It was Sunday morning. The office was closed, and Reinhold at last had a free morning before him, which certainly was seldom his good fortune. He was in the garden house, to the entire and special possession of which he had at last attained, to be sure only after many struggles and by repeated reference to his musical studies, which were considered highly disturbing in the house. It was here alone that the young man was in any degree safe from the constant control of his parents-in-law, which extended even into the young couple's dwelling, and he seized every free moment to take refuge in his asylum.
The so-called "garden" was of the only description possible in an old, narrowly-built, densely populated town. On all sides high walls and gables enclosed the small piece of ground, to which air and sunshine were sparingly given, and where a few trees and shrubs enjoyed but a miserable existence. The garden's boundary was one of those small canals, which traversed the town in all directions, and whose quick, dark stream formed a very melancholy background; beyond this, again, walls and gables were to be seen; the same prison-like appearance, which clung to Almbach's whole house seemed to reign over the only free space belonging to it.
The garden house itself was not much more cheerful--the single large room was furnished with more than simplicity. Evidently the few old-fashioned pieces of furniture had been set aside from some other place as superfluous, and been sought out in order to fit up the room with what was absolutely necessary. Only in the window, round which climbed some stunted vines, stood a large, handsome piano, the legacy of the late Music Director, Wilkens, to his pupil, and its magnificent appearance contrasted as singularly and strangely with the room as did the figure of the young man, with his ideal brow and large flashing eyes, behind the barred office windows of the dwelling-house.
Reinhold was sitting writing at the table, but to-day his face did not wear the tired, listless expression, which rested upon it whenever he had the figures of the account books before him; his cheeks were darkly, almost feverishly red, and as he wrote a name rapidly on the envelope, lying on the table, his hands trembled as if with suppressed excitement. Steps were heard outside, and the glass door was opened; with a quick gesture of annoyance the young man pushed the envelope under the sheets of music lying on the table, and turned round.
It was Jonas, servant of the Captain, who for a few days only had accepted the hospitality offered by his relations, and then had migrated to a dwelling of his own. The sailor saluted and entered in his peculiarly rough and somewhat uncouth manner, and then laid some books on the table.
"The Herr Captain's compliments, and he sends the promised books from his travelling library."
"Is my brother not coming himself?" asked Reinhold astonished. "He promised surely."
"The Captain has been here some time," replied Jonas, "but they have got hold of him in the house; your uncle wished to have a conference with him on family affairs; your aunt requires his help to make some alteration in the guest room, and the bookkeeper wants to catch him for his society. All are fighting for him; he cannot tear himself away."
"Hugo appears to have conquered the whole house in the course of a single week," remarked Reinhold ironically.
"We do that everywhere," said Jonas, full of self-consciousness, and appeared inclined to add more about those conquests, when he was interrupted by his master's entrance, who greeted his brother in the most cheerful humour.
"Good morning, Reinhold! Now Jonas, what are you staying here for? You are wanted in the house. I promised my aunt that you should help at the dinner to-day. Go at once to the kitchen!"
"Amongst the women!"
"Heaven knows," said Hugo, turning laughingly to his brother, "where this man has learned his hatred for women. Certainly not from me; I admire the lovely sex uncommonly."
"Yes, unfortunately, quite uncommonly," muttered Jonas, but he turned away obediently and marched out of the room, while the Captain came quite close to Reinhold.
"To-day there is a large family dinner!" he began, imitating his Uncle Almbach's pedantic, solemn voice so well as almost to deceive any one. "In my honour of course! I hope you will pay proper respect to this important ceremony, and that you will not again behave in such a manner, that I can at the utmost use you as a butt for my too developed amiability."
Reinhold knitted his brows slightly--
"I beg you, Hugo, do be sensible for once! How long do you intend to continue this comedy, and amuse yourself at the expense of the whole house? Take care, lest they find out what your amiability consists of, and that you are really only ridiculing them all."
"That would indeed be bad," said Hugo, quietly, "but they will not find me out, depend upon that."
"Then do me the kindness, at least, of ceasing your horrid Indian tales! You really go too far with them. Uncle was debating with the bookkeeper yesterday about the battle with the monster serpent, which you served up for them lately, and which, even to him, appeared unheard of. I became extremely confused in listening to them."
"It put you to confusion?" mocked the Captain. "If I had been there, I should immediately have given them the benefit of an elephant hunt, a tiger story, and a few attacks of savages, with such appalling effects, that the affair of the giant snake would have appeared highly probable to them. Be easy! I know my hearers; the whole house oppresses me almost, with its acts of sympathy."
"Excepting Ella," suggested Reinhold, "it is certainly remarkable that her shyness towards you is quite invincible."
"Yes, it is very remarkable," said Hugo with an offended air. "I cannot allow any one in the house to exist who is not entirely persuaded of my perfections, and have already set myself the task of presenting myself to my sister-in-law in all my utterly irresistible charms. I do not doubt at all that she will thereupon immediately join the majority--you are not jealous, I hope."
"Jealous?--I? and on Ella's account?" The young man shrugged his shoulders half-pityingly, half-contemptuously.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Well, there is no danger! I have sought an interview with her already, but she was entirely occupied with the young one. Tell me, Reinhold, where does the child get those wonderful, blue, fairy-tale-like eyes from? Yours are not so, besides there is not the least resemblance, and, excepting his, I do not know any in the family."
"I believe Ella's eyes are blue," interrupted his brother indifferently.
"You believe only? Have you never convinced yourself then? Certainly it may be somewhat difficult; she never raises them, and, under that monstrous cap, nothing can be seen of her face. Reinhold, for Heaven's sake, how can you allow your wife such an antediluvian costume? I assure you, for me that cap would be grounds sufficient for a divorce."
Reinhold had seated himself at the piano, and let his hands glide mechanically over the notes, while he answered with perfect indifference--
"I never trouble myself about Ella's toilet, and I believe it would be useless to try and enforce any alterations there. What does it matter to me?"
"What it matters to you how your wife looks?" repeated the Captain, as he seized some sheets of music on the table, and turned them over lightly, "a charming question from a young husband! You used to have a sense of beauty, too easily aroused, and I could almost fear--what is this then? 'Signora Beatrice Biancona on it.' Have you Italian correspondents in the town?"
Reinhold sprang up, confusion and annoyance struggled in his face, as he saw the letter, which he had pushed under the music, in his brother's hands, who repeated the address unconcernedly.
"Beatrice Biancona? That is theprima donnaof the Italian Opera, who has made such a wonderful sensation here? Do you know the lady?"
"Slightly," said Reinhold, taking the letter quickly from his hands. "I was introduced to her lately at Consul Erlau's."
"And you correspond with her already?"
"Certainly not! The letter does not contain one single line."
Hugo laughed aloud, "An envelope fully addressed, a very voluminous sheet of paper inside it, with not a single line! Dear Reinhold, that is more wonderful than my story of the giant snake. Do you expect me really to believe it? There, do not look so savage, I do not intend to force myself into your secrets."
Instead of answering, the young man drew the paper out of the unsealed envelope, and held it to his brother, who looked at it in astonishment.
"What does it mean? Only a song--notes and words--no word of explanation with it--just your name below. Have you composed it?"
Reinhold took the paper again, closed the letter and put it in his pocket.
"It is an attempt, nothing more. She isartisteenough to judge of it. She can accept or reject it."
"Then you compose also?" asked the Captain, whose face had become serious all at once. "I did not think that your passionate liking for music went so far as creating it yourself. Poor Reinhold, how can you bear this life, with all its narrow, confined ways, wishing to stifle every spark of poetry as being unnecessary or dangerous? I could not do it."
Reinhold had thrown himself upon the seat before the piano again.
"Do not ask me how I endure it," he replied, with suppressed feeling. "It is enoughthatI do it."
"I guessed long since that your letters were not open," continued Hugo; "that behind all the contentment with which you tried to deceive me, something quite different was concealed. The truth has become plain to me, during one week in this house, notwithstanding that you gave yourself all conceivable trouble to hide it from me."
The young man gazed gloomily before him. "Why should I worry you, when far away, with anxieties about me? You had enough to do to take care of yourself, and there was a time, too, when I was contented, or at least believed myself so, because my whole mental being lay, as it were, under a spell, when I allowed everything to pass over me in stupid indifference, and I offered my hand willingly for the chain. I have done it; well, yes! But I must carry it my whole life long!"
Hugo had gone towards him, and laid his hand upon his brother's shoulder.
"You mean your marriage with Ella? At the first news of it, I knew it must be my uncle's work."
A bitter smile played round the young man's lips as he answered scornfully--
"He was always a splendid master of calculation, and he has shown it again in this case. The poor relation, taken up out of kindness and charity, must consider it happiness that he is raised to be son and heir of the house, and the daughter must be married some time; so it was a case of securing, by means of her hand, a successor for the firm, who bore the same name. It was neither Ella's nor my fault that we were bound together. We were both young, without wills, without knowledge of life or of ourselves. She will always remain so--well for her. It has not been so fortunate for me."
One would hardly have credited those merry brown eyes with the power of looking so serious as at this moment, when he bent down to his brother.
"Reinhold," said he, in an undertone, "on the night when I fled to save myself from a caprice, which would have ruined my freedom and future, I had planned and foreseen everything, excepting one, the most difficult--the moment when I should stand by your bed to bid you farewell. You slept quietly, and did not dream of the separation; but I--when I saw your pale face on the pillow, and said to myself that for years, perhaps never again, should I see it, all longing for freedom could not resist it--I struggled hard with the temptation to awake and take you with me. Later, when I experienced the thorny path of the adventurous homeless boy, with all its dangers and privations, I often thanked God that I had withstood the temptation; I knew you were safe and sound in our relation's house, and now"--Hugo's strong voice trembled as with suppressed anger or pain--"now I wish I had carried you with me to want and privation, to storm and danger, but at any rate to freedom; it had been better."
"It had been better," repeated Reinhold, listlessly; then rising as if reckless, "Let us cease! What is the use of regrets, which cannot change what is past. Come! They expect us upstairs."
"I wish I had you on my 'Ellida,' and we could turn our backs on the whole crew, never to see them again," said the young sailor, with a sigh, as he prepared to follow his brother's bidding. "I never thought things could be so bad."
The brothers had hardly entered the house, when Hugo's indispensability began to show itself again. He was in request, at least on three sides, at once. Every one required his advice and help. The young Captain appeared to possess the enviable power of throwing himself directly from one mood into another, as, immediately after his serious conversation with his brother, he was sparkling with merriment and mischief, helped every one, paid compliments to each, and at the same time teased all in the most merciless manner. This time it was the bookkeeper who caught him, as Jonas expressed it, to explain the affairs of his society; and while the two gentlemen were discussing it, Reinhold entered the dining-room, where he found his wife busied with preparations for the before-named guests.
Ella was in her Sunday costume to-day, but that made little alteration in her appearance. Her dress of finer material was not more becoming; the cap, which inspired her brother-in-law with such horror, surrounded and disfigured her face as usual. The young wife devoted herself so assiduously and completely to her domestic duties, that she hardly seemed to notice her husband's entrance, who approached her with rather lowering mien.
"I must beg you, Ella," he began, "to have more regard for my wishes in future, and to meet my brother in such a manner as he can and would expect his sister-in-law to do. I should think that the behaviour of your parents, and every one in the house, might serve as an example for you; but you appear to find an especial pleasure in denying him every right of relationship, and in showing him a decided antipathy."
The young wife looked as timid and helpless at this anything but kindly expressed reproof, as she did when her mother desired her to interfere about her husband's musical "mania."
"Do not be angry, dear Reinhold," she replied, hesitatingly, "but I--I cannot do otherwise."
"You cannot?" asked Reinhold, sharply. "Of course, that is your never-failing answer when I ask anything of you, and I should have thought it was seldom enough that I do address a request to you. But this time I insist positively that you should change your demeanour towards Hugo. This shy avoidance and consequent silence whenever he speaks to you is too ridiculous. I beg seriously that you will take more care not to make me appear too much an object of pity to my brother."
Ella appeared about to answer, but the last unsparing words closed her lips. She bowed her head, and did not make any further attempt to defend herself. It was a movement of such gentle, patient resignation as would have disarmed any one; but Reinhold did not notice it, as at the same moment the old bookkeeper was heard taking leave in the next room.
"Then we may count upon the honour of your membership, Herr Captain? And as regards the election of a President, I have your word that you will support the opposition?"
"Quite at your service," said Hugo's voice, "and of course only with the opposition. I always join the opposition on principle whenever there is one; it is generally the only faction in which there is any fun. Excuse me, the honour is on my side."
The bookkeeper left, and the Captain appeared in the room. He seemed inclined to redeem the promise he had given to his brother, and at the same time to convince the young wife of his perfections, as he approached her with all the boldness and confidence of his nature, with which a certain knightly gallantry was mingled.
"Then I owe it to chance that at last I see my sister-in-law, and she is compelled to remain with me a few moments? Certainly she never would have accorded me this happiness of her own free will. I was complaining bitterly to Reinhold this morning about your repelling me, which I do not know that I have merited in any way."
He wished to take her hand, even to kiss it, but Ella drew back, with a, for her, quite unwonted decision.
"Herr Captain!"
"Herr Captain!" repeated Hugo, annoyed. "No, Ella, that is going too far. I certainly, as your brother, have a right to the 'thou' which you never refused to your cousin and childish companion, but as you, from the first day of my arrival, laid so much stress on the formal 'you,' I followed the hint you gave me. However, this 'Herr Captain' I will not stand. That is an insult against which I shall call Reinhold to my assistance. He shall tell me if I must really bear hearing myself being called 'Herr Captain' by those lips."
"Certainly not!" said Reinhold, as he turned to leave, "Ella will give up this manner of speaking to you, as well as her whole tone towards you. I have just been speaking distinctly to her about it."
He went away, and his glance ordered his wife to remain, as plainly as his voice demanded obedience. Neither escaped the Captain.
"For goodness sake, do not interfere with your husband's authority! Would you command friendliness towards me?" cried he after his brother, and turned again quickly to Ella, while he continued, gallantly, "that would be the surest way to prevent my ever finding favour in my beautiful sister-in-law's eyes. But that is not required between us, is it? You will permit me, at least, to lay the due tribute of respect at your feet, to describe to you the joyful surprise with which I received the news--"
Here Hugo stopped suddenly, and seemed to have lost his train of ideas. Ella had raised her eyes, and looked at him. It was a gleam of quiet, painful reproach, and the same reproach lay in her voice as she replied, "At least leave me in peace, Herr Captain. I thought you had amusement enough for to-day."
"I?" asked Hugo, taken aback. "What do you mean, Ella? You do not think--"
The young wife did not let him finish. "What have we done to you?" she continued, and although her voice trembled timidly at first, it gained firmness with every word. "What have we done to you that you always scoff at us, since the day of your return, when you acted a scene of repentance before my parents, until the present moment, when you make the whole house the target for your jokes? Reinhold certainly tolerates our being daily humiliated; he looks upon it as a matter of course. But I, Herr Captain--" here Ella's voice had attained perfect steadiness, "I do not consider it right that you should daily cast scorn and contempt over a house in which you, after all that has passed, have been received with the old love. If this house and family do appear so very meagre and ridiculous to you, no one invited you here. You should have remained in that world of which you are able to relate so much. My parents deserve more respect and mercy even for their weaknesses; and, although our house may be simple, it is still too good for the scoffs of an--adventurer."
She turned her back upon him, and left the room without waiting for a single word of reply. Hugo stood and gazed after her, as if one of the impossible scenes out of his own Indian stories had just been acted before him. Probably, for the first time in his life, the young sailor lost, with his presence of mind, the power of speech also.
"That was plain," said he at last, as he sat down, quite upset; but the next moment he sprang up as if electrified, and cried--
"She has them in truth; the child's beautiful blue eyes. And I discovered them only now! Who, indeed, would look for this glance under that horrible cap? 'We are too good for the scoffs of an adventurer.' Not exactly flattering, but it was merited, although I expected least of all to hear it from her! I shall often try that."
Hugo moved as if going into the guest room, but he stopped again on the threshold, and looked towards the door, by which his sister-in-law had retired. All signs of mockery and mischief had entirely vanished from his face; it bore a thoughtful expression as he said, gently, "And Reinhold onlybelievesshe has blue eyes! Incomprehensible!"
In the large concert-room of H----, all theeliteof the town seemed to be gathered on the occasion of one of those concerts which, set on foot for some charitable purpose, were patronised by the first families, and whose support and presence there was considered quite a point of honour. To-day the programme only bore well-known names, both as regarded the performances as well as performers; and besides, it was arranged by means of the highest possible prices that the audience should consist principally, if not entirely, of persons belonging to the best circles of society.
The concert had not commenced, and the performers were in a room adjoining, which served as a place of assembly on such occasions, and to which only a few specially favoured of the outside world had the right of entrance. Therefore the presence was the more remarkable of a young man who did not belong either to the favoured or the performers, and who kept aloof from both. He had entered shortly before and addressed himself at once to the conductor, who, although he did not appear to know him, yet must have been informed of his coming, as he received him very politely. The gentlemen around only heard so much of the conversation, that the conductor regretted not to be able to give Mr. Almbach any information: it was Signora Biancona's wish; the Signora would appear directly. The short interview was soon over, and Reinhold drew back.
The group of artists, engaged in lively conversation, broke up suddenly, as the door opened and the youngprima donnaappeared; she had not been expected so soon, as she usually only drove up at the last moment. Every one began to move. All tried to outdo one another in attentions to their beautiful colleague, but to-day she took remarkably little notice of the wonted homage of her surroundings. Her glance on entering had flown rapidly through the room, and had at once found the object of its search. The Signora deigned to reply to the greetings only very slightly, exchanged a few words with the conductor, and withdrew at once from all further attempts at conversation with the gentlemen, as she turned to Reinhold Almbach, who now approached her, and went towards the farthest window with him.
"You have really come, Signor?" she began in a reproachful tone, "I did not believe, indeed, that you would accept my invitation."
Reinhold looked up, and the forced coldness and formality of the greeting began already to melt as he met her gaze for the first time on that evening.
"Then it was your invitation," he said. "I did not know if I was to consider the one sent by the conductor in your name, as such. It did not contain a single line from you."
Beatrice smiled. "I only followed the example set me. I, too, have received a certain song, whose composer added nothing to his name. I only retaliated."
"Has my silence offended you?" asked the young man, quickly. "I dared add nothing. What--" his eyes sank to the ground--"what should I have said to you?"
The first question was indeed unnecessary; as the devotion of the song seemed to have been understood, and Signora Biancona looked the reverse of offended as she answered--
"You appear to like the wordless form, Signor, and always to wish to speak to me in notes of music. Well, I bowed to your taste, and have determined to answer also only in our language."
She laid a slight but still marked emphasis upon the word. Reinhold raised his head in astonishment.
"In our language?" he repeated slowly.
Beatrice drew a paper out of the roll of music which she held in her hand. "I have waited in vain for the author of this song to come to me, in order to hear it from my lips and receive my thanks for it. He has left to strangers that which was his duty. I am accustomed tobe sought, Signor. You seem to expect the same."
There certainly lay some reproach in her voice, but it was not very harsh, and it would have been hardly possible, as Reinhold's eye betrayed only too plainly what this staying away had cost him. He made no reply to the reproach, did not defend himself against it, but his glance, which seemed magnetically bound by the brilliantly beautiful apparition, told her that his self-restraint was caused by anything rather than indifference.
"Do you think I have sent for you to hear the air which is put down in the programme?" continued the Italian, playfully. "The audience always desires this airda capo; it is too trying for a repetition; I propose, therefore, instead of this, to sing--something else."
A deep glow covered the young man's features, and he stretched out his hand, as if with an unconscious movement, towards the paper.
"For mercy's sake! surely not my song?"
"You are uncommonly alarmed about it," said the singer, stepping back, and withdrawing the music from him. "Are you afraid for the fate of your work in my hands?"
"No, no!" cried Reinhold passionately, "but--"
"But? No objections, Signor! The song is dedicated to me, is handed over to me for good or evil. I shall do with it what I choose. Only one more question. The director is quite prepared; we have practised the performance together, but I should prefer seeing you at the piano when I appear before the audience with your music. May I count upon you?"
"You will trust yourself to my accompaniment?" asked Reinhold, with trembling voice. "Trust yourself entirely without first trying it? That is a risk for us both."
"Only if your courage fail, not otherwise," explained Beatrice. "With your power over the piano I have already made acquaintance, and there is certainly no question as to whether you are sure of the accompaniment to your work. If you are as sure of yourself before this audience as you were lately at the party, we can perform the song without hesitation."
"I will risk all, if you are at my side," Reinhold exclaimed, passionately. "The song was written for you, Signora. If you decide differently for it, its fate lies in your hand. I am ready for all."
She answered only with a smile, proud and confident of success, and turned to the conductor who at that moment drew near. Then ensued a low, but lively conversation in the group, and the other gentlemen regarded with undisguised displeasure the young stranger who quite monopolised the attention and conversation of the Signora and, to their great annoyance, occupied her until the signal for the commencement of the concert was given.
The room, in the meanwhile, had filled to the very last seat, and the dazzlingly-lighted place, in conjunction with the rich toilets of the ladies, offered a brilliant sight. Consul Erlau's wife sat with several other ladies in the front part of the room, and was engaged in conversation with Dr. Welding, when her husband, accompanied by a young man, wearing a captain's uniform, came up to her seat.
"Herr Captain Almbach," he said, introducing him, "to whom I owe the rescue of my best ship and all its crew. It was he who came to the help of the 'Hansa,' when already almost foundered, and it is entirely to his self-sacrificing energy--"
"Oh pray, Herr Consul, do not let Frau Erlau immediately anticipate a storm at sea!" interrupted Hugo, "we poor sailors are always so maligned as regards our adventures, that every lady looks forward with secret horror to their inevitable relation. I assure you though, Madame, that you have nothing to fear with me. I intend my conversational attempts to be confined to the mainland."
The young sailor appeared indeed to understand very thoroughly the differences of the society in which he moved. It never entered his head here, when the opportunity was offered him, to recount adventures, which in his relative's house he lavished so liberally. The Consul shook his head a little dissatisfied.
"You appear wishful to laugh away all recognition of your services," responded he. "I am not the less in your debt, even if you do make it impossible for me to discharge it in any way. Besides, I do not believe the relation of this adventure would injure you with the ladies, quite the contrary. And as you refuse all account of it so positively, I shall reserve it myself for the next opportunity."
Frau Erlau turned with winning friendliness to Hugo.
"You are no stranger to us, Herr Captain Almbach, even for your family's sake. Only lately we had the pleasure of seeing your brother at our house."
"Yes--only once," added the Consul, "and then merely by chance. Almbach appears unable to forgive me that my mode of living varies so from his own. He purposely keeps himself and all his family at a distance, and for years has stopped all visits from our godchild--we hardly know what Eleanor looks like."
"Poor Eleanor!" remarked Frau Erlau, compassionately. "I fear she has been intimidated by a too strict bringing up, and being kept much too secluded. I never see her otherwise than shy and quiet, and I believe in the presence of strangers she never raises her eyes."
"She does though," said Hugo, in a peculiar voice. "She does sometimes, but certainly I doubt if my brother has ever seen her do so."
"Your brother is not here, then?" asked the lady.
"No. He declined to accompany me. I do not understand it, as I know his infatuation for music and especially for Biancona's singing. I am to see this sun of the south, whose rays dazzle all H----, rise to-day for the first time."
The Consul cautioned him laughingly with his finger.
"Do not scoff, Captain; rather protect your own heart against these rays. To you, young gentleman, such things are most dangerous. You would not be the first who had succumbed to the magic of those eyes."
The young sailor laughed confidently.
"And who says then, Herr Consul, that I fear such a fate? I always succumb in such cases with the greatest pleasure, and the consolatory knowledge that the magic is only dangerous for him who flees it. Whoever stands firm, is generally soon disenchanted, often sooner than he wishes."
"It appears you have had great experience already in such affairs," said Frau Erlau, with a touch of reproof.
"My God, Madame, when year after year one flies from country to country, and never takes root anywhere, is nowhere so much at home as on the rolling, ever-moving sea, one learns to look upon constant change as inevitable, and at last to love it. I expose myself entirely to your displeasure with this confession, but I must really beg of you to look upon me as a savage, who has long forgotten, in tropical seas and countries, how to satisfy the requirements of North German civilisation."
Yet the manner in which the young Captain bowed and kissed the lady's hand as he spoke, betrayed a sufficient acquaintance with these requirements, and Dr. Welding remarked, drily, as he turned to the Consul--
"The tropical barbarism of this gentleman will not distinguish itself very badly in our drawing-rooms. So the hero of the much talked of 'Hansa' affair is really the brother of the young Almbach to whom Signora Biancona is just now according an interview in the assembly-room?"
"Whom? Reinhold Almbach?" asked Erlau, astonished. "You heard just now that he is not here."
"Certainly not, according to the Herr Captain's views," said Welding, quietly. "According to mine, he positively is. Pray do not mention it! To-night's concert seems intended to bring us some surprise. I have a certain suspicion, and we shall see if it be well-founded or not. The Signora likes theatrical effects, even off the stage; everything must be unexpected, lightning-like, overwhelming; a prosaic announcement would spoil everything. The conductor is, of course, in the plot, but was not so easily persuaded. We shall await it."
He ceased, as Hugo, who until now had been talking to the ladies, came to them, and immediately after the concert commenced.
The first part and half of the second passed, according to the programme, with more or less lively interest for the audience. Only towards the close did Signora Biancona appear, whose performance, notwithstanding all that had so far been heard, formed the point of attraction of the evening. The audience received and greeted their favourite, whose pale features were more charming than ever, with loud applause. Beatrice was indeed radiantly beautiful as she stood under the streaming light of the chandelier, in a flowing gauze dress strewn with flowers, and roses in her dark hair. She acknowledged it with smiling thanks on all sides, and, when the conductor, who undertook the accompaniment, had seated himself at the piano, began her recitative.
This time it was one of those grand Italianbravuraairs, which at every concert and on every stage are certain of success, and demand the audience's applause without at the same time fulfilling higher requirements. A number of brilliant passages and effects made up for the depth, which was really wanting in the composition, but it offered the Italian an opportunity for perfect display of her magnificent voice. All these runs and trills fell clearly as a bell from her lips, and took such entrancing possession of the hearers' ears and senses, that all criticism, all more serious longings, vanished in the pure enjoyment of listening. It was a charming playing with tones--to be sure, only playing, nothing more--but combined with the finished certainty and grace of the performance, it acted like electricity upon the audience, who overwhelmed the singer more lavishly than usual with applause, and stormily encored the airda capo.
Signora Biancona seemed also inclined to accede to this wish as she came forward again, but at the same moment the conductor left the piano, and a young man, who had hitherto not been observed among the other performers, took his place. The spectators stared in astonishment, the Consul and his wife gazed at him in surprise; even Hugo at the first moment looked almost shocked at his brother, whose presence he had not suspected, but he began to guess at the connection. Only Dr. Welding said quietly, and without the least surprise, "I thought it!" Reinhold looked pale, and his hands trembled on the keys; but Beatrice stood at his side--a softly-whispered word from her mouth, a glance out of her eyes, gave him back his lost courage. He began the first chords steadily and quietly, which at once told the audience it was not to be a repetition of their favourite piece. All listened wonderingly and eagerly, and then Beatrice joined in.
That was certainly something very different from thebravuraair just heard. The melodies which now flowed forth had nothing in common with those runs and trills, but they made their way to the hearers' hearts. In those tones, which now rose as in stormy rejoicing, and again sank in sad complaint, there seemed to breathe the whole happiness and sorrow of a human life; a long-fettered yearning seemed at last to struggle forth. It was a language of affecting power and beauty, and if it was not quite understood by all, yet all felt that there was a sound of something powerful, everlasting in it; even the most indifferent superficial crowd cannot remain void of feeling when genius speaks to it.
And here genius had found its mate, who knew how to follow and perfect it. There was no more talk of a risk for both, as the one met the idea of the other. The most careful study could not have given so perfect a mutual understanding as was here created in a moment and by inspiration. Reinhold found himself comprehended in every note, grasped at every turn, and never had Beatrice sung so enchantingly, never had the spirit of her singing displayed itself so much. She took her part with glowingabandon; the talent of the singer and the dramatic power of the actress flowed together. It was a performance which would have ennobled even the most insignificant composition--here it became a double triumph.
The song was ended. The breathless silence with which it had been listened to continued a few seconds longer; no hand moved, no sign of applause was heard; but then a storm broke forth, such as even thefêted prima donnahad seldom heard, and at any rate is unknown in a concert-room. Beatrice seemed only to have waited for this moment; in the next she had stepped to Reinhold, seized his hand, and drawn him with her to the foot-lights, introducing him to the audience. This one movement said enough; it was understood at once that the composer stood before them. The storm of applause for both raged anew, and the young musician, still half-bewildered by the unexpected success, holding Beatrice's hand, received the first greeting and first approbation of the crowd.
Reinhold only returned clearly to consciousness in the assembly-room, whither he had accompanied Signora Biancona; a few moments of solitude still remained to him; beyond, in the concert-room, the orchestra was playing the finale to a most indifferent audience, which was still completely impressed by what it had just heard. Beatrice withdrew her arm which lay in that of her companion.
"We have conquered," she said, softly; "were you satisfied with my song?"
With a passionate movement, Reinhold seized both her hands, "Ask not this question, Signora! Let me thank you, not for the triumph, which was more yours than mine, but that I was also permitted to hear my song from your lips. I composed it in the recollection of you--for you alone, Beatrice. You have understood what it says to you, otherwise you could not have sung it in such a manner."
Signora Biancona may have understood it only too well, but in the glance with which she looked down at him there lay still more than the mere triumph of a beautiful woman, who has again proved the irresistibility of her power. "Do you say that to the woman, or the actress?" asked she, half-playfully. "The road is now open, Signor, will you follow it?"
"I will," declared Reinhold, raising himself determinedly, "whatever opposes me, and whatever form my future may take, it will have been consecrated for me, since the Goddess of Song herself opened the gate to me."
The last words had the same tone of passionate adulation which Beatrice heard from him once before; she bent closer towards him, and her voice sounded soft, almost beseeching, as she answered--
"Do not then avoid the Goddess any more so obstinately as hitherto. The composer will surely be allowed to come to the actress from time to time. If I study your next work, Signor, shall I have to discover its meaning alone again, or will you stand by me this time?"
Reinhold gave no reply, but the kiss which he pressed burningly hot upon her hand, did not say no. Nor did he this time bid her farewell--this time no recollection tore him away from the dangerous proximity. Whatever arose in the distance that time with gentle warning, had now no place in a single thought of the young man's mind. How could, indeed, the faint, colourless picture of his young wife exist near a Beatrice Biancona, who stood before him in all the witch-like charms of her being, this "Goddess of Song," whose hand had just conducted him to his first triumph! He saw and heard her only. What for years had lain hidden within him--what, since his meeting with her had struggled and fought its way out, this evening decided the beginning of an artist's career, and of a family drama.
The following days and weeks in the Almbachs' house were not the most agreeable. It could naturally not remain concealed from the merchant that his son-in-law had appeared before the public with his composition, and for this reason, that Dr. Welding, in the morning paper, gave a detailed account of the concert, in which the name of the young composer was mentioned. But neither the praise which the usually severe critic accorded in this instance, nor the approval with which the song was everywhere received, nor even the intervention of Consul Erlau, who, taking Reinhold's part very eagerly and decidedly, upheld his musical gifts, could overcome Almbach's prejudices. He persisted in seeing in all artistic efforts an idling as useless as it was dangerous--the real ground of all incapacity for practical business life, and the root of all evil. Knowing as little as most people that it had been almost an act of compulsion by which Signora Biancona had forced Reinhold to appear publicly, he regarded the whole as a pre-arranged affair, which had been undertaken without his knowledge and against his will, and which made him almost beside himself. He allowed himself to be so carried away, that he called his son-in-law to account like a boy, and forbade him, once for all, any farther musical pursuits.
That was, of course, the worst thing he could have done. At this prohibition, Reinhold broke out into uncontrollable defiance. The passion which, despite all that fettered it outwardly and held it in bounds, formed the groundwork of his character now broke out into a truly terrific fury. A fearful scene ensued, and had Hugo not interposed with quick thought, the breach would have become quite irremediable. Almbach saw with horror that the nephew whom he had brought up and led, whom he had tied to himself by every possible bond of family and business, had outgrown his control completely, and never thought of bending to his power. The strife had ceased for the time present, but only to break out afresh at the first opportunity. One scene succeeded another; one bitterness surpassed another.
Reinhold soon stood in opposition to his whole surroundings, and the defiance with which he clung more than ever to his musical studies, and maintained his independence out of the house, only increased the anger of his father and mother-in-law.
Frau Almbach, who shared her husband's opinion entirely, supported him with all her strength; Ella, on the contrary, remained, as usual, quite passive. Any interference or taking a part was neither expected nor desired; her parents never thought of crediting her with the very least influence over Reinhold, and he himself ignored her in this affair altogether, and did not even seem to grant her the right of offering an opinion. The young wife suffered undeniably under these circumstances; whether she felt the sad, humiliating part which she, the wife, played--thus overlooked by both factions--set aside and treated as if incapable--could hardly be decided. At her parents' bitter and excited discussions, and her husband's constant state of irritation, which often found vent at trifling causes, and was generally directed against her, she always showed the same calm, patient resignation, seldom uttered a beseeching word, never interfered by any decided partisanship, and when, as usual, roughly repulsed, drew back more shyly than ever.
The only one who remained now, as before, on the best terms with all, and kept his undisputed place as general favourite, was, strange to say, the young Captain. Like all obstinate people, Almbach resigned himself more easily to a fact than to a struggle, and forgave more easily the direct but quiet want of regard for his authority, such as his eldest nephew had shown him, than the stormy opposition to his will which was now attempted by the younger one. When Hugo saw that a hated calling was forced upon him, he had neither defied nor offended his uncle; he had simply gone away, and let the storm rage itself out behind his back. Certainly, he did not hesitate later to enact the return of the prodigal son to ensure his entrance into the house to which his brother belonged, and his restoration to his relations' favour. Reinhold possessed neither the capability nor the inclination to play with circumstances in this way. Just as he had never been able to disguise his dislike to business life, and his indifference to all the provincial town interests, so he now made no secret of his contempt for all around him, his burning hatred for the fetters which confined him--and it was this which could not be pardoned. Hugo, who espoused his brother's side positively, was permitted to take his part openly, and did so on every occasion. His uncle pardoned him this, even looked upon it as quite natural, as the young Captain's mode of treatment never let it come to a rupture, while with Reinhold, the subject only needed to be touched upon in order to cause the most furious scenes between him and his wife's parents.
It was about noontide, when Hugo entered the Almbachs' house, and met his servant, whom he had sent before with a message to his brother, at the foot of the stairs. Jonas was really nominally only a sailor in the "Ellida;" he had long had his discharge from the ship, and been appointed solely to the young Captain's personal service, whom he never left, even during a lengthy stay on shore, and whom he followed everywhere with constant, unvarying attachment. Both were of about the same age. Jonas was truly far from ugly; in his Sunday clothes he might even pass for a good-looking fellow, but his uncouth manner, his rough ways and his chariness of speech never allowed these advantages to be perceived. He was almost on an enemy's footing with all the servants, especially the women of Almbach's household, and none of them had ever seen a pleasant expression on his face, nor heard a word more than was absolutely necessary. Even now he looked very sour, and the four or five dollars he was just counting in his hand seemed to excite his displeasure, judging from the savage way he looked at them.
"What is it, Jonas?" asked the Captain, approaching, "are you taking stock of your ready money?"
The sailor looked up, and put himself in an attitude of attention, but his face did not become more pleasant.
"I am to go to the nursery garden and get a bouquet of flowers," he grumbled, as he put the money in his pocket.
"Oh! are you employed as messenger for flowers?"
"Yes, here too," said Jonas, emphasising the last word, and with a reproachful glance at his master, added, "I am used to it, to be sure."
"Certainly," laughed Hugo. "But I am not used to your doing such things for others than myself. Who has given you the commission?"
"Herr Reinhold," was the laconic reply.
"My brother--so?" said Hugo, slowly, while a shade flitted across his features, so bright just now.
"And it is a sin the sum I am to pay for it," muttered Jonas. "Herr Reinhold understands even better than we how to throw away dollars for things which will be faded to-morrow, and we at any rate are not married, but he--"
"The bouquet is of course for my sister-in-law?" the Captain interrupted shortly. "What is there to wonder at? Do you think I shall give my wife no bouquets when I am married?"
The last remark must have been very unexpected by the sailor, as he drew himself up with a jerk, and stared at his master in the most perfect horror, but the next minute he returned reassured to his old position, saying confidently--
"We shall never marry, Herr Captain."
"I forbid all such prophetic remarks, which condemn me without further ado to perpetual celibacy," said Hugo quickly, "and why shall 'we' never marry?"
"Because we think nothing of women," persisted Jonas.
"You have a very curious habit of always speaking in the plural," scoffed the Captain. "So I think nothing of women; I thought the contrary had often roused your ire?"
"But it never comes to marriage," said Jonas triumphantly, in a tone of unconquerable conviction, "at heart we do not think much of the whole lot. The story never goes beyond sending flowers and kissing hands, then we sail away, and they have the pleasure of looking after us. It is a very lucky thing that it is so. Women on the 'Ellida'--Heaven protect us from it!"
This characteristic account, given with unmistakable seriousness, although again in the unavoidable plural, appeared to be full of truth, as the Captain raised no objection to it. He only shrugged his shoulders laughingly, turned his back upon the sailor, and went upstairs. He found Reinhold in his own rooms, which lay in the upper story, and a single glance at his brother's face, who was walking angrily up and down, showed him that something must have happened again to-day.
"You are going out?" asked he, after greeting him, while looking at the hat and gloves lying on the table.
"Later on!" answered Reinhold, recovering himself. "In about an hour. You will stay some time?"
Hugo overlooked the last question. He stood opposite his brother, and gazed searchingly at him.
"Has there been a scene again?" he asked half-aloud.
The moody defiance, which had disappeared for a few moments from the young man's face, returned.
"To be sure. They have attempted once more to treat me like a schoolboy, who, when he has accomplished his daily appointed task, is to be watched, and made to render an account of every step he takes, even in his hours of recreation. I have made it clear to them that I am tired of their everlasting guardianship."
The Captain did not ask what step the quarrel was about; the short conversation with Jonas seemed to have explained all that sufficiently; he only said, shaking his head--"It is unfortunate that you are so completely dependent upon our uncle. If later on it end in a regular rupture between you, and you leave the business, it would become a question of existence for you--your income goes entirely with it. You, yourself, might trust wholly to your compositions, but to think they could support a family yet would be making your future very uncertain from the beginning. I had only myself to act for; you will be compelled to wait until a greater work places you in the position of being able to turn your back, with your wife and child, upon all the envy of a small provincial town."
"Impossible!" cried Reinhold almost madly. "By that time I shall have foundered ten times over, and what talent I possess with me. Endure, wait, perhaps for years? I cannot do it, it is the same thing to me as suicide. My new work is completed. If only in some degree it attain the success of the first, it would enable me to live at least a few months in Italy."
Hugo was staggered.