"You are going to Italy? Why there particularly?" asked the Captain.
"Where then?" interposed Reinhold impatiently. "Italy is the school of all art and artists. There alone could I complete the meagre, defective study to which circumstances confined me. Can you not understand that?"
"No," said the Captain, somewhat coldly. "I do not see the necessity that a beginner should go at once to the higher school. You can find opportunity enough for study here; most of our talented men have had to struggle and work for years before Italy at last crowned their work. Supposing, however, you carry out your plan, what is to become of your wife and child in the meanwhile? Do you intend to take them with you?"
"Ella?" cried the young man, in an almost contemptuous voice. "That would be the most certain method of rendering my success impossible. Do you think, that in the first step I take towards freedom, I could drag the whole chain of domestic misery with me?"
A slight frown was perceptible between Hugo's eyes--
"That sounds very hard, Reinhold," he answered.
"Is it my fault, that I am at last conscious of the truth?" growled Reinhold. "My wife cannot raise herself above the sphere of cooking and household management. It is not her fault, I know, but it is not therefore any less the misfortune of my life."
"Ella's incapacity, certainly seems settled as a sort of dogma in the family," remarked the Captain quietly. "You believe in it blindly, like the rest. Have you ever given yourself the trouble to find out if this accepted fact be really infallible?"
Reinhold shrugged his shoulders--
"I think it would be unnecessary in this case. But in none can there be a question of my taking Ella with me. Naturally she will remain with the child in her parents' house until I return."
"Until you return--and if that do not happen?"
"What do you say? What do you mean?" said the young man angrily, while a deep colour spread over his face.
Hugo crossed his arms and looked fiercely at him--
"It strikes me you are now suddenly coming forward with ready-made plans, which have certainly long been arranged, and probably well talked over. Do not deny it Reinhold! You, by yourself, would never have gone to such extremities as you do now in the disputes with my uncle, listening to no advice or representations; there is some foreign influence at work. Is it really absolutely necessary that you should go day after day to Biancona?"
Reinhold vouchsafed no reply; he turned away, and so withdrew himself from his brother's observation.
"It is talked of already in the town," continued the latter. "It cannot continue long without the report reaching here. Is it a matter of perfect indifference to you?"
"Signora Biancona is studying my new composition," said Reinhold shortly, "and I only see in her the ideal of an actress. You admired her also?"
"Admired, yes! At least in the beginning. She never attracted me. The beautiful Signora has something too vampire-like in her eyes. I fear that whoever it be, upon whom she fixes those eyes with the intention of holding him fast, will require a powerful dose of strength of will in order to remain master of himself."
At the last words he had gone to his brother's side, who now turned round slowly and looked at him.
"Have you experienced that already?" he asked, gloomily.
"I? No!" replied Hugo, with a touch of his old mocking humour. "Fortunately I am very unimpressionable as regards such-like romantic dangers, besides being sufficiently used to them. Call it frivolity--inconstancy--what you will--but a woman cannot fascinate me long or deeply; the passionate element is wanting in me. You have it only too strongly, and when you encounter anything of the sort, the danger lies close by. Take care of yourself, Reinhold!"
"Do you wish to remind me of the fetters I bear?" asked Reinhold, bitterly. "As if I did not feel them daily, hourly, and with them the powerlessness to destroy them. If I were free as you, when you tore yourself away from this bondage, all might be well; but you are right, they chained me by times, and a bridal altar is the most secure bar which can be placed before all longing for freedom--I experience it now."
They were interrupted; the servant from the house brought a message from the bookkeeper to young Herr Almbach. The latter bade the man go, and turned to his brother.
"I must go to the office for a moment. You see I am not in much danger of coming to grief by excessive romance; our ledgers, in which, probably, a couple of dollars are not properly entered, guard against that. Adieu until we meet again, Hugo!"
He went, and the Captain remained alone. He stayed a few moments as if lost in thought, while the frown on his brow became still darker; then suddenly he raised himself as with some resolve, and left the room, but not to go to the lower floor to his uncle or aunt; he went straight to the opposite apartments inhabited by his sister-in-law.
Ella was there; she sat by the window, her head was bent over some needlework, but it seemed as if this had been seized hurriedly when the door opened unexpectedly; the handkerchief thrown down hastily, and the inflamed eyelids betrayed freshly dried tears. She looked up at her brother-in-law's entrance with undisguised astonishment. It was certainly the first time he had sought her rooms; he came half-way only, and then stood still without approaching her seat.
"May the adventurer dare to come near you, Ella? or did that condemning verdict banish him entirely from your threshold?"
The young wife blushed; she turned her work about in her hands in most painful confusion.
"Herr--"
"Captain!" interrupted Hugo. "Quite right--thus do my sailors address me. Once more this name from your lips, and I shall never trouble you again with my presence. Pray Ella, listen to me to-day!" he continued determinedly, as the young wife made signs of rising. "This time I shall keep the door barred by which you always try to elude my approach; fortunately, too, there is no maid near whom you can keep by your side for some task. We are alone, and I give you my word I shall not leave this spot until I am either forgiven, or--hear the unavoidable 'Herr Captain' which will drive me away once for all."
Ella raised her eyes, and now it was plainly evident that she had wept.
"What do you care for my forgiveness?" she replied quickly. "You have wounded me least of all; I only spoke in the name of my parents and all the household."
"For them I do not care," said Hugo with the most unabashed candour, "but that I have hurt you I do regret, very much regret; it has lain like a nightmare upon me until now. I can surely do no more than beg honestly and heartily for forgiveness. Are you still angry with me, Ella?"
He put out his hand towards her. In the movement and words there lay such a warm, open kindliness and frankness, that it seemed almost impossible to refuse the petition, and Ella actually, although somewhat reluctantly, laid her hand in his.
"No," said she, simply.
"Thank God!" cried Hugo, drawing a long breath. "So at last my rights as brother-in-law are conceded. I thus take solemn possession of them."
The words were followed by the deed, as he drew forward a chair and sat down beside her. "Do you know, Ella, that since our late encounter you have interested me very much?" continued he.
"It seems one must be rude to you in order to arouse your interest," remarked Ella, almost reproachfully.
"Yes, it appears so," agreed the Captain, with perfect composure. "We 'adventurers' are a peculiar people, and require different treatment to ordinary mankind. You have taken the right course with me. Since you read me my lecture so unsparingly, I have left all the house in peace; I have behaved towards my uncle and aunt with the most perfect respect and deference, and even robbed my Indian stories of all their appalling effects, simply from fear of certain rebuking eyes. This can surely not have escaped your notice?"
Something like a half-smile crossed Ella's countenance as she asked--
"It has been very hard for you, then?"
"Very hard! Although the state of affairs in the house should have made it somewhat easier for me, they have not been of a description lately, on which one could exercise one's love of joking."
The passing gleam of merriment vanished immediately from Ella's face at this allusion; it bore an anxious, beseeching expression, as she turned to her brother-in-law.
"Yes, it is very sad with us," she said, softly, "and it becomes worse from day to day. My parents are so hard, and Reinhold so irritated, so furious at every occurrence. Oh, my God, can you do nothing with him?"
"I?" asked Hugo, seriously, "I might put that question to you, his wife."
Ella shook her head in inconsolable resignation. "No one listens to me, and Reinhold less than any one. He thinks I understand nothing about it all--he would repulse me roughly."
Hugo looked sorrowfully at the young wife, who confessed openly that she was quite wanting in power and influence over her husband, and that she was not permitted to share his longings and strivings in the least.
"And yet something must be done," said he decidedly. "Reinhold irritates himself in this struggle; he suffers tremendously under it, and makes others suffer too. You had been crying, Ella, as I entered, and in the last few weeks not a day has passed without my seeing this red appearance about your eyes. No, do not turn aside so timidly! Surely the brother may be allowed to speak freely, and you shall see that I do more than talk nonsense. I repeat it; something must be done--done by you. Reinhold's artistic career depends upon it, his whole future; and in the struggle his wife must stand at his side, otherwise others might do it instead, and that would be dangerous."
Ella looked at him with a mixture of astonishment and alarm. For the first time in her life she was called upon to take a side openly, and some result was looked for depending upon her interference. What could be meant by "others" who might take her place? Her face showed plainly that she had not the slightest suspicion of anything.
Hugo saw this, and yet had not the courage to go any farther; as going farther meant planting the first suspicion in the mind of the so-far quite unconscious wife--being his brother's betrayer--and unavoidably calling forth a catastrophe, of whose necessity he was nevertheless convinced. But the young Captain's whole nature rebelled against the painful task; he sat there undecided, when chance came to his help. Some one knocked at the door, and immediately Jonas entered, carrying a large bouquet of flowers.
The sailor was surely more prudent when he executed such commissions for his master. He knew from experience, that the latter's offerings of flowers, although received with pleasure by the young ladies, were not always treated the same by their fathers and protectors, and although with possible secret annoyance, he always took care to go to the right address. But this time Hugo's casual remark that the flowers were intended for his sister-in-law, caused the mistake. Jonas never doubted that the Captain's remark, meant merely to shield his brother, was made in earnest; he therefore went straight to the young Frau Almbach, and presented the flowers to her, with the words--
"I cannot find Herr Reinhold anywhere in the house, so had better deliver the flowers here at once."
Ella looked down in surprise at the beautiful bouquet which, arranged with as much skill as taste, showed a selection of the most perfect flowers.
"From whom are the flowers?" asked she.
"From the garden," answered Jonas. "Herr Reinhold ordered them, and I have brought them; but as I cannot find him--"
"That will do. You can go," broke in Hugo, as he stepped quickly to his sister-in-law's side, and put his hand on her arm as if to stop her. A sign gave more stress to his order, and Jonas rolled away, but could not help wondering that the young Frau Almbach received her husband's attention in so peculiar a manner. She had started suddenly, as if she had been seized with a pain at her heart, and become ashen white. But the Captain stood there with knitted brows, and an expression on his face as if he should have liked best to throw the expensive flowers out of the window. Fortunately, Jonas was too phlegmatic to trouble himself much about the state of affairs in the Almbachs' house; owing to the warlike footing on which he stood to the servants he learned but little about it; so, after wondering slightly, he gave it up, and being satisfied he had executed his orders conscientiously, troubled himself no more about the giver of them.
Deep silence reigned a few seconds in the room. Ella still held the bouquet convulsively in her hand, but her usually quiet, listless countenance, with its vacant, almost stupid expression, had changed curiously. Now every feature was dilated as if in agonising pain, and her eyes remained fixed and immovable upon the gay, blooming beauty, even when she turned to her brother-in-law.
"Reinhold gave the order?" she asked, as if striving for breath, "then the flowers only came by mistake to me!"
"Why then," said Hugo, with a vain attempt to soothe her, "Reinhold ordered the flowers; well, surely they are for you?"
"For me?" Her voice sounded full of pain. "I have never yet received flowers from him; these are certainly not intended for me."
Hugo saw he could not hesitate any more; chance had decided for him; now he must obey fate's signal. "You are right, Ella," he replied firmly, "and it would be useless and dangerous to deceive you any longer. Reinhold did not say for whom the flowers were, but I know that this evening they will be in Signora Biancona's hands."
Ella shivered, and the bouquet fell to the ground. "Signora Biancona," repeated she, in a dull tone.
"The actress who sang his first song in public," continued the Captain, impressively, "for whom, also, his new composition is intended; to whom he goes daily; who enters into all his thoughts and feelings. You know nothing of it as yet, I see in your face, but you must learn it now, before it is too late."
The young wife made no reply; her face was as colourless as the white blossoms which formed the outer circle of the bouquet; silently she stooped, picked it up, and laid it on the table, but no sound, no response came from her lips. Hugo waited for one in vain.
"Do you believe the cruelty of disclosing that which one always hides from every wife has given me any pleasure?" asked he, with suppressed emotion. "Do you think I could not, by some pretence, have covered the man's stupidity, and given myself out as the sender of the unlucky flowers? If I do not act thus, if I discover the whole truth unsparingly, I do it because the danger has become extreme--because only you can still save him; and this you must see clearly. Signora Biancona is about to return to her home, and Reinhold explained to me just now that he must and will continue his studies in Italy. Do you comprehend the connection?"
Ella started. Now, for the first time, a desperate fear broke through the stolid calm of her nature.
"No, no!" she cried, as if beside herself, "He cannot! hedarenot. We are married!"
"He dare not?" repeated Hugo. "You know men but little, and your own husband least of all. Do not trust too much to the right which the Church gave you; even this power has its limits, and I fear Reinhold already stands beyond them. To be sure, you have no conception of that burning fiendish passion, which enchains and makes a man powerless--so surrounds him with its bonds, that for its sake he forgets and sacrifices everything. Signora Biancona is one of those demonlike natures which can inspire such passions, and here she is connected with everything which makes up Reinhold's life--with music, art and imagination. Nor Church nor marriage can protect, if the wife cannot protect herself. You are wife, and mother of his child. Perhaps he will listen to your voice, when he will to nothing else."
The young wife's heavily-drawn breath showed how much she suffered, and two tears, the first, rolled slowly down her cheeks as she replied, almost inaudibly, "I will try it."
Hugo came close to her side. "I know I have thrown a lighted brand into the family to-day, which will, perhaps, destroy the last remains of peace," he said, earnestly. "Hundreds of wives would now rush despairingly to their parents, so as, with them or alone, to call their husbands to account, and cause a scene which would break the last bond, and drive him irretrievably from the house. You will not do this, Ella; I know it, therefore I dared do with you what I should not have ventured on so easily with any other woman. What you may say to Reinhold--what you may insist upon, rests with yourself; but do not let him leave you now; do not let him go to Italy!"
He ceased, and seemed to expect an answer--in vain; Ella sat there, her face buried in her hands. She hardly moved as he said good-bye to her. The young Captain saw that she must overcome the blow alone, so he went.
When, half-an-hour later, Reinhold returned from the office, he saw the bouquet of roses lying on the writing-table in his own room, and took it up under the firm impression that Jonas had put it there. In the meanwhile Ella sat in her child's room and waited, not for a farewell from her husband, she had not been used to such tendernesses ever since her marriage; but she knew he never left the house without first going to see his boy. The wife felt only too well that she herself was nothing to her husband, that her only value for him lay in the child; she felt that the love for his child was the only point by which she could approach his heart, and therefore she waited here for him in order to hold the terribly difficult and painful interview. He must surely come; but to-day she had to wait in vain. Reinhold did not come. For the first time he forgot the farewell kiss on his child's brow--forgot the last and only bond which chained him to his home. In his heart there was only room now for one thought, and that was Beatrice Biancona.
The opera was over. A stream of people flowed out of the theatre, dispersing in all directions, and carriages rolled by on every side to take up their respective owners. The house had been filled to overflowing, as the Italian Opera Company had given their farewell performance, and all H---- had tried to show the singers, especially theprima donna, how much charmed it was with their efforts, and how sorry it was to lose them now the hour of parting had arrived. The stairs and corridors were still crowded; below in the vestibule people were closely packed, and at the places of egress the numbers increased to an uncomfortable, almost dangerous degree.
"It is almost impossible to get through," said Doctor Welding, who, with another gentleman, descended the stairs. "One's life is imperilled in the crush below. Rather let us wait until the rush is over!"
His companion agreed, and both stepped aside into one of the deep, dark niches in the corridor, where a lady had already taken shelter. Her dress, although simple, betokened that she belonged to the upper classes; she had drawn her veil closely over her face, and appeared to avoid the crowd, also to feel quite strange in the theatre, from the manner in which she pressed herself with evident nervousness firmly against the wall, when the two gentlemen approached, and, without paying any attention to her, resumed their interrupted conversation.
"I prophesied it from the commencement that this Almbach would make a great sensation," said Welding; "his second composition surpasses his first in every respect; and the first was great enough for a beginner. I should think he might be satisfied with its reception this time; it was, if possible, more enthusiastic. Certainly, every one has not the luck to find a Biancona for his works, and to inspire her for them, so that she exerts her utmost power. It was altogether her idea to sing this newest song of Almbach's as introduction to the last act of the opera, to-day, too, at her farewell; when applause was a matter of course, she made sure, by those means, of success at once."
"Well, I don't think he is wanting in gratitude," scoffed the other gentleman. "People say all sorts of things. So much is certain, all her circle of adorers is furious at this interloper, who hardly appears before he is on the high road to be sole ruler. The affair, besides, seems rather serious and highly romantic, and I am really anxious to see what will be the end of it, when Biancona departs."
The Doctor buttoned his overcoat quietly--
"That is not difficult to guess; an elopement of the first order."
"You think he will elope with her?" asked the other incredulously.
"He with her? That would be objectless. Biancona is perfectly free to decide what she likes, as to the choice of her residence. But she with him; that would be more like the case--the fetters are on his side."
"To be sure, he is married," rejoined his companion. "Poor woman! Do you know her personally?"
"No," said Welding, indifferently; "but from Herr Consul Erlau's description, I can form a truly correct picture of her. Contracted ideas, passive, unimportant in the highest degree, quite given up to the kitchen and household affairs--just the woman in fact to drive a genial, fiery-headed fellow like Almbach to a desperate step; and as it is a Biancona who is set up against her, this step will not have to be waited for very long. Perhaps it would be fortunate for Almbach if he were torn suddenly out of these confined surroundings, and thrown on to the path of life, but certainly the little family peace there is would be entirely ruined. The usual fate of such early marriages, in which the wife cannot in the smallest degree raise herself to her husband's importance."
At these last words he turned round somewhat astonished; involuntarily the lady behind them had made a passionate movement, but at the same moment as the Doctor was about to observe her more narrowly, a side door was opened, and Reinhold Almbach appeared, accompanied by Hugo, the conductor, and several other gentlemen.
Reinhold here was quite a different being from what he was at home. The gloom which always rested on his features there, the reserve which made him so often unapproachable, seemed thrown off with one accord; he beamed with excitement, success, and triumph. His brow was raised freely and proudly, his dark eyes flashed with conscious victory, and his whole manner breathed forth passionate satisfaction, as he turned to his companions.
"I thank you, gentlemen. You are very kind, but you will excuse me if I retire from these flattering acknowledgments. The Signora wishes for my company at the entertainment, where the members of the opera assemble once more as a farewell meeting. You will understand, I must obey this command before all others."
The gentlemen seemed to understand it perfectly, and also to regret they had not to obey a similar command, when Doctor Welding joined the group.
"I congratulate you," he said, giving his hand to the young composer. "That was a great, and what is more, a merited success."
Reinhold smiled. Praise from the lips of a critic usually so exacting was not indifferent to him.
"You see, Herr Doctor, I have to appear at last before your judgment seat," replied he pleasantly. "Herr Consul Erlau was unfortunately wrong when he considered me quite safe from any such danger."
"None should be considered happy before the end," remarked the Doctor laconically. "Why do you rush so headlong into danger, and turn your back upon the noble merchant's position? Is it true we are to lose you with Signora Biancona? Shall you take flight to the south at the same time?"
"To Italy, yes!" said Reinhold positively. "It has been my plan for long. This evening has decided it, but now--excuse me gentlemen, I cannot possibly allow the Signora to wait."
He bowed and left them, accompanied by his brother. The usually not quite silent Captain had observed a remarkable reticence during the conversation. He started slightly, when at Welding's approach the niche was disclosed in which the woman's dark figure was pressed back in the shadow of the wall, as if not wishing to be seen on any account, and no one else did see her, at least no one took any notice of her; she could not leave her place of refuge without passing the group, which kept its place after the departure of the brothers. The gentlemen all knew one another, and took advantage of this meeting to exchange their opinions about the young composer, Signora Biancona, and the suspected state of affairs between the two. The latter especially was subjected to a tolerably merciless criticism. The scoffing, witty, and malicious remarks fell thick as hail, and some time elapsed before the group separated at last. Now that the corridor was quite empty, the lady in the recess raised herself and prepared to depart, but she tottered at the first few steps, and seized the banisters of the staircase as if about to fall, when a powerful arm supported, and held her up.
"Come into the fresh air, Ella!" said Hugo, standing suddenly beside her. "That was torture of the rack."
He drew her hand within his arm, and led her down by the nearest way into the street. Only here, in the cool, sharp night air did Ella appear to regain consciousness; she threw back her veil and drew a long breath, as if she had been nearly suffocated.
"If I had dreamed that my warning would have brought you here, I should have withheld it." continued Hugo, reproachfully. "Ella, for heaven's sake, what an unfortunate idea!"
The young wife drew her hand away from his arm. The reproach seemed to pain her.
"I wanted to see her for once," replied she softly.
"Without being seen yourself?" added the Captain. "I knew that the moment I recognised you, therefore I said nothing to Reinhold, but I felt as if standing on hot coals here below, while the criticising group above was holding forth before your place of refuge, and giving free course to their amiable remarks and opinions. I can fancy pretty well what you had to listen to."
During the last words he had hailed a cabman, told the street and number of house, and helped his sister-in-law into the carriage; but as he showed signs of taking a seat beside her, she declined his doing so, quietly but firmly.
"Thanks, I shall go alone."
"On no account!" cried Hugo, almost excitedly. "You are much agitated, almost fainting; it would be unpardonable to leave you alone in this state."
"You are not responsible for what becomes of me," said Ella, with uncontrolled bitterness, "and to others--it does not matter. Let me drive home alone, Hugo, I beseech you."
Her eyes looked at him entreatingly through their veil of tears. The Captain did not say another word; he shut the door obediently, and stepped back; but he watched the carriage as it rolled away until it was out of sight.
It was long past midnight when Reinhold returned, and, without entering his house, he went at once to his garden room. The house and outbuildings lay still and dark; nothing was moving around, all who lived and worked here were accustomed to be occupied in the daytime, and required the night for undisturbed repose. It was fortunate that the garden-house lay so distant and isolated, otherwise his companions and neighbours would have been much less patient with the young composer, who could not refrain, however late he might return home, from always seeking his piano, and often morning's dawn surprised him at his musical phantasies.
It was a quiet, moonlight, but sharp raw northern spring night. In the dawning light, the walls and gables which enclosed the garden looked even more gloomy and prison-like than by day; the canal appeared darker in the pale moon's rays, which trembled over it, and the bare leafless trees and shrubs seemed to tremble and shudder in the cold night wind, which passed mercilessly over them. It was already April, and yet the first buds were hardly to be seen. "This miserable spring, with its tardy growth and bloom, its dreary rainy days and cold winds!" Reinhold had heard these words spoken a few hours since, and then such a glowing description followed of endless spring, which blossoms forth as by magic in the gardens of the south, those sunny days, with ever blue sky, and the thousandfold glorious colours of the earth; the moonlight nights full of orange perfume and notes of song. The young man must indeed have head and heart still full of this picture; he looked more contemptuously than usual on the poor bare surroundings, and impatiently pushed aside a branch of elderberry whose newly opening brown buds touched his forehead. He had no more feeling for the gifts of this miserable spring, and no more pleasure in growing and living as miserably as these blossoms, ever fighting with frost and wind. Out into freedom, that was the only thought which now filled his mind.
Reinhold opened the door of the garden room and started back with sudden alarm. A few seconds elapsed before he recognised his wife in the figure leaning against the piano standing out clearly in the moonlight as it fell through the window.
"Is it you, Ella?" he cried at last, entering quickly. "What is it? What has happened?"
She made a movement of denial. "Nothing, I was only waiting for you."
"Here? and at this hour?" asked Reinhold, extremely distantly. "What has entered your head?"
"I hardly ever see you now," was the soft response, "at least only at table in my parents' presence, and I wished to speak to you alone."
She had lighted the lamp at these words, and placed it upon the table. She still wore the dark silk dress which she had on at the theatre this evening; it was certainly plain and unornamented, but not so coarse and unbecoming as her usual house dress. Also her never failing cap had disappeared, and now, that it was missing, could be seen for the first time what a singular wealth was hidden beneath it. The fair hair, of which at other times only a narrow strip was visible, could hardly be confined in the heavy plaits which showed themselves in all their splendid abundance; but this natural ornament, which any other woman would have displayed, was in her case hidden carefully day after day, until chance disclosed it, and yet it appeared to give her head quite a different mould.
As usual, Reinhold had no eyes for it; he hardly looked at his young wife, and only listened slightly and abstractedly to her words. There was not even the slightest trace of reproach in them, but he must have felt something of the sort lay there as he said impatiently--
"You know I am occupied on all possible sides. My new composition which was completed a few weeks since, was brought out publicly to-night for the first time--"
"I know it," interrupted Ella. "I was in the theatre."
Reinhold seemed taken aback. "You were in the theatre?" asked he quickly and sharply. "With whom? At whose instigation?"
"I was there alone--I wished--" she stopped, and continued hesitatingly; "I too wished to hear your music for once, of which all the world speaks and I alone do not know."
Her husband was silent and looked enquiringly at her. The young wife did not understand the art of deceiving, and an untruth would not pass her lips. She stood before him, deadly pale, trembling in all her limbs; no especially keen sight was required to guess the truth, and Reinhold did so at once.
"And only for this reason you went?" said he slowly at last. "Will you deceive me with this excuse, or yourself, perhaps? I see the report has found its way to you already! You wished to see with your own eyes, naturally. How could I think it would be spared me and you?"
Ella looked up. There was again the darkly lowering brow she was always accustomed to in her husband, the look of gloomy melancholy, the expression of defiant, suppressed suffering, no longer a breath of that beaming triumph which had lighted up his features a few hours before--that was when away, far from his own people; only the shadow remained for home.
"Why do you not answer?" he began afresh. "Do you think I should be coward enough to deny the truth? If I have been silent towards you so far, it was done to spare you; now that you know it, I will render account. You have been told of the young actress, to whom I owe the first incitement to work, my first success, and to-day's triumph. God knows how the connection between us has been represented to you, and naturally you look upon it as a crime worthy of death."
"No, but as a misfortune."
The tone of these words would surely have disarmed any one; even Reinhold's irritation could not resist it. He came nearer to her and took her hand.
"Poor child!" said he, pitifully. "It certainly was no happiness what your father's will decided for you. You, more than any other, required a husband who would work and strive from day to day in the quiet routine of daily life without even having a wish to step beyond it, and fate has chained you to a man whom it draws powerfully to another course. You are right; that is a misfortune for us both."
"That is to say, I am one for you," added the young wife, sadly. "She will, perhaps, know better how to bring you happiness."
Reinhold let her hand fall and stepped back. "You are mistaken," he replied, almost rudely, "and quite misconstrue the connection between Signora Biancona and myself. It has been purely ideal from the beginning, and is so still at this moment. Whoever told you differently is a liar."
At the first words, Ella seemed to breathe more easily, but at the following her heart contracted as if with cramp. She knew her husband was incapable of speaking a falsehood, least of all at such a moment, and he told her the connection was spiritual. That it was so still she did not doubt, but how long would it be so? This evening, in the theatre, she had seen the flash of those demon-like eyes, which nothing could resist; had seen how that woman, in her part, had run through the whole scale of feelings to the greatest passion; how this passion carried away the audience to a perfect storm of approbation; and she could easily tell herself that if it had pleased the Italian so far only to be the gracious goddess whose hand had led the young composer into the realms of art, the hour was sure to come in which she would wish to be more to him.
"I love Beatrice," continued Reinhold, with a cruelty of which he seemed to have no real conception; "but this love does not injure nor wound any of your rights. It only concerns music, as whose embodied genius she met me, concerns the best and highest in my life, the ideal--"
"And what is left for your wife, then?" interrupted Ella.
He remained silent, struck dumb. This question, simple as it was, sounded nevertheless peculiar from the lips of his wife, deemed so stupid. It was a matter of course, that she should be satisfied with what still remained--the name she bore and the child, whose mother she was. Strange to say, she did not appear inclined to understand this, and Reinhold became quite silent at the quiet but yet annihilating reproach of the question.
The wife rested her hand on the piano. She was visibly fighting with the fear she had always cherished for her husband, whose mental superiority she felt deeply, without, at the same time, ever venturing on an attempt to raise herself to him. In the knowledge that he stood so high above her, she had ever placed herself completely under him, without ever attaining anything by it excepting toleration, which almost amounted to contempt.
Now that he loved another, the toleration ceased; the contempt remained--she felt that plainly in his confession, which he made so quietly, so positively; his love for the beautiful singer "neither injured nor wounded any of her rights." She had indeed no right to his spiritual life. And she should keep firm hold of that man now, when the love of a beautiful, universally admired actress, when the magical charm of Italy, when a future full of renown and glory beckoned to him, she, who had nothing to give excepting herself--Ella was conscious for the first time of the impossibility of the task which had been appointed to her.
"I know you have never belonged to us, never loved any of us," she said, with quiet resignation. "I have always felt it; it has only become clear to me since I was your wife, and then it was too late. But I am it now, and if you forsake me and the child, you will give us up for the sake of another."
"Who says so?" cried Reinhold, with anger, which exonerated him from the suspicion that such a thought had really entered his mind. "Forsake? Give up you and the child? Never!"
The young wife fixed her eyes enquiringly upon him, as if she did not understand him.
"But you said just now you loved Beatrice Biancona?"
"Yes, but--"
"But! Then you must choose between her and us."
"You suddenly develope most unusual determination," cried Reinhold, roused. "I must? And if I will not do it? If I consider this ideal artist love quite compatible with my duties, if--"
"If you follow her to Italy," completed Ella.
"Then you know that already?" cried the young man, passionately. "You seem to be so perfectly informed, that it only remains for me to confirm the news others have been so kind as to tell you. It is certainly my intention to continue my studies in Italy, and if I should meet Signora Biancona there--if her vicinity give me fresh inspiration to compose--her hand open me the door to the world of art, I shall not be fool enough to reject all this, just because it is my fate to possess a--wife!"
Ella shuddered at the unsparing hardness of the last words.
"Are you so ashamed of your wife?" she asked, softly.
"Ella, I beg you--"
"Are you so ashamed of me?" repeated the poor wife, apparently calmly; but there was a strange, nervous, trembling inflection in her voice. Reinhold turned away.
"Do not be childish, Ella," he replied, impatiently. "Do you think it is good or elevating for a man, when he returns home after his first success, there to find complaints, reproaches, in short, all the wretched prose of domestic life? So far you have spared me it, and should do the same in future. Otherwise you might discover that I am not the patient sort of husband who would allow such scenes to take place without resistance."
Only a single glance at the young wife was required to recognise the boundless injustice of this reproach. She stood there, not like the accuser, but like the condemned; indeed she felt that in this hour the verdict was spoken upon her marriage and her life.
"I know well that I have never been anything to you," said she, with trembling voice, "never could be anything to you, and if I only were concerned, I would let you go without a word, without a petition. But the child is still between us, and therefore"--she stopped a moment, and breathed heavily----"therefore you can comprehend that the mother should pray once more for you to remain with us."
The petition came out shyly, hesitatingly; in it could be heard the effort it cost her to make it to the husband, in whose heart no chord throbbed for her, and yet in the last words there rang such a touching, frightened entreaty, that his ear could not remain quite deaf. He turned to her again.
"I cannot stay, Ella," he replied, more mildly than before, but still with cool decision. "My future depends on it. You cannot conceive what lies in that word for me. You cannot accompany me with the child. Besides this being quite impossible in a tour undertaken for study, you would soon be very miserable in a foreign country whose language you do not understand, in circumstances and surroundings for which you are quite unsuited. You must, indeed, now accustom yourself to measure me and my life with another measure than that of narrow-minded prejudice and middle-class contracted ideas. You can stay here with the little one, under your parents' protection; at latest I shall return in a year. You must resign yourself to this separation."
He spoke calmly, even pleasantly; but every word was an icy rejection, an impatient shaking off of the irksome bond. Hugo was right; he lay already too firmly under the influence of his passion to listen to any other voice--it was too late. A cold, pitiless, "You must resign yourself," was the only answer to that touching prayer.
Ella drew herself up with a determination at other times quite foreign to her, and there was also a strange sound in her voice; there lay in it something of the pride of a wife, who, trampled upon and kept down for years, at last revolts when extremities are resorted to.
"To the separation, yes," replied she, firmly. "I am powerless against it. But not to your return, Reinhold. If you go now, go with her, notwithstanding my prayers, notwithstanding our child, so do it. But then, go for ever!"
"Will you make conditions?" roared Reinhold, passionately. "Have I not borne the yoke which your father's so-called kindness forced upon me for years, which embittered my childhood, destroyed my youth, and now, at the threshold of man's estate, compels me to conquer, only by means of endless struggles, what every one requires as his natural right, free decision for himself? You all have kept me apart from everything that by others is called freedom and happiness; have bound me to a hated sphere in life with all possible fetters, and now think yourselves sure of your property. But at last the hour has come for me when it begins to dawn, and if it penetrates like lightning to my soul, and shows in flaming clearness the goal, and the reward at the goal, then one awakes out of the dream of long years, and finds oneself--in chains."
It was an outbreak of the wildest passion, most burning hatred, which welled forth without restraint, without asking if it were poured over the guilty or the innocent. That is the horrible fiendishness of passion, that it turns its hatred against everything which it encounters, even if this hatred meet the nearest, most sacred--if it even meet bonds voluntarily made.
A long pause, still as death, followed. Reinhold, overpowered by excitement, had thrown himself on a seat and covered his eyes with his hands. Ella still stood on the same spot as before; she did not speak or move; even the tremor which, during the conversation, had so often passed through her, had ceased. Thus passed a few moments, until at last she approached her husband slowly.
"You will leave me the child, though?" said she, with quivering lips. "To you it would only be a burden in your new life, and I have nothing else in the world."
Reinhold looked up, and then sprang suddenly from his seat. It was not the words which moved him so strangely, not the deadly, fixed calm of her face; it was the look which was so unexpectedly and astoundingly unveiled before him as before his brother. For the first time he saw in his wife's face "the beautiful fairy-tale blue eyes" which he had so often admired in his boy, without ever asking whence they came; and these eyes, large and full, were now directed towards him. No tear stood in them, neither any more beseeching; but an expression for which he never gave Ella credit, an expression before which his eyes sank to the ground.
"Ella," said he, uncertainly, "if I was too furious--What is it, Ella?"
He tried to take her hand; she drew it back.
"Nothing. When do you intend leaving?"
"I do not know," answered Reinhold, more and more struck. "In a few days--or weeks--there is no hurry."
"I will inform my parents. Good-night." She turned to go. He made a hasty step after her as if to detain her. Ella remained.
"You have misunderstood me."
The young wife drew herself up firmly and proudly. She appeared all at once to have become a different person. This tone and carriage, Ella Almbach had never known.
"The 'fetters' shall not press upon you any longer, Reinhold. You can attain your object unhindered, and your--prize. Good-night."
She opened the door quickly and went out. The moonlight fell brightly on the slight figure in the darkness, upon the sad pale face and the blond plaits. In the next moment she had disappeared. Reinhold stood alone.
"This house is miserable now," said the old bookkeeper in the office, as he put his pen behind his ear, and closed the account book. "The young master away for three days without giving any signs of his being alive, without enquiring for wife or child. The Herr Captain does not set his foot across the threshold; the principal goes about in such a rage that one hardly dares to go near him; and young Frau Almbach looks so wretched that one's heart aches to see her. Heaven knows how this unhappy story will end."
"But how, then, did this disturbance come so suddenly?" asked the head clerk, who also--it was the hour for closing the office--put his writing aside and shut his desk.
The bookkeeper shrugged his shoulders. "Suddenly? I do not believe it was unexpected by any of us. It has been smouldering in the family for weeks and months; only the spark was wanting in all this inflammable matter, and it came at last. Frau Almbach brought the news home from some lady's party, and thus her husband learned what half the town knew already, and what no one hears willingly, of his son-in-law. You know our chief, and how he always looked upon all this artist business with dislike; how he fought against it--and now this discovery! He sent for the young master, and then there was such a scene--I heard part of it in the next room. If Herr Reinhold had only behaved sensibly and given in in this case when he really was not innocent, perhaps the affair might have been set aside, instead of which he put on his most obstinate manner, told his father-in-law to his face that he would not remain a merchant, would go to Italy, would become a musician; he had endured the slavery here long enough, and much more of the same kind. The chief could not contain himself for rage; he forbade, threatened, insulted at last, and then, of course, came the end. The young master broke out so wildly that I thought something would happen. He stamped his foot like a madman, and cried--'And if the whole world set itself in opposition, it will still be. I will not be domineered over anyhow, nor allow my thoughts and feelings to be prescribed for me.' And it went on in this tone. An hour later he stormed out of the house, and has not let himself be heard of since. God protect everyone from such family scenes."
The old gentleman laid his pen aside, left his seat, and wished the others good-night, while he prepared to leave the office. He had hardly gone a few steps along the passage when he met Herr Almbach, who turned in quickly from the street. The bookkeeper struck his hands together in joyful alarm.
"Thank God that you, at least, are to be seen again, Herr Captain," he cried. "We are indeed wretched in this house."
"Is the barometer still pointing to stormy?" asked Hugo, with a glance at the upper story.
The bookkeeper sighed. "Stormy! Perhaps you will bring us sunshine."
"Hardly," said Hugo, seriously. "At this moment I am seeking Frau Almbach. Is she at home?"
"Your aunt is out with the chief," said the former.
"Not she. I mean my sister-in-law."
"The young mistress? Oh dear, we have not seen her for three days. She is sure to be upstairs in the nursery. She hardly leaves the little one for a moment now."
"I will seek her," said Hugo, as with a rapid adieu he hastened upstairs. "Good-evening."
The bookkeeper looked after him, shaking his head. He was not used to the young Captain's passing him without some joke, some chaff; and he had also remarked the cloud which to-day lay on the young man's usually cheerful brow. He shook his head once more, and repeated his former sigh, "God knows how the affair will end."
In the meanwhile Hugo had reached his sister-in-law's apartments.
"It is I, Ella," he said, entering. "Have I startled you?"
The young wife was alone; she sat by her boy's little bed. The rapid, youthful steps outside, and the quick opening of the door, might well have deceived her as to the comer. She had surely expected another. Her painful start and the colour in her face, which suddenly gave way to intense pallor, as she recognised her brother-in-law, showed this.
"My uncle carries his injustice so far as to forbid me the house also," continued the latter, as he came nearer. "He persists in thinking I had some share in this unhappy breach. I hope, Ella, that you exonerate me from it."
She hardly listened to the last words. "You bring me news from Reinhold?" asked she quickly, with fleeting breath. "Where is he?"
"You surely did not expect that he would come himself," said the Captain, evasively. "Whatever blame may be due to him in the whole affair, the behaviour on my uncle's part was such that every one would have rebelled against it. On this point I stand on his side, and understand thoroughly that he went with the intention not to return. I should have done the same."
"It was a terrible scene," replied Ella, with difficulty keeping back the tears which were gushing out. "My parents learned elsewhere what I would have hidden at any cost, and Reinhold was awful in his wild rage. He left us, but he might have let me receive one word at least, during the three days, through you. He is surely with you?"
"No," replied Hugo, shortly, almost roughly.
"No," repeated Ella, "he is not with you? I took it as a matter of course that he would be there."
The Captain looked down. "He came to me, and with the intention of remaining, but a difference arose between us about it. Reinhold is unboundedly passionate when a certain point is touched upon; I could and would not hide my feelings about it, and we quarrelled for the first time in our lives. He thereupon refused to be friends; I have only seen him again this morning."
Ella did not reply. She did not even ask what was the cause of the quarrel; she felt only too well that in her brother-in-law, esteemed so frivolous, mischievous, and heartless, she possessed the most energetic protector of her rights.
"I have tried my utmost once more," said he, coming close beside her, "although I knew it would be in vain. But you, Ella, could you not keep him?"
"No," replied the young wife, "I could not, and at last I would not."
Instead of any response, Hugo pointed to the sleeping babe; Ella shook her head violently.
"For his sake I conquered myself, and begged the husband, who wished to tear himself away from me at any price, to remain. I was repulsed; he let me feel what a fetter I am to him--he may then go free."
Hugo's glance rested enquiringly on her countenance, that again showed the energetic expression which was once so foreign to her features. Slowly he drew forth a note.
"If then you are prepared, I have a few lines to bring you from Reinhold. He gave me them two or three hours since."
The wife started. The firmness she had just shown could not continue when she saw her husband's handwriting on the envelope; only his handwriting, while with mortal agony she had clung to the hope that he would come himself, if it had merely been to say farewell. With trembling hand she took the letter and opened it; it contained only a few lines--
"You witnessed the scene between your father and myself, and will therefore comprehend that I do not enter his house again. That scene has changed nothing in my decision. It only hastens my departure, as the want of tact on your parents' part has given the affair a publicity which does not make it appear desirable for me to remain an hour longer in H---- than is absolutely necessary. I cannot bid you and the child good-bye personally, as I shall not set foot again across a threshold from which I was driven in such a manner. It is not my fault if a separation, which I was resolved to obtain for a time, now becomes a lengthened one that is brought about by a violent quarrel. It was you who made the condition, that I should either remain or go for ever. Well, then, I go! Perhaps it will be better for us both. Farewell!"