to explore the agricultural botany. Anna Maria's face showed a glimmer of happiness; she now had some one to whom she was indispensable, so she thought.
"And Klaus? Klaus had never in his life sat so constantly in his room as now; he went into the garden-parlor seldom or never, and only at mealtimes came to look into the sitting-room or out on the terrace. And then his eyes would rest on Susanna with a strange expression, anxiously and compassionately it seemed to me. He said not a word against Anna Maria's management.
"'Aunt Rosamond,' the latter said sadly to me one day, 'I fear Susanna's being here is a burden to Klaus; he is quiet, depressed, and not at all as he used to be.'
"'Whythatcause, Anna Maria?' said I. 'Klaus does seem out of humor, that is true, but may it not be something else? Farmers have a new cause for vexation every day, and are never at a loss for one.'
"'Ah, no, Aunt Rosamond!' she replied. 'There has not been the prospect of such a harvest for years; it is a pleasure to go through the fields.'
"And Susanna, the breath of whose life was laughing? She wandered about like a dreamer. How often, when she sat opposite me in the sewing-room, her hands dropped in her lap, and she went to sleep, like an overweary child. And I let her sleep, for on the pale little face the marks of the unwonted manner of life were only too perceptible. Once Klaus came into the room, as she sat there, fallen asleep, like little Princess Domröschen, only, instead of the spindle, the netting-needle in her hand. He came nearer on tip-toe, and looked at her, his arms at his sides. Then he asked softly:
"'Do you not think she looks wretchedly, aunt?'
"'The altered mode of life, Klaus,' I answered, 'the strange food, the——'
"'Say the over-exertion, aunt,' he broke in; 'that would be nearer the truth. Poor little one!'
"'Why do you not say so to Anna Maria, Klaus? I, too, think that too much is required in this early rising and continually being on the feet.'
"He grew very red, bit his lips, and shrugged his shoulders in place of an answer, and left me before I had time to speak further.
"Susanna, moreover, never uttered a word of complaint; but it would happen that Anna Maria had to seek her, seek for hours without finding her, and that Klaus very quietly remarked, 'She must have run away!' But she would appear again suddenly, with bright eyes and red cheeks, to be sure; she had gone astray in the wood, she said, or gone to sleep in the garden. Sometimes she would shut herself into her dull room, and open the door to no knocks. Once, as she pulled her handkerchief quickly out of her pocket, a paper of bonbons fell to the floor. Anna Maria, who despised all sweetmeats, confiscated it at once; I can still see the look of punishment she gave the blushing girl. We were all sitting on the terrace, just after supper; Klaus had been reading aloud from the newspaper, and this was usually a moment when Susanna waked from her dreaming; her shining eyes were fixed on Klaus, and a rosy gleam spread over the pale face. Klaus held the good old 'Tante Voss,' and read aloud every little story which alluded to Berlin; that habit was now quietly introduced, whereas he had formerly read only certain political news, that he might talk about it with Anna Maria.
"The falling bonbon package broke right into a report from the opera-house, where Sontag had sung with wild applause. Klaus let the paper drop, observed Anna Maria's look and the gesture with which she laid the unlucky package beside her, and saw Susanna's confusion.
"'Show me the package, Anna Maria,' he asked; and unwrapping one of the bonbons in colored paper, he said, 'Ah! these are miserable things indeed; they must taste splendidly!' He smiled as he said this, and the smile put Susanna beside herself.
"'I—I do not eat them at all!' she cried, 'I only have them for the little children who come to the fence there below; they are pleased with them, I know, for nothing was more beautiful to me when I was a child than a bonbon!'
"She said this so touchingly and childishly, in spite of her excitement, that Klaus begged for her hand as if in atonement.
"'Susanna, you might poison the village children with this bad stuff. I will get some other bonbons for you that will taste good to you yourself.'
"Anna Maria rose, apparently indifferent, put the dish of fragrant strawberries which she had been hulling for preserving on the great stone table, and went slowly down the steps into the garden. When she came up again, an hour had passed, and the moon appeared over the gabled roof and shone brightly into her proud face.
"'Where is Susanna?' she asked. The child had just gone down to the garden, and Klaus was smoking a pipe in peace of mind. She seated herself quietly in her place and looked out over the moonlit tree-tops into the warm summer night. Then she said suddenly:
"'May I say something to you, Klaus?'
"'Certainly, Anna Maria,' he replied.
"'Then do not give Susanna any bonbons; that is, do not contradict me so directly when I have occasion to reprove her.'
"Klaus sat bolt upright in his wooden chair. 'Anna Maria,' he began, 'I don't think you can complain of my having found fault with or revoked any regulation of yours with regard to Fräulein Mattoni; although'—he stopped, and knocked the ashes from his pipe against the flagstones.
"'Did I do anything with Susanna which displeased you?' she asked.
"But she got no answer, for just then the subject of discussion flew up the steps, and sat down again, modestly, in her place. Anna Maria rose, took a shawl from her shoulders, and wrapped it about the girl who was breathing very fast. 'You are heated, Susanna, you might take cold.' Klaus now smoked the faster, and on saying good-night held out both hands to Anna Maria; but she placed hers in them only lightly.
"Ah, yes, the first omens, slight and scarcely noticeable! Perhaps they would have escaped my eyes if I had not had, from the very first, a foreboding of coming evil. I do not know if Susanna received the promised bonbons. Probably not; and after that episode everything went on in the usual course, until there came a day full of unforeseen events, full of developments, which placed us all at once in the most dreadful entanglements.
"It was an oppressively hot day, just in the middle of the harvesting. In the court-yard and in the house a veritable deathly stillness reigned, and not even a leaf on the trees stirred under the scorching midday sun. I sat in one of the deep window-niches of the great hall which lies on the garden side of the house and opens out on the terrace. Here it was endurable, for the heat could not easily penetrate the thick walls, and the tall elms which shaded the terrace, and the wild-grape which covered it with its luxurious festoons, made a cool, green, dim light. Even now the garden-parlor is my favorite retreat during the warm weather. At that time, however, there was no carved-oak furniture here, nor was there a gay mosaic pavement on the terrace; the white varnished chairs and the couches covered with red-flowered chintz answered the same purpose, as did the worn old sandstone flags with which the terrace was paved, in whose crevices grass and all sorts of weeds sprung up picturesquely; and the heavy gray sandstone railing had quite as feudal a look as the artistic wrought-iron balustrade there now, and, to tell the truth, pleased me better. Some of us have such an affection to the old things; but that is pardonable, I think.
"So I was sitting in the garden-parlor, and growing a little dreamy, as I still like to do, and listening abstractedly to Anna Maria's voice as she went over her accounts, half aloud, in the sitting-room close by. Klaus was in the fields again, for the first wheat was to be brought in to-day, and I was waiting for Susanna to come for a sewing lesson, but in vain. She must be asleep, I thought, half content to think so, for the heat fairly paralyzed my will-power. And so a long time passed, till a heavy step sounded on the stone flags outside, and immediately after Klaus, dusty and red with heat, came in and threw himself wearily into the nearest chair.
"'Where is Susanna?' he asked, wiping his hot forehead with his handkerchief.
"'She is sleeping, probably,' I replied.
"'Are you sure of that, Aunt Rosamond?'
"'No, Klaus, but I think it may be assumed with tolerable certainty. I know her.'
"'It is strange,' he remarked; 'I could have sworn I saw her vanish in the Darnbitz pines a little while ago.'
"'For Heaven's sake!' I cried incredulously. 'Impossible! in this heat! It is half an hour's walk from here!'
"'So I said to myself; but the gait, all the motions, the small, black-robed figure—indeed, I rode across the field at once, but of course nothing was to be heard or seen then.'
"'I will wager she is sleeping quietly up-stairs in her canopied bed, or staring at the "Mischief-maker,"' said I jestingly.
"'And now, aunt,' began Klaus again, 'I have a piece of news which will please you as it has me; but I do not know if Anna Maria—But then, it is nearly three years since that painful affair!'
"As he spoke he took a letter from the pocket of his linen coat, and looking at it said: 'Stürmer is back again, indeed has been for two weeks; I do not understand——'
"At that instant something fell clattering to the floor, and in the door-way stood Anna Maria, white as a corpse. In questioning alarm her eyes were fixed on Klaus's lips. I had never seen the strong-willed girl thus. Klaus sprang up and went toward her; I heard her say only the one word 'Stürmer.'
"'He is here, Anna Maria,' replied her brother; 'does that startle you so?'
"She shook her head, but her looks belied her.
"'I have just received this note,' continued Klaus, and he read as follows:
"'My dear old Friend:"'I landed here again two weeks ago, for the longing for home finally overcame me; and when one has wandered about for three years, it is time, for various reasons, to return to the ancestral home. I come from—but I will tell you all that when I see you. I have already been twice before your door, to say good-day, but—I am meanwhile of the opinion that the past should not interfere with our old friendly relations. I certainly came off conqueror! It will not be hard for Anna Maria to receive an old friend, which I have never ceased to be, and which I shall always endeavor to remain. May I come, then? To-morrow morning, after church, I had intended to make a call, if you permit it. My compliments to the ladies."'Ever yours,"'Edwin Stürmer.'
"'My dear old Friend:
"'I landed here again two weeks ago, for the longing for home finally overcame me; and when one has wandered about for three years, it is time, for various reasons, to return to the ancestral home. I come from—but I will tell you all that when I see you. I have already been twice before your door, to say good-day, but—I am meanwhile of the opinion that the past should not interfere with our old friendly relations. I certainly came off conqueror! It will not be hard for Anna Maria to receive an old friend, which I have never ceased to be, and which I shall always endeavor to remain. May I come, then? To-morrow morning, after church, I had intended to make a call, if you permit it. My compliments to the ladies.
"'Ever yours,
"'Edwin Stürmer.'
"A deep pink flush had mounted to Anna Maria's cheeks as he read, and at the words 'I certainly came off conqueror! It will not be hard for Anna Maria to receive an old friend,' there was a quiver of pain on her delicate lips. When Klaus finished, she had quite recovered her self-possession. 'I shall be glad to see Edwin Stürmer again,' she said clearly; 'ask him to eat a plate of soup with us.'
"'That is lovely of you, Anna Maria!' cried Klaus, rejoiced. 'The poor fellow has gotten over it, it is to be hoped; meeting again for the first time is naturally somewhat painful, but you have done nothing so bad. How could you help it that he loves you, and you not him? Splendid old fellow, he——'
"Anna Maria's eyes wandered with a strange expression over the green trees outside; she kept her lips tightly closed, as if making an effort to repress a cry, and was still standing thus when Klaus sat down at the writing table near by, to answer Stürmer's note.
"'Where is Susanna?' she asked at last.
"'She must be asleep,' I replied.
"She turned and left the room.
"'Klaus,' I said, going up to him, 'it seems to me a dangerous experiment for Stürmer to return here.'
"'Why, aunt?' he asked; 'Anna Maria certainly does not love him; and he? Bah! If he were not sure of his heart, he would not come; he simply declares himself cured!'
"'Are you so sure that Anna Maria does not love him?'
"He looked at me, as if to read in my face whether or no I had lost my senses. 'I don't understand that, aunt,' he replied, shaking his head. 'If she loves him she would have married him; there was nothing in the world to hinder. For Heaven's sake, aunt, don't see any ghosts. I am so inexpressibly glad to have a man again in the neighborhood with whom one can talk about something besides the harvest and the weather.'
"Yes, yes! He was right, of course. I did not know myself at that moment how the thought had really come to me.
"And Klaus rode into the field again, and I sat waiting for Susanna; round about, the deepest silence, only a couple of flies buzzing about on the window-panes; an hour slipped away, and yet another. Why, why, the hands of the clock were pointing all at once at half-past six; I had had a nap, as ailing old maids have a right to do occasionally. The sinking sun was now peeping, deep golden, through the trees; one such impertinent ray had waked me. Had Susanna been here? I rose and went to my room, and then across to Susanna's: it was impossible that she should still be sleeping.
"No, the room was empty. The sun flooded it for a moment with a crimson light, and made it seem almost cosey; or was it the bunches of flowers all about on the tables and stands? Even the 'Mischief-maker' had a garland of corn-flowers hung over the frame, and a sunbeam falling obliquely on her full lips lit them up with a crimson light. No trace of Susanna; her black gauze fichu lay on the floor in the middle of the room; on the sofa, half-hidden in the cushions, was a note. I drew it out—old maids are allowed to be curious—and my eyes fell on a bold handwriting which, to my surprise, read as follows:
"'Three o'clock this afternoon, in the Dambitz pines!'
"How every possibility whirled through my head then! Klaus had seen aright! But who, for Heaven's sake, had written this? With whom had Susanna a meeting there! I thought and thought, and all manner of strange ideas arose in my mind, and Susanna did not come; she had never stayed away so long before. The supper-bell rang, and we three sat alone again at the table, for the first time in a long while, and worried about the girl. All the servants were questioned, and two lads sent along the Dambitz road.
"I did not know if I ought to speak of the letter. I should have liked to speak first to Susanna alone; so I decided to wait and not cause any further disturbance. Anna Maria was noticeably indifferent, and thought Susanna would certainly come soon, she had probably gone to sleep in the wood. But she must have felt an inward anxiety, for her hands trembled and her face was flushed with excitement.
"Klaus rose without having tasted anything. After a little we heard again the sound of horse's hoofs on the pavement of the court; he was riding out then to search for the missing one. Anna Maria mechanically gave her orders for next day, and I walked alone through the dusky paths in the garden. It was an unusually warm August evening; the moon was rising in the east, the steel-blue sky above was cloudless, and from the wood there came a light, refreshing breath of air. From the court came the sound of men and maids singing, as they made merry after the hot day's work. Ah! how many, many such evenings had I known here, and this one brought back to me a precious memory of my youth, with all its pleasure and all its suffering. Every tree, every bush I had known from my earliest youth. Everything which life had brought to me was associated with this little spot of ground. That feeling is known only to one who can say to himself, 'Here on this spot you were born, here will you live, and here will you die,' and it is a sweet feeling! So I sat down in perfect content on a bench at the end of the garden, and in my dim retreat rejoiced in all the beauty about me, yet at the same time worrying about Susanna. Then I suddenly heard some one talking not far from me:
"'And then don't look so sorrowful to-morrow, do you hear, Susy? And in any case wear the white dress to church to-morrow; I have my reasons for wishing it. And to-morrow afternoon I will come; it has been long enough, I can certainly come to visit you for once. And don't let out anything, darling. What will you answer if they ask you where you have been so long?'
"'Nothing at all!' answered Susanna's voice defiantly. 'I do not like to tell a lie, I shall not do it; but I shall not come to Dambitz again, it is too far away for me.'
"'Very fine!' was the reply; and I now recognized the voice of the old actress. 'I have walked about with you in my arms all night long many a time, no step was too much for me; and you will not go an hour's distance away for my sake? I think of nothing but you and your future; I devise plans and take pains to make your lot happy; I take up my abode in a wretched peasant's house with a shingle roof, and everlasting smell of the stable only to be near you; I sew my eyes and fingers sore—and you—?' And she broke out in violent sobbing, which, however, it seemed to me, made no impression upon Susanna, for she remained still as a mouse.
"'Go, Susy, be good,' the old woman began again. 'I have just given you the pretty little dress to-day; look at it by and by and see how carefully it is embroidered.' And now her voice sank to a whisper, and immediately after Susanna's little figure ran quickly from the thicket and passed close by me; she carried a white parcel in her hand, and her round hat on her arm. I could distinctly see her flashing eyes and red cheeks. I rose quickly, Imustspeak before any one else saw her. 'Susanna!' I tried to call, but the name remained on my lips; for in the path along which she flew stood, as if charmed thither, the tall figure of a man, and Klaus's deep voice sounded in my ears:
"'Susanna! Thank God!'
"Had I heard aright? They were only three simple words, words which perhaps every one would say to a person who had been missed and anxiously sought. But here a perfect torrent of passion and anxiety gushed forth, as hot and stifling as the summer night in which the words were spoken.
"I sat down again and leaned my swimming head on my hand. 'My God, Klaus, Klaus!' I stammered. 'What is to come of this? This child! Their circumstances compare so unfavorably, he cannot possibly want to marry her; what, then, draws him to her? What conflicts must arise if he really thinks of it! God preserve him from such a passion! It is surely impossible; it cannot, must not be! Oh, Susanna, that you had never come to this house!'
"And round about me whispered the night-wind in the trees; the full moon had risen golden, and bathed field and wood with a bluish light. And Susanna is so young, and Susanna is so fair! Was it, then, strange if Klaus loved her? What cared love and passion for all the considerations which I had just brought up. And their—Oh, God! what would Anna Maria say?
"And I rose, quite depressed, to go to my room and collect my thoughts. Klaus must have taken Susanna into the house long ago. Now Anna Maria would ask where she had been. And she would not answer, as often before, and Anna Maria would speak harsh words and Klaus walk restlessly about the room! Nothing of all this. As I went slowly along the path I caught sight of a dark figure on the stone bench under the linden. 'Anna Maria?' I asked myself. 'Is she waiting here for Susanna?' She looked fixedly out toward the dark country, and the moon made her face look whiter than ever.
"'Anna Maria!' I called, 'Susanna has come back!' She sprang up suddenly, hastily drawing her lace veil over her forehead; but I saw, as I came nearer, that tears were shining in her eyes.
"'Have you been anxious?' I asked, and put my arm in hers, to support myself, as we walked on.
"'Anxious?' she repeated questioningly. 'Yes—no,' she replied absently. 'Ah, you said Susanna has come? I knew perfectly well that she would, aunt, she is so fond of roving about; that comes from the vagabond blood of her mother, no doubt.'
"'Anna Maria!' I exclaimed, startled.
"'Certainly, Aunt Rose,' she repeated, 'it is in her, it ferments in her little head and shines from her eyes. So often I have noticed when she is standing by me or sitting opposite me, busied with some work, how her looks wander away, in eager impatience; how only the consciousness 'I must obey' compels her to stay still by me. Then she naturally makes use of every opportunity to rush out, to lie down under some tree and forget time and the present. Happy being, thus constituted, through whose veins runs no slow, pedantic, duty-bound blood!'
"We were standing just at the bottom of the terrace, and I involuntarily seized hold of the railing to steady myself. Was it Anna Maria who spoke such words! Was not the whole world turned upside down then? And I saw in the moonlight that her lips quivered and tears shone in her eyes. Had Anna Maria something to regret in her life? And, like a flash of lightning, Edwin Stürmer's handsome face came before my mind's eye.
"'Anna Maria,' I whispered, 'what did you say? Who—?' But I got no further, for the sound of a woman's voice fell on our ears; so full, so sweet and ringing the tones floated out on the summer night, so strangely were time and tune suited to the words, that we lingered there breathless. Anna Maria looked up toward the open window in the upper story. 'Susanna!' she said softly.
'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain.Ah, that I only could wander again!'
'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain.Ah, that I only could wander again!'
sounded down below.
"But what was the matter with Anna Maria? She fairly flew back into the garden. I stood still and waited; the singing above had ceased. 'Anna Maria!' I called. No answer. What an evening this was, to be sure! Anna Maria, who took the most serious view of the world, who hated nothing more than sentimentality and moonlight reveries, was running about in the garden, moved to tears by a little song! They were all incomprehensible to me to-day—Klaus, Susanna, and Anna Maria, but especially the latter. How could I talk to her about Susanna to-day? I had to keep my discovery to myself; the best thing I could do would be to go up myself to Susanna and ask her, for we should hardly assemble about the round table in the sitting-room this evening, and Anna Maria would hardly be in the mood to read aloud the evening prayers as usual. And Klaus? No, I would not see him at all; better to-morrow by daylight, when he would be his old self again, when his voice would have lost its sultry summer-night cadence, it was to be hoped. No more to-day, I had had enough. I should not be able to sleep, as it was.
"And so I went, like a ghost, up the moonlit steps, and stole along the corridor to Susanna's door, and knocked softly. No answer. I lifted the latch and went in. The room was lighted only by the moon, and the heavy odor of flowers came toward me; a pale ray shone just over the white pillows of the bed and fell on Susanna's face. She was fast asleep; her neck and arms glistened like marble. Should I wake her? She would surely stifle in this air. I stole past her, opened a window, and set the bunches of flowers out on the balcony. The room looked topsy-turvy, but on the sofa was spread out with evident care the toilet for to-morrow—the white dress, little shoes and stockings, even hat and hymn-book for church.
"I closed the window again softly and stole out of the girl's room. Let her sleep; in this enchanted moonlight it would be impossible to say anything reasonable, I thought. Indeed, I reproached myself afterward for not having waked her from her dreams, in order to have brought all my old maid's prose to bear against all this flower-scented poetry. But what would it have availed? For God Almighty holds in his hands the threads of human destiny. It had to be thus."
"The next morning broke as prosaic and calm as I could desire. The sun shone with obtrusive clearness into the most remote corner, and mercilessly set out everything in a dazzling light. From below, out-of-doors, I heard the sound of Anna Maria's voice, and caught something about 'string-beans for the servants' kitchen.' Klaus whistled out of the window, and immediately after I heard a dialogue concerning Waldemann (theTeckel), who was just limping across the court, having jammed his foot in the stable-door, according to the coachman's account. Klaus's voice, thank God, had not a suspicion of that weak intonation of last evening. Relieved, and smiling at my fears of yesterday, I got ready for church. If we can only get well over the first meeting with Stürmer, it may be quite a pleasant Sunday, I reasoned; I was wishing some visitor would come, that we might not be so much by ourselves.
"When our church-bell began to ring we three of the family were standing down-stairs in the sitting-room waiting for Susanna. Anna Maria looked weary and unnerved, and an old sort of expression lay about her mouth; she moved quickly and was plainly out of humor at Susanna's want of punctuality. The festal earnestness that usually pervaded her whole being in going to church was lacking to-day. 'Rieke!' she called to the housemaid, 'go to Fräulein Mattoni and ask if she will be ready soon; we are waiting for her.' The girl came back with the answer that the young lady had not quite finished her toilet, and begged the others to go on.
"'I will wait for her,' said Klaus quickly, right out of his kind, chivalrous heart, but it brought to my mind the voice of last evening.
"'You will let your old aunt limp to church alone, for the first time?' I asked jokingly.
"'Ah,pardon!' he replied at once. 'Old my aunt certainly is not yet; on that ground I might leave you; but I—may I beg the honor?' he asked, offering me his arm.
"Anna Maria walked ahead; there was something majestic in her walk, and as she stepped from the garden through the gate of the church-yard, and, walking between the rows of graves, recognized the peasants with an inclination of her fair head, kindly stroking the flaxen heads of the children, and here and there saying a friendly word to an old man or woman, all eyes followed her with reverence and admiration, while Klaus received more trusting looks, and even cheers. When in our pew in the church, she bent her head low and prayed long, and then cast a shy look toward the opposite gallery, the place of the Dambitz gentry; Dambitz had always been in the parish of Bütze, and many a happy time have the Stürmers sat on that side and the Hegewitzes on this, and listened to the simple discourse of the clergyman and bowed the head in devout humility. Those were the good old times, when the nobility led the way before the people, with the motto: 'Fear God and honor the king!'
"All at once a thrill went through Anna Maria's body, but her face looked coldly over to the Stürmer gallery; she bent her head slightly and returned a greeting. There he was standing bodily, my old favorite, and I almost nodded my head off at him and made secret signs with my handkerchief. His dark eyes sent a happy greeting across to me—Edwin Stürmer was really there.
"The clear voice with which Anna Maria joined in the singing drew my looks to her again. She sang quietly with the congregation, but a crimson flush of deep agitation lay on her face; it was evidently excessively painful to her to see him again.
"What the sermon was about on that day I cannot tell, for before the clergyman ascended the pulpit something occurred which nearly put an end to the devotions of all the small congregation and obliged me to leave the church.
"I had fixed my eyes steadily on Stürmer, as if I could not look my fill at the man's handsome curly head; and the good God surely forgave me, for I was as fond of Edwin as if he were my own child. All at once, during the singing, I saw him start and look intently across to me; and, following the direction of his gaze, I observed—Susanna. She had on a white muslin dress, her neck and arms lightly covered by the misty material; she held her hat in her hand, her black hair clustered in rich curls about her small head; a white rose was placed carelessly in her hair, and a bunch of the same flowers rose and fell on her bosom, and as white as they was her sweet face as she raised it again after a short prayer.
"Most beautiful was this young creature, but, may God forgive me! I was bitterly angry with her for being so and for coming to church dressed up as if for a ball. 'Incorrigible comedian blood,' I scolded to myself. I thanked God that Klaus could not see her from his seat, and gave Stürmer an unfriendly look because he kept looking over at our pew. All at once, as the clergyman was singing the liturgy, Susanna put her hand to her forehead, as if to grasp something there, and then sank back silently, with closed eyes, into her seat.
"I cannot tell now the exact order in which all this happened; I only remember that a chair was overturned with a loud noise, that the clergyman was silent for an instant, and that there was a movement among the congregation; at the same time Klaus left our pew, carrying out the white figure in his arms, like a feather. I rose at once to follow him. Anna Maria's head was bent low over her hymn-book; was she going to take no notice of the affair? But now she slowly rose, and went behind me down the narrow, creaking flight of steps which led up outside the church to our pew; it was provided with a wooden roof as a protection against wind and storms, and the ivy which grew over the whole church adorned it like a bridal arch with green festoons.
"Klaus was just disappearing into one of the nearest cottages, whose shining window-panes looked out like clear eyes beneath the gray shingle-roof, not at all sad at the constant view of the little church-yard. Marieken Märtens and her husband lived here; she had been in Anna Maria's service, a quick, industrious girl, but once was sent away in the utmost haste because she—but that has nothing to do with the case. Anna Maria had her brought back again at that time, and she was married from the manor-house, and since then Anna Maria and I had each held a curly brown head over the font. When there was anything going on at our house—that is, when there was extra work—Marieken came and helped.
"She was at the threshold coming to meet us already, wiping her hands on her clean apron, and pushing back her eldest child. 'She is lying on the sofa inside,' she whispered. 'Oh, the master looks pale as death from fright!' Anna Maria stepped by me into the little room; she made a sign for me to stay outside, so I sat down on the wooden stool that Marieken placed in the entry for me, and listened intently for every sound from within.
"For a little while all was still. Marieken ran in with fresh water, and then I heard Anna Maria say: 'How are you now, Susanna?'
"'Go back to church quite easy,' came the reply; 'it was a momentary weakness. I am very sorry to have given you such anxiety and trouble.' And the next moment the girl was standing on the threshold, a crimson blush overspreading her whole face, and without noticing me at all, she flew to the outside door and across the church-yard; her fluttering white dress appeared again for an instant in the frame of the gateway leading to our garden; then she had vanished like an apparition.
"Shaking my head, I rose to go into the little room and hear what was to be done now. But I sat down again, almost stunned at the sound of Klaus's voice, which came out to me so crushingly cold and clear:
"'I should like to ask you, Anna Maria, to occupy the girl hereafter in some way better suited to her; this swoon was the natural effect of constant over-exertion.'
"I could not picture Anna Maria to myself at this moment, for Klaus had never used such a tone to her before. My old heart began to beat violently from anxiety. 'It is here! It is here!' I said to myself. 'Yes, it had to come!'
"'I think this swoon is rather a consequence of Susanna's running about too much in the fearful heat yesterday,' she replied coldly. 'However, as you wish; I will leave it entirely to you to decide what occupation is most fitting for Susanna Mattoni.'
"'Great heavens! Anna Maria, do you not understand?' Klaus rejoined, almost imploringly. 'Look at the girl: she is delicate and accustomed to the easy life of a large city, never to a regular life. I beg you not to take it amiss, it is my opinion and——'
"'I am sorry that I have made such a mistake,' Anna Maria interrupted, icily. 'I have tried to do my best for this unfortunate child, who has grown up in most wretched circumstances. I wanted to make a capable, housewifely maiden of her, but I see myself that such miserable comedian blood is not to be improved, and I ask you now only for one thing——'
"She broke off. What would come now? I looked about me in horror to see if any one were listening. But Marieken was clattering about with her pots and pans in the kitchen, and the children were playing before the outside door.
"'That you will not require me to endure this frivolous creature, this frippery and finery, this trifling, flighty being. I have an unspeakable aversion to her,' she concluded.
"'So that is your confession of faith, Anna Maria?' asked Klaus, and his voice sounded angry. 'I tell you Susanna Mattoni remains here in the family. I will have it, for a sacred promise binds me, and I hope that you will never let her feel what you think of her. Her light-mindedness, her unsteadiness, and all the faults which you have just cited, cannot be laid to her charge, for from her youth up she has never learned to recognize them as faults. Of frivolity, moreover, I have no evidences, for a couple of bonbons do not seem to me sufficient proof.'
"'I cannot act contrary to my convictions,' returned Anna Maria, 'and if I am no longer to educate Susanna as I think well for her, you had better find another place for her.'
"I had sprung up and laid hold of the door-handle; for Heaven's sake! there would be a quarrel. But the storm had already drawn near.
"'Susanna is to remain, I tell you!' thundered Klaus. 'Do you quite forget who is master of the house? It appears to me I have let you go on for years in an immeasurable error, in letting you govern uncontrolled, and assenting to all your arrangements. It is time for you to remember whose place it is to decide matters at Bütze.'
"Merciful Heaven! My knees trembled; how was this to end? And now there was no sound there within; only the low singing of the young wife was heard from the kitchen, where she was rocking her youngest child to sleep; and I stole softly away from the door and sat down on the wooden bench before the house. Over the quiet, green graves in the church-yard lay a Sunday calm, only a light breath of wind rustled in the tall trees. Over in the little church the sermon was just finished, the sermon for the fifth Sunday after Trinity. The sound of the organ and singing of the congregation floated across to me, and my lips repeated the words: