The company had all assembled, and were gradually finding their way from the close rooms into the garden, where the superb afternoon attracted them all. The elderly ladies and gentlemen walked up and down in the shady avenues, or inspected the superb greenhouses; the younger people tried to arrange games on a beautiful lawn, which was partly overshadowed by old, broad-branching trees; and from a corner in the park, where a shooting-gallery had been improvised, firing was heard at intervals. Melitta remembered the adage, that the reputation of young women is made by old women, and thought that as she intended to enjoy a certain degree of liberty at the ball, she had better pay for it now by a few small sacrifices; she joined therefore a party of old ladies, the Countess Grieben, the Baroness Trantow, and others. Oswald had at first joined the young people, to whom Langen had introduced him, and had helped to arrange some games which he had known in the capital, and which he adapted skilfully to the exigencies of the day. The company had met his suggestions with universal applause, and he was on the high way of becoming eminently popular. But when he saw that Melitta would not join the circle in which he was, he availed himself of a suitable opportunity to escape. Langen had followed him, and overtook him in a narrow path between two rows of bushes, where Oswald enjoyed the innocent pleasure of picking gooseberries.
"God be thanked!" said Langen, following Oswald's example and plundering a currant-bush, which hung full of blood-red clusters. "We have escaped that horror! Curses be upon the man who invented social games! Are the gooseberries ripe?"
"Delicious!"
"You must pay me a visit soon. My estate is only an hour or so from Grenwitz. My wife, who has presented me a few weeks ago with a beauty of a little girl, and who is not yet strong enough to go to large parties, will be glad to make your acquaintance. If you will fix a day, I will send my carriage for you."
"I accept your invitation with pleasure," said Oswald, who was almost put to shame by this extraordinary kindness on the part of a man from that class which he denounced so severely. "Suppose we say next Sunday?"
"You are always welcome. If you would like to bring the boys, do so; I have a couple of ponies, which the boys will like better than Nepos and Ovid together.--Ah me!Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim!There comes the Countess Grieben at the head of her staff.Sauve qui peut!"
The young men slipped into another garden walk which crossed the first at right angles, and were soon beyond the reach of the ladies' eyes. Oswald, for his part, would have liked to stay, for he had noticed Melitta in the "staff," and had hoped to catch a look in passing; but he considered it his duty not to abandon his new friend, who had shown himself so very amiable during the whole afternoon.
"You do not seem to be very fond of society. Baron Langen," he said, smiling at the hurry of the young man.
"That society--no! I was brought up in almost absolute solitude. My father, who is not very wealthy, sacrified society to the interest of his children. Then I was sent to school. I should have liked to go to a university, but my father needed me on the farm, especially as he grew older and could not do as much as formerly himself. Since then my good father has left us, and I have hardly ever been away from thepaterna rura. Are you anything of a sportsman?"
"No; I have never yet had an opportunity to cultivate the Nimrod talent, which no doubt is quietly slumbering somewhere in my nature."
"Oh! that is a pity. But that will come. We have excellent sport: wild-fowl and hares. You ought at first to practise a little with the pistol. One learns to take aim and to have a steady hand."
"Well, pistol-shooting I have practised perhaps too much in my life," replied Oswald. "My father, a teacher of languages and a very peaceful man, had a real passion for pistol-shooting; it was his only amusement. He shot as I have never seen anybody shoot, with marvellous skill. I have never found out what could have given him such a passion for it. Once I thought I would ask him about it. I shall never forget the tone in which he answered; 'There was a time when I hoped I should be able to kill a man who had mortally offendedhim. When I was perfectly sure of my aim--the man died. Since then I fancy I am firing at him; every ace of spades which my ball hits is his false, cruel heart.' I begged him to give me the name of the man. 'That I cannot do,' he answered; 'but if you choose to have your share in my feelings--take it for granted that the ace of spades is the heart of some nobleman or other.'"
"Mon Dieu!" said Langen; "and have you really inherited this fanatic hatred against my caste from your father?"
"Only partially," said Oswald, "as I have only inherited a part of his skill in pistol-shooting.--Shall we go for a moment to the stand? I judge from the sound we must be quite near."
"Bravo, bravo!" cried a number of voices from there; "Cloten, I bet on you."
"I bet on Breesen," said another voice.
They found at the stand half a dozen gentlemen perhaps, all greatly excited, with the exception of Baron Oldenburg, who, leaning against his tree, and his hands in his pockets, looked at the marksmen and hummed stanzas from the Marseillaise through his teeth.
"Bravo, Cloten. Again the bull's-eye--the fellow shoots like the devil!" cried several voices.
"Has anybody else a desire to bet?" said Cloten, looking all around with a wonderfully self-complacent air.
"I should like to bet, if you please," said Oswald.
"You?" said the dandy, with a look of speechless surprise.
"I bet a sovereign on the gentleman," said Oldenburg, grinning. "Who will take it?"
"Done! Done!" cried several voices.
"I take it all!" said Oldenburg, who seemed to enjoy the joke of the thing highly.
"Our bets have been a dollar so far--does that suit you?" said Cloten to Oswald.
"Of course."
"But Doctor Stein does not know the pistols," said Langen; "and Cloten has no doubt become quite familiar with them. That is hardly fair."
"If it was only a question of money," said Oswald, "I should try. But as others choose to bet on my shooting, I should like to have a trial shot first."
"Of course," said Breesen; "that is a matter of course," cried Baron Barnewitz.
"Won't help him much," said Cloten, in a low tone.
"Do you see that pine cone up there, Baron Langen?" said Oswald, when they had handed him a loaded pistol; "that one at the extreme end of the branch?"
"Yes; but that is at least fifty feet."
"Never mind. These pistols look as if they would be safe even at a greater distance."
Oswald raised his pistol. All eyes were intently gazing at the pine cone.
"Ah, yes!" said Oswald, dropping his pistol again. "Would you have the kindness. Baron Barnewitz, to introduce me to the gentleman who has been pleased to form so good an opinion of my skill?"
"Quite forgot. Beg ten thousand pardons. Baron Oldenburg--Doctor Stein."
"Ah, Baron Oldenburg," said Oswald, lifting his hat with his left hand. "I hope you see the pine cone, baron."
"Quite distinctly!" replied Oldenburg, bowing politely.
Oswald raised his pistol once more, aimed a second--the pine cone came down, shattered to pieces.
"Famous!" cried Baron Barnewitz. "Cloten, you have found your master."
"Nous verrons!" said Cloten. "You have the first fire, Doctor."
Oswald took the other pistol and fired, almost without taking aim.
"Centre!" cried the servant at the target, making a bow to the marksman before putting a patch on the hole.
"Cloten, pay forfeit!" cried Oldenburg, jingling money in his pocket.
"Centre!" was heard once more from the target
"You see?" said Cloten, handing his pistol to another servant to be loaded again.
"I think we had better take another aim or a greater distance," said Oswald; "with a bull's-eye the size of a dollar, and only forty feet off, Baron Cloten and I will have to fire a long time before the match is decided. Are there any cards to be had?"
"I am content," said Cloten.
"Have you any cards, Frederick?" Baron Barnewitz asked.
"Yes, sir!"
"Take away the target and nail an ace of spades against the tree!"
"Of course, we shall only count the balls that pierce the ace itself, or at least touch it," said Oswald.
"Of course!" said Cloten.
"Now the thing is fairly under way," said young Breesen, and rubbed his hands with delight.
"Cloten, pay forfeit," said Oldenburg once more, and sang through his teeth:
"Pine cones--ace of hearts--Why, my love, why, it smarts?Is it hatred--is it love?"
"Pine cones--ace of hearts--Why, my love, why, it smarts?Is it hatred--is it love?"
Cloten aimed carefully, but whether the new aim disturbed him, or his hand had become nervous, his ball only grazed the upper edge of the card. Oswald stepped forward, his eye took in the whole number of noblemen who surrounded him. "Take it for granted that the ace of spades is the heart of some nobleman or other," he heard a well-known voice whisper.... He fired, and in the place of the ace there was a hole a little smaller than his ball.
"Console yourself, Cloten," said Oldenburg. "'Non semper arcum tendit Apollo'--that means: failures must come."
"Really superb," said Baron Barnewitz, showing the card to the company; "the ace cut out clean."
"Do you wish your revenge, Baron Cloten?" asked Oswald.
"No, thank you, some other time. Feel my hand is not quite steady to-day."
"Why did you not pay forfeit, Cloten?" laughed Oldenburg, pocketing the money he had won.
"Here they are! here they are!" said suddenly a dozen girls' voices, and from behind the shrubbery which separated the shooting-gallery from the path there appeared Emily von Breesen, her cousin Lisbeth von Meyen, and one of the three Misses Nadelitz, like so many white butterflies.
"You are nice gentlemen--spoilers of fun--instantly you come back with us!" said one after another.
"Surely, you might do something better, Adolphus, than to spend the whole afternoon here with your stupid firing," said Emily to her brother.
"He must come, too," cried Lisbeth, "we take them all captive. You, Emily, take the doctor, you are the strongest and he is the leader--Natalie, Natalie, hold Baron Langen! he wants to run away."
"Gentlemen!" said Oswald, "resistance would be high treason!--Ladies! we surrender unconditionally," and he offered Emily von Breesen his arm.
The two other gentlemen followed his example, and the three handsome couples ran off laughing.
"An elopement inoptima forma," grinned Oldenburg.
"I suppose we had better go too," said Barnewitz, "for I fear if we were to wait till the young ladies come for us we would have to wait forever."
"Allons, enfants de la patrie!" sang Oldenburg, in the falsest possible tone, and with a voice which sounded very much like the crowing of a hoarse rooster on a rainy day, and took Cloten under the arm.
"Cloten,mon brave, we are growing old," he said, as they were walking towards the house, a little behind the others. "If we do not make haste to get married we shall lose all our prospects of conjugal happiness, legitimate paternity, and a speedy death. Amen!"
"Ah, nonsense! Baron, you are at least five years older than I am."
"That did not prevent the young ladies from treating us both like dogs."
"That little Emily is a prodigiously pretty little girl."
"Si, signore, and what eyes she made the doctor! Great, big, gray eyes, full of love! At sixteen that is doing well."
"Wretched doll-baby."
"Who? Miss Emily?"
"Ah! that man, the doctor."
"Ah, indeed! Did I not tell you so? The girls are crazy about him. And how the man shoots! Cloten! I should not like to stand at ten feet distance from him, with the seconds behind us?"
"Ah! Thank you! Don't fight with a man of low birth. Too unfair. Don't you think so, baron?"
"Perhaps the man owes his life to a visit of the sons of heaven to the daughters of earth?"
"What does that mean?"
"Don't you know that was the way before Abraham to speak of the children of nobles who had married beneath their rank?"
"No, never heard of it before! Sons of heaven? famous! Generally, Holy Writ too severe for me. Just imagine, baron--that idea--all men from a single pair! Nobles and not nobles!--Nonsense, impossible, ridiculous! Always thought Holy Writ must have been translated by men of low birth. Always annoyed when old tutor explained it otherwise."
"Cloten," said Oldenburg, standing still and placing his hand on his companion's shoulder. "Cloten! You are a great man. That thought is worthy of the deepest thinker of all ages!"
"Ah, pshaw!--are you in earnest, baron, or are you trying to chaff me again?"
"My dear Cloten," said Oldenburg, passing his arm again under the arm of his companion and continuing on his way; "let me tell you once for all, I am invariably and terribly in earnest in all I say, and the subject of which we were speaking is really of such immense importance that it won't bear joking. Hear then--but you must not make any improper use of what I am going to say--Cloten."
"Certainly not--parole d'honneur!"
"Hear then, that the same question which your genius has answered in an instant with unfailing tact, has occupied my mind for years. I also said to myself: The distinction between nobles and not nobles is not a mere distinction of name, of caste--it is a distinction of blood, of mind, of soul--enfin, of our whole nature. How can men so entirely different from each other, descend from the same original pair? Where would be the difference, if that were so? It overwhelms the mind to think of the consequences!"
"Why, baron, at last you talk like----"
"Like a baron. I know. Hear again! This question occupied me so persistently that I at last determined to solve it, cost what it might. You all make fun of my solitary life, my studies, and so on. Do you know, Cloten, what I was studying while you were amusing yourselves with hunting and gambling?"
"No--'pon honor."
"Aramæic, Chaldaic, Syriac, Mesopotamic, Hindoostanee, Gangobramaputric, Sanscrit----"
"For Heaven's sake! Why, that is horrible! What for?"
"Because I was firmly convinced that there must be, somewhere in the convents of Armenia, in the catacombs of Egypt, or elsewhere in the East, a Manuscript which explains the matter. When I had learnt to speak all these languages as fluently as French and German, I began three years ago my great journey to the East. In passing through Italy I searched all the libraries there. In Rome I met the Barnewitz party. This meeting was very disagreeable to me, to tell the truth. I had to accompany them to Sicily, as a matter of politeness. But in Palermo I escaped as soon as I could."
"Ah, that explains your sudden disappearance--the 'Interrupted Sacrifice,' great opera, and so forth."
"'Interrupted Sacrifice?' You never recollected that expression, Cloten?"
"No--'pon honor--an invention of Hortense's; I mean of the Baroness Barnewitz," the young man corrected himself. "She insists upon it--entre nous, baron--that your meeting in Rome was not quite so accidental on your part, and the whole journey from Rome to Palermo--is not that the name of the place--was a perfect triumph for the Berkow; Sacrifice--'Interrupted Sacrifice.' Ha, ha, ha!"
"But I do not understand you, Cloten?"
"Well,entre nous, Hortense has a good deal to say about that journey. For instance, a scene during the passage from Ciproda----"
"Procida, you mean," said Oldenburg.
"Procida, I don't care which. I can't remember all those absurd names. Well, from Procida to Naples."
"Well?"
"But, really, baron, you put the thumb-screws on too tightly. You had a little fisher-boat, and there came a real storm--the waves were as high as houses, and you were expecting the boat to capsize every moment. Then you said in Italian----"
"The Barnewitz does not understand a word of Italian, as far as I know," said Oldenburg.
"Not Hortense, but the boatmen, who told her afterwards."
"Then," growled Oldenburg, "she examined them. Well!"
"Then you said to the Berkow: Dear soul, to be drowned with you is worth more than to live a hundred years with your cousin, or any other woman!"
"Indeed! Does Hortense tell her friends such pretty stories? Well, Cloten, I'll give you a piece of advice: Believe in every kiss that you have had from Hortense's lips, or that you are going to have----"
"Ah, nonsense, baron!" said the dandy, with that smile which is meant to be modest, and which is so horribly impudent.
"But do not believe a single word she utters. Can you really think that I should have had nothing better to do than to court Melitta von Berkow, when such grave, yes, such almost holy things filled my soul? Let me tell you: I went from Sicily to Egypt, then up the Nile to Aboo Simbul, back to Cairo, from there to Palestine, Persia, India--examined every temple, every ruin, every crevice in the rocks. I did not find what I looked for. At last--I was almost desperate--in the library of the great monastery on Mount Athos----"
"Where is that, Baron?"
"Between the Indus and Oregon--there in the old library I discovered at last the long-looked for Manuscript. There I found the whole story."
"What was it?"
"There it was stated in purest High-Bramaputric, that--translate all that into our modern notions and expressions----"
"Yes, for Heaven's sake do so, or I won't understand a word."
"That there were, from the beginning, two pairs of human beings created; as it could not well be otherwise: the one noble and the other not noble. The name of this first noble race is not recorded in the Manuscript. At the very place where it once stood, there is now a big blot. So much is certain, it was not Oldenburg; it began with a C, and somewhere in the middle there was a t."
"Perhaps Cloten," said the other.
"It may be, but I cannot swear to it. Nor is it said what family his wife belonged to; she is simply called a noble damsel."
"But I thought she was made from the rib of man?"
"Why, you would not believe that stupid nonsense, Cloten? She is expressly called a noble damsel, and so she must have been of noble blood."
"But that is a curiously complicated story."
"Not so very complicated as you imagine. Enough, the noble gentleman and the noble damsel, who soon became a noble lady, had a villa, which was called Paradise--why should not a villa be called Paradise, Cloten?"
"Nevertheless, very curious name."
"Why? Does not one call his place Solitude, another Sans Souci, and still another Bellevue--why should not one of them have called his Paradise?Eh bien!The nobleman's servant was called Adam. Good name for a man-servant. When he became old and stiff, they called him old Adam--have you ever heard of a noble who was called Adam, Cloten?"
"Never in my life."
"You see there is the best proof at once. He called his servant Adam, and his wife's chambermaid Eve--little Evy, very nice name for a maid. My mother had a charming little maid, and her name was Evy. But Adam was a bad fellow, just as our servants nowadays are bad fellows. And Eva was no better. At last the old gentleman took his riding-whip and drove both from the place. In their deportment-book he wrote: Dismissed on account of dishonesty, fondness of dress, and laziness. That is the story, of course only in the outline."
"Really, very remarkable, quite famous! 'pon honor! Did you bring the book home with you, baron?"
"No; but an authenticated copy, endorsed by the justice of the peace of the place."
"Are there justices of the peace out there?"
"But, my dear friend, how could there be a country and no justices?"
"To be sure. Still, it would be better if we had the book itself."
"Perhaps we can get it. The monks are wretchedly obstinate. I had a great mind to poison them all with prussic acid. I shall probably do it yet, if I ever get to that district again. Until then, we must be satisfied with a copy."
"I say, baron, could you not let me have a copy like yours? Of course I mean in the translation, and not in Bramaputrid, or what the nonsense is."
"Hm! But you must promise not to show it to anybody?"
"Rely upon it."
"Perhaps to one or the other of our own circle."
"Ah! May I do that?"
"Oh yes! But do not mention my name. Tell them it was a mere hypothesis of yours----"
"A what?"
"A mere idea, which had not yet been confirmed. When we get hold of the original, then comes the time for your triumph and the triumph of the good cause at once."
The summer sun had set for some time behind the tall trees of the park; dark shadows were falling upon the thick bosquets; here and there a bird was still chirping, before he put his head under his wing for the night; otherwise all had become silent in the garden, where just before all had been noise and uproar. But it was all the louder inside the house. The dazzling light of a hundred wax candles on lustres and girandoles shone from the windows upon the great lawn before the garden room. Music resounded through the opened folding-doors, and the peasantry, who were standing around at a respectful distance, saw through the open window the dancing couples float by one by one. In the rooms adjoining the ball-room card-tables had been placed for the older guests, and Count Grieben's screeching voice could continually be heard, as Baron Grenwitz, who was a very indifferent player, missed a trick, or, led away by his timidity, committed one of those blunders which jar so painfully on the mind of an accomplished player. Baron Barnewitz and his wife cut in, so that one of them could always be in one or the other room, and no party was favored at the expense of the other. At first, Hortense had intended to dance all the evening; but after two or three dances she became so angry at the admiration which her cousin excited, that she proposed this arrangement to her husband, who was all the more willing to accede to it, as he was, in spite of his corpulency, very fond of dancing. He not only danced very well besides, but was a great admirer of married and unmarried ladies in ball toilet. And such were not wanting. There was a bevy of beauties there such as would have enchanted more thoughtful men than the baron was. The most beautiful and most lovely of all was, in the judgment of the gentlemen at least,--for the opinion of the ladies was very much divided on the subject,--beyond all doubt, Melitta. Her cheeks, generally rather pale, were slightly flushed from dancing, her eyes beamed with light and life, her slender elastic form moved along with marvellous grace in rhythmical change--thus she floated over the smooth parquet of the ball-room like the very Muse of the Dance. By the side of this dazzling apparition the pretty women of her age looked mere wax dolls, and the younger girls very nice marionettes. Thus it seemed at least to Oswald, as he saw her fly by him in the waltz or met her halfway in the cotillon. A strange mixture of contradictory sensations filled his heart. Since the moment when he had seen Baron Oldenburg's portrait for the first time in Melitta's album, he had never been able to get rid of the thought. What were their relations? But, often as that question had been on his lips, he had never dared to utter it, and the higher the sun of his love arose on the heavens, the paler became the threatening shadow. But to-day his half-dormant doubts had been cruelly aroused by Barnewitz's story, by the appearance of the man himself, and by Melitta's conduct. Again the question arose on his lips, and again he drove it back to its secret place in his heart. He was angry with Melitta, that she should cause him such suffering; he was angry with himself, that he had been persuaded by her to follow her to this party, into this world of nobles, who, he knew, only tolerated him; into this world of frivolous enjoyment and haughty conceit, this noisy, blinding world, which contrasted so miserably with his romantic love and seemed to scoff at the blissful, almost sublime solitude at the forest cottage! It seemed to him an old, old fairy tale, that he had held this wonderful woman in his arms--that he had pressed his lips upon her rosy lips, alas! how often! she looked to him so changed, a perfect stranger. He could not persuade himself that this was Melitta, who was laughing with young Breesen and talking with Cloten, and answering his foolish sallies so politely. And then again, when her bright eye met his, when her hand in the cotillon pressed his so sweetly, when on such an occasion a: Sweet love! you darling!--became barely audible to him--then it was again Melitta, his Melitta! And once more doubts, rising to insane anxiety, chased after certainty, which filled him with unspeakable happiness, as dark shadow and bright sunlight are chasing each other across a fair summer landscape; and in order to escape this sweet anguish, this bitter delight, he sipped with hasty, eager desire the intoxicating beverage, which consists of dazzling light, joyous music, and voluptuous perfumes, and in a ball-room excites and confuses so strangely the senses of all the guests, till they approach Bacchanalian rapture.
Oswald laughed and talked as if in the best humor; here a reckless, bold word, there a delicate compliment here a satirical sneer, there a sentimental appeal. The ladies seemed entirely to have forgotten his low birth: he was such a capital, indefatigable dancer; so handsome a man, so skilful a flatterer. And if here and there an anxious mother scolded her noble daughter for her intimacy with that young man. Doctor Stein, the words fell, golden as they were, on sterile soil, and the girl consoled herself, in her noble conscience, by saying to herself: Well, it is only for to-night! There can be no doubt that Oswald's success with the ladies on that evening deeply disgusted many a noble soul; but the expressions of such hostility remained confined to an occasional sneer, which never reached Oswald's ear, and to a few angry looks, which, if he chanced to notice them, only increased his enjoyment. He knew perfectly well how slippery the ground was; but the presence of danger, which paralyzes weak minds, only steels strong hearts; and the consciousness that he might be insulted by impertinence at any moment, gave to his manner towards the great men present a boldness, a security, which challenged their indignation, but also warned them that the consequences would be serious. Besides, it must be said to the honor of these young nobles, that among twelve or fourteen there were at least two or three who were not so blinded with prejudices that they should not have appreciated Oswald's chivalrous manner. Such was Baron Langen, who took Oswald familiarly by the arm, and during a pause between the dances, walked up and down with him through the ball-room; such also young Breesen, the handsomest and cleverest of the crowd, who asked Oswald to give him some lessons in pistol-shooting, and who, when his sister had made a mistake in the dance, and interrupted the tour, asked his pardon in her name, and carried him up to her so that she might make her own apologies. Such was, of course, also Baron Oldenburg, who praised Oswald's virtues as a dancer and a marksman to many friends, although he left it undecided whether he did so from sincere conviction or in order to annoy his young companions.
He was not very courteous to others. When Baron Barnewitz had asked him if he would like to take a hand, he had replied: Oh yes! if you will play faro! and when Lisbeth von Meyen had wondered why he did not dance, he had said: Ah, at this moment I regret, for the first time in my life, that my dancing-master never succeeded in teaching me the difference between the first and the second position, nor my music-teacher to distinguish a waltz from an anthem. Thus he sauntered about among the card-tables, and excited Count Grieben's ire by looking into everybody's hands by turns, and then offering good, or rather bad advice to them all. Now again he was seen in the ball-room, looking at the dancing couples with the eyes of a good-natured tomcat who sees black and white mice play merrily on the barn-floor before him. In this pleasing occupation he was interrupted by Baron Barnewitz, who came hurrying in and said:
"Oldenburg, as you have nothing to do----"
"Why, my dear friend, I have a great deal to do."
"Come with me in the dining-room and help me arrange the seats. Please come!"
"Your confidence in my organizing capacity is highly honorable to me,mon ami," said Oldenburg, and followed his host across the hall, up the well-carpeted staircase, into the brilliantly illuminated dining-room, where the servants were just finishing setting the tables.
"Here, Oldenburg, are the cards, all written; now tell me, shall we----"
"Honored sir," said Oldenburg to a servant, "could you, perhaps, bring me the useful and ingenious instrument by which this bottle might be opened? There, thanks--Festina lente!Barnewitz, that means: thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn! Your health, my boy! This young Cliquot is one of the more virtuous members of his numerous race. Really drinkable," and he sipped one glass after another. "Now, here I am at your service. Put the bottle on that side-table, my man in the gold lace! there are some glasses left--Countess Grieben--Baron Oldenburg--Baroness Nadelitz--are you mad, Barnewitz? I to sit two hours hemmed in between the two mummies! I had rather help to wait. No, we'll do it so. The whole of the old people go to one end of the table, and Young Germany to the other. You can go with your flock of he-goats and she-goats to the East, and I will go to the West with my kids and little sheep."
"Well, I suppose that's the best," said Barnewitz. "Here are your cards."
The servants had left the room; the two gentlemen, beginning at opposite ends, began to put the cards on the napkins.
"Miss Klaus," said Oldenburg, holding up a card; "who, by all the Olympic gods, is Miss Klaus?"
"Our governess. Have you not noticed her? A little thing, very pretty, and with eyes bursting with high treason. We could not well leave her in the nursery--Great heavens! Here is again husband and wife side by side!--because we wanted her in the cotillons. You can give her to Doctor Stein. Like and like, you know."
"Well!" said Oldenburg, and grinned.
"Who is to have the Berkow?"
"Oh, pray, leave me alone! You, for all I care."
"Bon!" said Oldenburg, and drank a glass of champagne.
After a short pause.
"Who is to have the honor of sitting by your wife?"
"Great heavens!--to be sure, that is important. You know, Oldenburg, give her the most significant; no one can say anything to that!"
"All right," said Oldenburg, and looked among the cards till he had found the right one. "I will pay you for your unauthenticated fisherman's stories," he growled between his teeth.
"Have you done, Oldenburg?"
"Directly--now!"
"Well, baron, now let us do this: you go into the ballroom and tell every gentleman what lady he is to take in, and I will do the same in the card-room."
"Ainsi soit-il!" laughed Oldenburg, following his host
As he entered the ball-room, they were just arranging a cotillon. Immediately after that they were to go to table.
"This is a good opportunity," he said, and, like a black-feathered, long-legged bird who picks out frogs on a wet meadow, he walked up and down with great gravity behind the line of the dancers and whispered to each gentleman, as the opportunity offered, the name of his lady. Oswald was dancing with the Baroness Barnewitz, who had taken the place of Miss Klaus until the latter should have carried an important order to the kitchen; theirvis-à-viswere Cloten and Melitta. Oldenburg had informed all the gentlemen of their fate, which seemed to be favorable to all, for they nodded with a well-contented air. At the very last he slipped up to Cloten and whispered to him:
"Cloten, I have given you the Barnewitz."
Then to Oswald: "Doctor, you will take Frau von Berkow."
Then he went away hurriedly.
"Hortense," whispered Cloten, overjoyed, to his lady, "do you know who is to take you in?"
"Not you, Arthur?" she asked, frightened.
"Yes, my angel."
"Impossible, Arthur. Go straight back to Oldenburg and tell him he must give you another lady."
"But----"
"Hush, not so loud! You are mad. I tell you Barnewitz is very suspicious. That would make him more so than ever."
"Changez les dames!"
"Melitta; I am to take you to table."
"Impossible, Oswald. You must try to have it changed."
"Why," whispered Oswald, and his brows met.
"Do not look so angry, darling. I will explain it to you."
Miss Klaus appeared in the adjoining room. As soon as Oldenburg saw her he walked up to her, and reverently bowing to her, he said, in a tone of unusual gentleness:
"Miss Klaus, I am to have the pleasure of taking you to supper."
The poor little thing was thunderstruck. Baron Oldenburg, the strange, mysterious baron, to take her in!
She looked up to him with an air of serious doubt.
"I have arranged the seats myself, Miss Klaus; if you have any special preference tell me so, and I shall be very happy to do what you like best."
"Oh no, baron----"
"Eh bien, nous voilà d'accord!Will you give me your arm? I see they are making ready."
At that moment Cloten came up, out of breath.
"One word, Oldenburg--pardon me, Miss Klaus--Oldenburg, you must get me another lady. I cannot go with Hortense."
"Pourquoi pas, mon cher?"
"Because--oh, pshaw!--because----"
"Je suis au désespoir, mon brave; but Barnewitz has proposed you himself!"
"Are you sure?"
"You may rely on it."
He hastened back to his lady, his face beaming with joy.
"Oswald," said Melitta, "I have reconsidered it. It is better so--there is no prospect for the cotillon. Now come, give me your arm, and be good again."
The older people had gone into the dining-room first, and were standing behind their chairs; the company from the ball-room came now. Baron Barnewitz came for a moment across to see that all was right. He looked very black when he saw his wife on Cloten's arm, and Melitta standing by Oswald, and still more so when Oldenburg himself entered, leading his lady like a princess by the hand.
"Oldenburg, what a mess you have made!" whispered Barnewitz, furiously. "I do not want Cloten to sit by my they are quite enough talked about already."
"Well, my dear fellow, you told me to take the most insignificant; that left me no doubt!"
"And Melitta with the doctor; you with Miss Klaus--that is too absurd."
"Well, Barnewitz, it's done now, and please do me the favor not to interfere any more with my arrangements. Go quietly to your seat, the Countess Grieben is looking for you with her big owl eyes!"
"I wash my hands of it," growled Barnewitz, hurrying away.
"And I drink a bottle of champagne in honor of my successfulcoup d'état," grinned Oldenburg, sitting down by the little governess, just opposite Melitta and Oswald, and not far from Cloten and Hortense.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I hope you will join me in drinking, silently but enthusiastically, the health of the man who has assigned us all our places, and who, while he looked to the common welfare of all, yet has known how to fulfil the wishes of every guest. I pray you will bear in mind that a want of enthusiasm at this solemn moment would deeply wound the feelings of that man, and at the same time inexpressibly pain one of your neighbors, whom you are bound to love at least as your neighbor. Ladies and gentlemen, drink with me the health of your and my best friend, Adalbert Oldenburg!"
As a matter of course, no one within reach of the Baron's moderately strong voice dared to refuse to join in this ironical toast. The glasses clinked, and soon a lively conversation began all around the table, like fire in a bundle of straw which has been set on fire on all sides at once; that humming, chirping, chuckling, tittering, laughing conversation, in which very soon the most brilliant witticism and the most foolish remark have the same value.
"Mind your eyes, Oswald," said Melitta, in that rapid manner in which speech can hardly be distinguished from mere breathing, and when yet every syllable is distinctly heard--"Your sweet love-letters are caught on the way by profane eyes, broken open, and read."
Cloten had in vain tried to convince Hortense that it had been her husband's own wish that he should lead her to table.
"Don't be such a fool, Arthur," she said, "it is a trick of Oldenburg's, you may rely on it. Have you ever talked with Oldenburg about me?"
"Never, Hortense--parole d'honneur!"
"I am sure you have done it. You will ruin me with your foolish way of talking."
"But, Hortense----"
"Hush, Oldenburg is watching us all the time."
"Cloten," said the Baron.
"What, baron?"
"Will you go with me to Italy next fall? You know in that matter?"
"Should like it furiously, baron; but, you know, a thousand reasons against it; first, hunting season; secondly, races; thirdly, I hate travelling; fourthly, I do not understand a word of Italian."
"Well, that is the least of all. What one has to know is only,Si,signore,anima mia dolce, and all other things you learn by examining boatmen."
Cloten blushed to the root of his hair, for, as Oldenburg said these words he felt Hortense's foot on his own, and heard her whisper in a voice half drowned by tears:
"There, you see, Arthur; did I not tell you?"
Melitta also, who had become quite silent ever since she found herself sitting opposite Oldenburg, seemed to be particularly struck by this remark. She suddenly cast down her long lashes, as if she wished to conceal what was going on in her heart.
"I appeal to you to bear me witness," said Oldenburg to her. "Has your Italian been of much use to you?"
"On the contrary," said Melitta, and her dark eyes flashed brightly. "It only made me listen to many a false, untruthful word, which would otherwise have remained unintelligible."
"Yes, yes, the Italians are great liars," laughed Oldenburg.
"Let us rather say, there is much lying done in Italy," replied Melitta.
"Defeated again," murmured the baron. "That woman is still as beautiful as an angel and as wise as a serpent. Yes, she is more beautiful than ever. Her eyes are larger and more brilliant; her shoulders are rounder; her voice is softer and sweeter--and all that for the sake of the handsome fellow by her side! Hm!--Doctor, will you do me the honor to take a glass of champagne with me? I thought I saw a cloud on your forehead. Let us drive it away! You know:Dulce est desipere in loco."
"What kind of a horrible lingo is that again, baron?" asked Cloten.
"Low-Bramaputric,mon cher. Your health, doctor!" The more the meal approached its end, and the quicker the servants filled the ever-empty champagne glasses, the noisier and coarser became the conversation, so that it drowned even the voice of Count Grieben, which had heretofore been heard as distinctly as the screeching of a parrot in a menagerie. The thin varnish of outer culture, which constituted the whole so-called refinement of this privileged class, began to give way under the influence of streams of wine which were incessantly poured over it. The sight was a frightful one; naked, wretched nature lay open. The young men told the young ladies their adventures in hunting, at the races, their heroic deeds while they were in the army, or they were pleased to converse in a manner which they meant to be airy and witty, but which was heavy and coarse in the eyes of every well-bred woman. Unfortunately, however, the young ladies seemed to be but too well accustomed to this kind of conversation to feel any unpleasant effect. On the contrary, they allowed themselves to be forced to drink one glass of champagne after another; they were dying with laughter at the odd notions of some of the young men, and especially of young Count Grieben, a very tall, very thin, and very blond youth, whose appearance reminded one irresistibly of a giraffe. Oldenburg seemed himself to worship Bacchus more zealously than usual, or at least to take special pleasure in increasing the Bacchanalian tumult around him; he drank and talked incessantly, and urged others continually to drink. He did this especially with Cloten, who, at the beginning, frightened by Hortense's reproaches, had kept very quiet and looked embarrassed, but who had no sooner emptied a bottle than he forgot all the precaution which his lady-love had impressed upon him as absolutely necessary, and now replied to her reproachful looks with fiery glances, and to her whispered: "But, Arthur, have a care what you are doing," with an almost audible: "But, child, what do you mean; nobody sees us." The young nobleman carried his imprudence so far that he once, when picking up Hortense's napkin, kissed her hand, and at another time exchanged her glass for his; in short, he took every means to let the world know what they had heretofore but vaguely suspected.
"I am going immediately after this is over," said Melitta to Oswald, who had for the last quarter of an hour spoken almost exclusively to Emily von Breesen, his left-hand neighbor.
"I wish you had never come, or left me at home," said the young man, bitterly.
"Scold me?" said Melitta, and her lips trembled with pain. "Ah, Oswald, I wish you could come with me, and forever!"
"Perhaps Baron Oldenburg will permit us," replied Oswald, who had noticed how the baron's gray eyes continually watched Melitta and himself, while he seemed to devote himself altogether to little Miss Klaus.
Melitta said nothing, but the tear which suddenly glittered in her long eyelashes, and which she quickly wiped away with a quiet gesture, was answer enough.
"Pardon me, Melitta," whispered Oswald, "but I am very unhappy."
"I am not less so--perhaps more so--and that is exactly why I wish you at least were happy, and I could make you so."
"You can do it by a word."
"What is that, Oswald?"
"Tell me that you love me."
"Oswald, love does not ask so; that is jealousy."
"Is there any love without jealousy?"
"Yes, true love, that feareth nothing and believeth all things."
"Then my love is not true love. To be sure, we, who are not noble, cannot lay claim to anything that is true, I suppose; our mothers and sisters wear glass instead of diamonds; we ourselves have no true honor, no true love, that is clear." ... If Oswald could have looked into Melitta's heart as he was uttering these mad words, if he had but cast a glance at her face, he would have died for shame. Melitta did not answer; she did not cry; she only looked fixedly before her, as if she could not comprehend the fearful thing, that the hand which she had stooped to kiss had slapped her face, that the foot which she had knelt to wash with ointment had repelled her cruelly ... How she had looked forward to this evening; how happy she had fancied she would be in the midst of the crowd, alone with the beloved one, listening to his words, stealthily pressing his hand, and while beautiful women are slyly coquetting with him on all sides, to read in his eyes: I love only you, Melitta! And beyond this evening she had looked into a rosy future--a land of hope--not in clear outlines, but full of peace and love and sunshine ... And then her past had come up like a gray venomous mist, and had covered the promised land with its thick veil ... and now the face of the beloved one looked to her, through the foul mist, as if it were disfigured by hatred, and his voice sounded strange to her ears. Was that his face? Was that his voice which now said: "Baroness, they are rising from table: may I offer you my arm?"
As they passed down the stairs Melitta said nothing; Oswald also was silent. When they had reached the reception-room he bowed deep; and when he raised his head, he looked for an instant into her face. He saw that pain made her lips tremble; he saw a touching complaint dim her eyes, but his heart was locked, and he turned to a group of young girls and men who seemed to be disposed to continue the reckless table-talk yet for a while. Melitta followed him with her looks for a moment, saw how pretty Emily von Breesen turned to him eagerly, and how he met her with a merry jest, how she replied as merrily and tapped his arm with her fan. That was all she saw; when she came to herself again she found herself seated in a corner of her carriage. The bright light of the lamps fell upon the trees and hedges as they danced by the windows, but Melitta saw it all through a dim veil of mist, for her heart and her eyes were full of tears.