The Captain must have known what the letter contained, as he stood close by Ella's side, apparently ready to support her, as in the theatre; but this time she betrayed no weakness. She looked silently down at the icy words of farewell with which her husband freed himself from wife and child. With what haste had he seized the excuse which her father's harshness and her own words offered him; with what relief had he shaken off the irksome bonds! This blow did not fall unexpectedly now. Since that last interview she knew her fate.
"He is gone already?" asked she, without raising her eyes from the letter, which she still held in her hand.
"An hour ago."
"And with her?"
Hugo was silent; he could not say "No" to this question. Ella rose, apparently calm, but she leaned heavily on the boy's bed.
"I knew it. And now--leave me alone, I implore you!"
The Captain hesitated. "I came, also, to bid you adieu," replied he. "My departure was decided without this, and now, in my brother's absence, nothing keeps me. I shall make no attempt to remove my uncle's absurd prejudice against me, but I should like to take a word of farewell from you, Ella, away with me. Will you refuse it me?"
The young woman raised her eyes slowly; they met his, and as if following an involuntary impulse, held out both hands to him--
"I thank you, Hugo, farewell!"
With a quick movement he caught her hands in his--
"I have ever only been able to bring you pain," he said softly. "By me came the first news which utterly destroyed your peace; it came too late, and to-day it was again my hand which brought you the last. But if I pained you, Ella, must pain you--my God, it has not been easy for me."
His lips rested for a moment on her hand, then he let it fall, and left the room quickly; a few moments later he was in the open air.
It was a raw, regular northern spring evening. The rain fell steadily; mist hung heavily and densely in the streets; even the lamp light only shone dimly red in the grey atmosphere. The rolling train bore Reinhold Almbach away in this fog to the south, where fame and love, where his future beckoned brightly to him; and in the same hour his young wife lay at home on her knees by her child's cradle, pressing her head in the pillow to smother the cry of despair, which now, that she knew herself to be alone, broke forth at last. He had not come once to say adieu; he had not one kind last word for her; not one farewell kiss for his child. They were both forsaken, given up--probably forgotten already.
The blazing glory of the sunset seemed to bathe heaven and earth in a sea of fire, and illumination. All the wonderful colouring of the south lighted up the western horizon, and the flood of light poured itself far away over the town, with its cupolas, towers, and palaces. It was an incomparable panorama stretching around the villa, which lay outside the town on a slight elevation visible from afar, with its terrace and colonnades, surrounded by the lower lying gardens, in which the most luxuriant southern vegetation displayed itself. There sombre cypresses raised their gloomy heads; pines waved in the gentle evening wind; white marble statues peeped forth through laurel and myrtle bushes; the waters from the fountains rippled and fell on the carpet of turf; and thousands of flowers sent forth their intoxicating sweet perfume--everywhere beauty and art, scent and flowers, light and dazzling colours.
A numerous party was assembled on the terrace and in the adjoining parts of the park, preferring the enjoyment of this beautiful evening, and the wonderful view outside, to remaining in the rooms. It seemed principally to consist of the aristocracy, yet many a figure might be seen there which undoubtedly betrayed the artist, and here and there appeared the dark habit of a priest near the light toilettes of the ladies or brilliant uniforms. The most different elements seemed to be united here. They walked, chatted, and sat or stood together in unconstrained groups.
In one of these groups, which had gathered at the foot of a terrace close to the great fountain, the conversation was conducted with unusual vivacity; it must be about some subject of general interest. The few words and names mentioned appeared to rouse the attention of one of the guests, and he, coming from the terrace, passed close by the group. He was clearly a stranger, as was denoted by his light brown hair, eyes, and indeed his whole face, which, although tanned by sun and air, still did not show the dark colouring of the southerner. The uniform of a captain set off his strong manly figure very advantageously, and in his bearing and movements was a happy combination of the free, somewhat easy manner of a sailor with the forms of good society. He stopped near the gentlemen who were talking so eagerly, and listened to their conversation with evident interest.
"This new opera is, and will be the chief event of the season," said an officer in the uniform of the carbineers, "and therefore I do not understand how it can be so easily postponed. The performance is already arranged, the rehearsals have begun, all preparations are nearly finished, when suddenly everything is interrupted, and the whole performance postponed until the autumn, and all this without any apparent reason."
"The reason lies alone in the sovereign pleasure of Signor Rinaldo," replied another gentleman, in a somewhat ill-natured tone. "He is accustomed to treat the opera and public according to his humour and fancy."
"I am afraid you are mistaken, Signor Gianelli," interrupted a young man of distinguished appearance, somewhat excitedly. "If Rinaldo himself demanded the postponement, there is sure to be some cause for it."
"Excuse me, Marchese, it is not so," replied the former. "I, as conductor of the grand opera, know best what endless trouble, and what immense sacrifice of time and money it has cost to meet Rinaldo's wishes. He brought the whole theatrical world into confusion with his conditions and requirements, as he demanded changes in the company such as had never been made before, and everything in the same way. As usual, all was acceded to, and all expected at last to be sure of his approval; but now, on arriving from M----, he finds nothing but what is far beneath his anticipations, he orders alterations and dictates improvements in the most inconsiderate manner. In vain was it attempted to dissuade him, through Signora Biancona; he threatened to withdraw the entire opera, and--" here the maestro shrugged his shoulders satirically, "his Excellency the Director would not take the responsibility of such a misfortune upon his shoulders. He promised everything, conceded everything, and as it was quite impossible to carry out the so peremptorily demanded additions in such a short time, even although ordered by the sovereign Signor Rinaldo, the performance was obliged to be postponed until the next season."
"The Director in this case was quite right to give way to the wish, or, if you like it, whim of the composer," said the young Marchese decidedly. "The company would never have forgiven it if bad management had robbed them of one of Rinaldo's operas. It is known that he would be capable of carrying out his threat, and really withdrawing his work, and with such an alternative before him, nothing remained but to give way unconditionally."
"Certainly; my objection only concerns this species of terrorism which a strange composer allows himself here, in the heart of Italy, inasmuch as he compelled the inhabitants to content themselves with his essentially German ideas of music."
"Especially when these same inhabitants have twice made afiascoof an opera, while every new creation of Rinaldo's is greeted with tempestuous applause by the audience," whispered the Marchese to his neighbour.
The latter, an Englishman, looked much bored. He only understood Italian imperfectly, and the rapid, vivacious conversation was therefore greatly lost to him. Nevertheless he answered the Marchese's low spoken and contemptuous remark with a solemn nod, and then looked attentively at the maestro, as if the latter had become an object of curiosity for him.
"We are speaking of Rinaldo's new opera," said the officer, turning and explaining politely to the stranger, who so far had remained a silent listener, and now replied in foreign sounding, but yet fluent Italian--"I just heard the name. No doubt some musical celebrity."
The gentlemen looked in speechless astonishment at the inquirer; only the maestro's face betrayed unmistakable satisfaction that there was at least one person in the world who did not know this name.
"Some celebrity!" repeated Marchese Tortoni. "Excuse me Signor Capitano, but you must have been a long time at sea, and perhaps come from another hemisphere?"
"Direct from the South Sea Islands!" said the Captain with a pleasant smile, notwithstanding the ironical tone of the question, "and as there, unfortunately, they are not so well acquainted with the artistic productions of the present times as might be desired in the interests of civilisation, I beg to receive assistance in my deplorable ignorance."
"We are speaking about the greatest and most charming of our present composers," said the Marchese. "He is certainly by birth a German, but since some years has belonged to us exclusively. He lives and works only on Italian ground, and we are proud to be permitted to call him ours. It will be easy for you to make his personal acquaintance this evening. He is sure to appear!"
"With Signora Biancona--of course!" interrupted the officer, "have you had an opportunity already of hearing our beautifulprima donna?"
The Captain made a gesture of denial. "I only arrived a few days since; however, I saw her some years previously in my home, where she gained her first laurels."
"Ah, she was a rising star then," cried the others. "To be sure she laid the foundation of her fame in the north. She returned to us as a known actress. But now she stands undoubtedly at the height of her power. You must hear her, and hear her in one of Rinaldo's operas, when you can admire her in all her glory."
"To be sure, as then one fire ignites the other," added the young Marchese. "At any rate you will find in the Signora of to-day a brilliantly beautiful apparition. Do not delay an introduction and interview with her."
"Provided it be agreeable to Signor Rinaldo," said the maestro, joining in again. "Otherwise you may attempt to approach her in vain."
"Has Rinaldo power to decide such points?" asked the Captain lightly.
"Well, at least he takes the right to do so. He is so used to being master and ruler everywhere that he tries it here also, and, alas, not without result. I do not understand Biancona. An actress of her importance, a woman of her beauty, to allow herself to be so completely ruled by a man."
"But he is Rinaldo," laughed the officer, "and that is saying enough. Let us confess it, Tortoni, we can none of us compete with his successes. All hearts fly towards him, wherever he appears; so at last it is no wonder if even a Biancona bows willingly before the magic which this man seems to bear about him."
"Hum, it is not done quite so willingly," said Gianelli, grimly. "Signora is passionate in the highest degree, but Rinaldo, if possible, even surpasses her. Between them it is quite as often storm as sunshine, and furious scenes are the order of the day."
"This Rinaldo appears to govern all society as well as his audiences," said the Captain, now turning exclusively to the conductor. "Do people submit to such a thing from one single man, and he a stranger?"
"Because all are blind, and will be to every other merit," cried the maestro with suppressed violence. "When society once raises an idol to a throne, it carries on its adoration until it becomes ridiculous. They regularly worship Rinaldo, so it is no wonder if his pride and self-appreciation become boundless, and he thinks he can trample on all with impunity who do not pay him homage."
The Captain looked steadily and with a peculiar smile at the excited Italian.
"It is a pity that such talent should have so dark a side! But after all, it is not so much talent as fashion, whim of the public, unmerited success; do not you think so?"
Gianelli would probably have agreed with all his heart, but the other gentlemen's presence put some restraint upon him.
"The public generally decides in such cases," he replied, prudently, "and here it is extravagant in its favours. For my part, I maintain, without wishing in the least to detract from Rinaldo's fame, that he might compose the most meritless work and they would extol it to the skies, because it came from him."
"Very probably," agreed the stranger. "And possibly this new opera is meritless. I am certainly of your opinion, and shall assuredly--"
"I advise you, Signor to withhold your opinion until you have become acquainted with Rinaldo's works," interrupted the Marchese, sharply. "He has certainly made the unpardonable mistake of attaining the summit of fame in one unbroken course of triumph, and of acquiring greatness to which no other can reach so easily. This cannot be forgiven him in certain circles, and he must do penance for it on every occasion. Follow my advice."
The Captain bowed slightly. "With pleasure, and all the more as it is my brother whom you have defended so eloquently, Marchese."
This explanation, made with a most pleasant smile, naturally created a great sensation in the group. Marchese Tortoni took a step backwards in astonishment, and examined the speaker from head to foot. The maestro became pale and bit his lips, while the officer with difficulty refrained from laughing. The Englishman this time understood enough of the conversation to comprehend the trick which had been played, and which seemed to arouse his entire satisfaction. He smiled with an expression of extreme contentment, and with long strides crossed over immediately to the Captain, at whose side he placed himself silently, thus giving him an unmistakable sign of approval.
"The musical name of my brother appears only to be known to these gentlemen," continued Hugo unabashed, "mine doubtless sounded too foreign to you in the general introduction. We have, indeed, no reason to deny our relationship."
"Ah, Signor Capitano, I had heard already of your intended arrival," cried the Marchese, offering his hand with evident heartiness, "but it was not fair to cheat us with anincognito. To one, at least, it has caused bitter confusion, although he richly deserved the lesson."
Hugo looked round at once for the maestro, who had preferred to retire unnoticed. "I wished to reconnoitre the ground a little," retorted he, laughing, "and that was only possible so long as myincognitolasted. But it would soon have reached its termination, as I expect Reinhold every moment; he was detained in the town, while I drove on in advance. Ah, he is there already."
He really appeared at that moment on the terrace, and the maestro would have had fresh opportunity to give vent to his anger at the "adoration, which became ridiculous," as the sudden cessation of all conversation, the interest with which all eyes were directed to one point, the movement which spread through all the company, was only due to Reinhold's entrance.
Reinhold himself had become quite different in these years--quite different. The young genius who had once fought so impatiently against the confining limits and prejudices of his surroundings, had raised himself to be a renowned composer, whose name extended beyond the boundaries of Italy and his home, whose works were familiar on the stages of all capitals; to whom fame and honour, money and triumph, flowed in richest abundance. The same mighty change had also been carried out in his exterior, and this alteration was not at all disadvantageous, as instead of the pale, serious youth, there now stood a man in whom it was evident that he was at home with life and the world, and only in the man did the always peculiarly attractive style of his beauty manifest itself entirely. The proud self-consciousness which now rested upon hisspirituelbrow, and showed itself in all his features and his whole bearing, became them well, but there lay also a heavy shadow on this brow and on those features which happiness had surely never placed there. His mouth curved with harsh mockery, with contemptuous bitterness, and the former spark slumbered no more in the depths of his eyes; now a flame shone there, burning, destroying, flashing almost demonlike at every emotion. Whatever this face might have gained outwardly,peacespoke no more from within.
He conducted Signora Biancona on his arm, no longer the youthfulprima donnaof a second-rate Italian opera company, which gave wandering performances in the north, but a star of European renown, who, after having gathered laurels and triumphs in all important places, now occupied the first position at the theatre of her native town. Marchese Tortoni was right; she was dazzlingly beautiful, this woman; there was the old burning glance, which once understood how to set on fire the honourable patrician blood of the noble Hanseatic town, only now it appeared to have become more glowing, more scorching; there was still the countenance, with its witch-like entrancing magic, the figure with its noble plastic limbs, only everything seemed fuller, more voluptuous. The flower had developed to the ripest, almost over-ripe splendour; she still bloomed, her beauty was still at its zenith, if even one could not but acknowledge that perhaps in the course of the next few years the limits would be already passed beyond which she would be tending irrecoverably to her descent.
Both, especially Reinhold, were seized upon the moment they arrived. All crowded around him; all sought his vicinity, his conversation. In a few moments he had become the centre of the assemblage, and some time elapsed before he could withdraw from all the attentions and flatteries in order to look round for his brother, who had stood somewhat aloof.
"There you are at last, Hugo," said he, approaching, "I missed you already. You make one seek you?"
"It was not possible to break through that triple circle of admirers, which surrounds you like a Chinese wall; I have not attempted such a piece of daring, but indulged in contemplating what happiness it is to possess a celebrated brother."
"Yes, this everlasting crush is really oppressive," said Reinhold, with an expression which showed not contented triumph, but, on the contrary, unmistakable weariness; "however come now, I will introduce you to Beatrice."
"Beatrice?--Ah, Signora Vampire!mustI, Reinhold?"
His brother's look became overcast. "Certainly you must. You cannot avoid seeing her in my company, much and often. She is beautiful, and with reason wonders it has not already been done. What is it, Hugo? You appear wishful to evade this introduction altogether, and yet you do not know Beatrice even."
"I do, though," replied the Captain shortly. "I have seen her already at a concert on the stage at H----."
"But never spoken to her. It is odd one must almost compel you to do what any other would look upon as a privilege! Usually you are the first, when acquaintance with a beautiful woman is in question."
Hugo replied nothing, but followed without farther protest. Signora Biancona, as was her custom, was surrounded by a circle of gentlemen, and engaged in most lively conversation, which she, however, broke off immediately the two appeared. Reinhold presented his brother to her. Beatrice turned to the latter with all her fascinations.
"Do you know, Captain, I have been angry with you already, without knowing you?" she began. "Reinhold was beside himself when he received the news of your arrival. He left me in M---- in the most ungallant manner, in order to hasten towards you. I had to undertake my return journey alone."
Hugo bowed politely, but more distantly than was his wont to a lady, nor did he appear to notice that Beatrice's beautiful hand was extended confidently to Rinaldo's brother, at least he utterly resisted the temptation of kissing it, which was certainly expected.
"I am very unhappy, Signora, at having roused your ill-will. But one who disposes so exclusively of Reinhold's presence and company, should possess liberality enough to forego it a short time in favour of his brother."
He looked round for Reinhold, but the latter was already engaged.
"I resign myself," said Beatrice, still with charming friendliness, "or rather I must still resign myself, as, since you came, I have seen little enough of Rinaldo. There will remain no other remedy than to beg you to accompany him when he comes to see me."
Hugo made a somewhat measured gesture of thanks--
"You are very kind, Signora. I shall seize with pleasure the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with my brother's admired--Muse."
Signora Biancona, smiled--
"Has he called me so to you? To be sure the name is not strange in our circle of friends. Rinaldo gave it me once, when I led his first steps to the path of art. A somewhat romantic designation, especially according to German views, is it not, Signor? You hardly have such in your north?"
"Sometimes," said the Captain quietly, "only with a slight difference. With us, muses are ideal, floating in unattainable heights. Here they are--beautiful women. An undeniable advantage for the artist!"
The words sounded like a compliment, and adhered steadily to the playful tone which Beatrice herself had commenced; nevertheless she cast a quick searching glance at the speaker's face--perhaps she saw the sparkling scorn in it--as she answered sharply--
"For my part, I confess to have no sympathy with the north. Simply because compelled, did I pass some short time there, and could only breathe again when Italy's sky rose above me. We southerners cannot succeed in submitting to the icy, pedantic rules which confine society there, to the fetters which they would wish even to impose upon artists."
Hugo leant with perfect indifference against the marble balustrade.
"Good God, that is of no importance. They are easily broken, and then one is free as the birds in the air. Reinhold proved that sufficiently, and now he has foresworn home and pedantic rules for ever, which is entirely due to you, Signora."
Beatrice used her fan violently, although at this moment the evening breeze blew refreshingly cool.
"How do you mean, Signor?" asked she, quickly.
"I? Oh, I mean nothing, excepting, perhaps, that it must be an elevating sensation to have thus the entire fate of a man--or even a family--in one's hands; in tearing him away from his 'fetters,' one must feel in such a case something like an earthly providence. Is it not so, Signora?"
Beatrice had started slightly at these words, whether from astonishment or anger was not easy to decide. Her eyes met his; but this time they measured one another, as two antagonists do. The Italian's glance flashed; but the Captain bore it so firmly and quietly, that she felt it was not such an easy game opposite those clear brown eyes, which dared fearlessly to break a lance with her.
"I believe Rinaldo has every cause to be grateful to this providence," replied she, proudly. "Perhaps he would have sunk amid circumstances and surroundings which were unworthy of him, if it had not aroused his genius and shown him the path to greatness."
"Perhaps," said Hugo, coolly. "But people maintain that real genius never does sink, and the more difficulties it has to penetrate the more do they strengthen its power; however, that, of course, is also one of the northern pedantic views. The result has decided in favour of your view, Signora, and success is a god to which all bow."
He inclined his head and retired. He had said all this in the lightest conversational tone, apparently quite unmeaningly, but Signora Biancona must surely have felt the bitterness which lay in the Captain's words, for she pressed her lips together in most intense internal irritation, and her fan was moved almost furiously.
Meanwhile Hugo had sought his brother, whom he found in conversation with Marchese Tortoni; both stood a little apart from the rest of the company.
"No, no, Cesario," said Reinhold, at that moment, refusing something. "I have only shortly returned from M----, and cannot possibly think of leaving town again. Perhaps later--"
"But the opera is postponed," interrupted the young Marchese, in a beseeching tone, "and the heat begins to be oppressive. You are sure to select somevillegiaturain a few weeks. Come to my assistance, Captain," said he, turning to Hugo, just then approaching. "You intend, surely, to become acquainted with our south, and there is no better opportunity than in my Mirando."
"Do you know the Marchese already?" asked Reinhold. "Then I need not introduce you."
"Certainly not," replied Hugo, mischievously. "I introduced myself personally to these gentlemen, just as they were sitting in judgment upon you, and I had the harmless pleasure, as an unknown listener, of rousing them against you by casual remarks. Unfortunately it only succeeded with one. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, took your part most passionately; I had to feel the whole weight of his displeasure, as I allowed myself to doubt your talent."
Reinhold shook his head. "Has he been playing his tricks already, Cesario? Take care, Hugo, with your jokes! We are here on Italian ground, where people do not take such things so lightly as in our home."
"Well, in this case the name was only required to reconcile us," said the Marchese, smiling. "But we are losing the thread of our discussion entirely," continued he, impatiently. "I have still received no reply to my request. I count positively upon your visit, Rinaldo; naturally on yours also, Signor."
"I am my brother's guest," exclaimed Hugo, to whom the last words were addressed. "Such a decision depends upon him and--Signora Biancona."
"Upon Beatrice! How so?" asked Reinhold, quickly.
"Well, she is already greatly annoyed that my presence keeps you so much from her. It is decidedly a question whether she will set you at liberty for any time, as Marchese Tortoni seems to wish."
"Do you think I should allow myself to be so entirely governed by her whims?" Reinhold's voice betrayed rising irritation. "I shall have to show that I can form a decision without her leave. We will come, Cesario, next month, I promise you."
An expression of great pleasure passed over the young man's face at this rapid, impetuous assent; he turned politely to the Captain.
"Rinaldo knows my Mirando well, and has always praised it. I hope also to be able to make your stay agreeable to you. The villa is beautifully situated, close to the sea shore--"
"And isolated," said Reinhold, with a peculiar mixture of melancholy and longing. "One can breathe there while one is almost suffocated in the drawing-room atmosphere. But our friends are going to dinner," said he, turning the conversation, with an upward glance to the terrace. "We must, I suppose, join the others. Will you take Beatrice to dinner, Hugo?"
"No, thank you," declined the Captain, coolly. "That is surely your exclusive right. I do not wish to dispute it."
"Your conversation with her was remarkably short," said Reinhold, as together they ascended the steps of the terrace. "What was the matter with you both?"
"Nothing particular. A little outpost skirmish; nothing more. Signora and I have taken up our positions towards one another at once. I hope you do not object."
He received no answer, as Signora Biancona's silk dress rustled close by them, and the next moment stood between the brothers. The Captain bowed low, with consummate gallantry, before the beautiful woman. It would indeed have been impossible to find the least fault with this mode of greeting, and Beatrice acknowledged it with an inclination of her head, but the glance which she shot towards him showed sufficiently that she also had taken up her position. The intense hatred of the roused southerner blazed in her eye, only for a moment to be sure; the next she turned round, laid her hand on Reinhold's arm, to let him lead her into the dining-room.
"That seems to me neither more nor less than a declaration of war," murmured Hugo, as he followed the pair. "Wordless, but sufficiently comprehensible. The enmity has begun--at your commands, Signora."
Marchese Tortoni was not wrong in his remarks; the heat, notwithstanding the early season of the year, began to be oppressive. The season was not over yet, but many families had already exchanged their residence in the town for the usualvillegiaturain the mountains or by the seaside, and the rest of the society was also on the point of dispersing itself earlier than usual to all points of the compass, until autumn brought them together once more.
In Signora Biancona's house no preparations had been made so far which might lead to the inference of a speedy departure, and yet one seemed to be under discussion in the interview which had just taken place between her and Reinhold Almbach. The two were alone in the singer's brilliantly and dazzlingly illuminated saloon; but Beatrice's beautiful face bore an expression of unmistakable excitement. Leaning against the cushions of the divan, her lips pressed angrily together, she plucked to pieces one of the beautiful bouquets which ornamented the celebrated actress' reception-room so plentifully; while Reinhold was walking up and down the room with folded arms and gloomily clouded brow. It only required a single glance to guess that one of those stormy scenes was being enacted which Maestro Gianelli declared were as frequent between the two as was sunshine.
"I beg you, Beatrice, spare me any more of these exhibitions," said Reinhold, with great violence. "You cannot alter an affair already determined upon. Marchese Tortoni received my promise, and our departure for Mirando is arranged for to-morrow."
"Well, then, you must retract this promise," replied Beatrice, in the same tone. "You gave it without my knowledge, gave it weeks ago, and then we had already decided to spend ourvillegiaturain the mountains this year."
"Certainly! And I shall follow you there as soon as I return from Mirando."
"As soon as you return! As if Tortoni would not try every means to chain you there as usual, and if now, in addition, you go in your brother's company, it is a matter of course that you will be kept away from me as long as possible."
Reinhold stopped suddenly, and a dark look was turned towards her.
"Will you not have the goodness to leave this wearisome, exhausted subject at last?" asked he, sharply. "I know already quite well enough that there is no sympathy between you and Hugo; but he, at any rate, spares me any dissertations upon it, and does not require me to share his sympathies and antipathies. Besides, you must allow that he has never been impolite towards you."
Beatrice threw her bouquet aside and rose. "Oh, yes, I allow that, certainly; and it is just this courteousness which annoys me so much. The agreeable conversations, with the everlasting, scornful smile on his lips; the attentions, with contempt in his eyes; that is quite the German manner, from which I suffered so much in your north, which governs and rules us in the so-called circles of society, which knows how to restrain us there, even when fighting ever so bitterly with any one. Your brother understands that perfectly; nothing hits him, nothing wounds him; everything glances off from his everlasting, mocking smile. I--I hate him, and he me not less."
"With difficulty," said Reinhold bitterly, "as you are such a mistress of the art, as few others can be. I have often enough seen that, when you have imagined yourself insulted by anyone. With you it overflows all bounds at once. But this time, you will remember, that it is my brother against whom this hatred is directed, and that through it I am not disposed to let myself be robbed of our first short meeting for years. I shall endure no insult, no attack, upon Hugo."
"Because you love him more than me," cried Beatrice, wildly. "Because I count for nothing beside your brother. To be sure, what am I to you?"
And now the way was opened to a regular flood of reproaches, complaints, and threats, which finally ended in a torrent of tears. All the passion of the Italian broke forth; but Reinhold seemed to be moved to nothing less than concession by it. He attempted to restrain her several times, and as he did not succeed, he stamped furiously with his foot.
"Once more, Beatrice, cease these scenes. You know that you never gain anything with me by them, and I should have thought you had already found by experience that I am not such a slave without a will, that a word or a caprice from you is a command. I shall not put up with these continual exhibitions any longer, which you call forth on every occasion."
He went furiously to the balcony, and, turning his back upon the room, looked down into the street, where the busy movement of the Corso was visible. For a few minutes Beatrice's passionate sobs were heard in the saloon; then all was still, and immediately after she placed a hand on his shoulder, as he stood at the window.
"Rinaldo!"
Half-reluctantly he turned round. His glance met Beatrice's glowing dark eye; a tear still stood in it, but it was no longer a tear of anger, and her voice, just now so excited, had a soft, melting ring in it.
"You say I am a mistress in the art of hating. Only in hating, Rinaldo? You have often enough experienced the contrary."
Reinhold now turned completely to her, and returned from the balcony.
"I know that you can love," replied he, more mildly, "love warmly and wholly. But you can also torment with this love; that I have to feel every day."
"And you would wish to flee this torment, at least for a time?"
A deep reproach sounded in her voice. Almbach made an impatient movement.
"I seek peace, Beatrice," said he, "and that I do not find at all near you. You can only breathe in constant heat and excitement, both are your conditions of life, and you drag your entire surroundings with you in the everlasting fire of your nature. I--am tired."
"Of society or of me?" asked Beatrice, with freshly rising fury.
"Can you not cease from seeking a stab in every word?" asked Reinhold, angrily. "I see we do not understand each other again to-day. Adieu!"
"You are going!" cried the Italian, half-frightened, half-threateningly. "And with this farewell for a separation of weeks!"
Reinhold, who was already at the door, thought a moment and turned slowly round.
"Ah, yes; I forgot the departure. Farewell, Beatrice!"
But he was not permitted to make his farewell so easily. Signora Biancona had long since learned not to defy for any time the man who now understood how to bend her otherwise capricious will to his own, and when he again drew near to her all farther opposition was at an end. Her voice trembled as she asked softly, "And you will really go alone, without me?"
"Beatrice--"
"Alone, without me?" repeated she, more passionately. Reinhold made an attempt to withdraw his hand from her, but it remained only an attempt.
"Cesario expects me positively," he said, deprecatingly, "and I have already explained that you cannot accompany me--"
"Not to Mirando," interrupted Beatrice, "I know that. But what prevents my altering the original plan, and making my first summer stay in S---- instead of in the mountains, the great resort of all strangers? It is near enough to Mirando, half-an-hour by boat would bring you across to me. If I were to follow you--may I, Rinaldo?"
This tone of flattering entreaty was irresistible, and her glance begged still more. Reinhold looked down silently at the beautiful woman, the possession of whose love once appeared to him the highest prize of happiness. The magic still exercised its old power, and exercised it now most strongly when he was attempting to escape from it. The concession was not made in words, but Beatrice saw, as he bent towards her, that she had conquered this time. When he really left her, half-an-hour later, the change in the plan of her journey was quite decided upon, and their farewell was not for a separation of weeks, but only of days.
It was already becoming dark, and the moon was rising slowly, when Reinhold reached his own abode, which lay at some distance, in a more open part of the town. On entering his reception-room he found the Captain there, who appeared just to have been giving his servant an impressive lecture, as Jonas stood before him with a most rueful countenance, which was comically mixed with suppressed indignation, to find words for which his master's presence only prevented him.
"What is it?" asked Reinhold, somewhat astonished.
"An inquisitorial enquiry," replied Hugo, annoyed. "For years I have taken trouble in vain with this obstinate sinner and incorrigible woman-hater, but neither teaching nor example--Jonas, you are to go instantly up to the Padrona, beg her pardon, and promise to be more mannerly in future. March! go along!"
"I shall be obliged to send him back to the 'Ellida' at last," continued he, turning to his brother, when Jonas had left the room. "The ship's cat is the only female person there which he has near him; and it is to be hoped he will not quarrel with it."
Reinhold threw himself on a seat. "I wish I had your unconquerable humour, your happy gift of taking life like a game. I never could do it."
"No, the ground notes of your being were always elegiac," said the Captain. "I believe you never looked upon me as quite equal to yourself in birth, as I could not take such ideal romantic flight to the heights, nor penetrate to the depths, like your artistic natures. We sailors are happy on the surface, and if now and then a storm should disturb the deep, it does not matter to us, we remain above."
"Quite true," said Reinhold, gloomily. "May you always, stay on your sunny, bright surface! Believe me, Hugo, it is only muddy below in the depths, where people seek for treasures; and an icy breath blows above in the height, where one dreamed of nothing but sunlight. I have tasted both."
Hugo looked searchingly at his brother, who lay more than sat on his seat, his head leaning back, as if tired to death, while his gloomy eyes wandered out over the gardens of the neighbourhood, and at last remained fixed on the faintly illumined horizon, where the last rays of daylight just disappeared.
"Listen, Reinhold; you do not please me at all," he broke forth suddenly. "After years I come to see my brother again, whose name fills the whole world, to whom fate has given everything it can give to one man. I find you at the height of renown and success--and I expected to find you different."
"And how, then?" asked Reinhold, without raising his head or turning his eyes from the darkening evening sky.
"I do not know," said the Captain, earnestly. "But I know that after a fortnight only I cannot endure this life, which you have led for years. This restless rushing from pleasure to pleasure, without any satisfaction; this constant wavering between wild excitement and deadly exhaustion does not suit my nature. You should put a bridle on yours."
Reinhold made a half-impatient movement. "Folly. I have become accustomed to it for long; and besides, you do not understand it, Hugo."
"Possibly. At any rate I do not require to deaden my feelings."
Reinhold started up. A glance of burning anger met his brother, who attempted to pierce so far into his innermost thoughts, and who continued, quite unmoved--
"It is only a means of deadening your feelings which you struggle for day after day, which you seek everywhere without finding. Give up this life, I entreat you. You will ruin yourself, body and mind, by it; you must succumb to it at last."
"How long is it since the joyous Captain of the 'Ellida' has become a preacher of moralities," scoffed Reinhold, with as much scornful expression as he could use. "Who would have thought long ago that you would lecture me in this manner. But do not take any trouble about my conversion, Hugo. I have foresworn all the pious ideas of my youth, once for all."
The Captain was silent. This was again the tone of wounding scorn with which Reinhold made himself unapproachable the moment such topics were touched upon; this tone, which made all influence impossible, which jarred so upon every recollection of youth, and made the formerly warm bond between the brothers strange and cold. Hugo did not even try to-day to alter it; he knew that it would be in vain. Turning away, he took up a book which was lying on the table, and began turning over its leaves.
"I have never heard a single word from you about my compositions," began Reinhold, again, after a momentary silence. "You have had an opportunity here of becoming acquainted with my operas. How do you like them?"
"I am no connoisseur of music," said Hugo, evasively.
"I know that, and therefore I lay some value on your opinion, because it is that of the unprejudiced, but acute public. How do you like my music?"
The Captain threw the book on the table.
"It is agreeable and--" he stopped.
"And?"
"Unbridled as yourself. You and your tones go beyond all bounds."
"An annihilating criticism," said Reinhold, half-struck by it. "It is well that I should hear it; you would fare badly in the circle of my admirers. How then do you allow that there is anything agreeable in it?"
"When you, yourself speak--yes!" explained Hugo, decidedly, "but that is seldom enough. Generally this strange element predominates which has given the turn to your talent, and still rules it. I cannot help it, Reinhold, but this influence which from the commencement you have followed, which all the world prizes as so elevating, has brought no good, not even to the artist. Without it you might not have been so celebrated, but undoubtedly greater."
"Truly, Beatrice is right, when she dreads you as her implacable opponent," remarked Reinhold, with undisguised bitterness. "Certainly, she only thinks of a personal prejudice. That you do not even allow the value of her artistic influence upon me would indeed be new to her."
Hugo shrugged his shoulders. "She has quite drawn you into the Italian style. You always storm when others only play, but it is all the same. Why do you not write German music? But what am I talking about? You have turned your back upon home and all its belongings for ever."
Reinhold rested his head on his hand. "Yes certainly--for ever."
"That almost sounds like regret," hazarded the Captain, looking with fixed scrutiny at his brother's face. The latter looked up darkly.
"What do you mean? Do you perhaps think I regret the old chains, because I have not found the happiness dreamed of in freedom? If I tried any communication it would--"
"Ah, you did attempt some communication with your wife?"
"With Ella?" asked Reinhold, and there was again the old mixture of pity and contempt, which betrayed itself in his voice the moment he spoke of his wife. "What good could that have done? You know how I left; it was done by a complete rupture with her parents, and therefore naturally a narrow, dependent nature like Ella's would join in the verdict of condemnation if it were ever even able to raise itself to a verdict of its own. If the breach between us was formerly wide, now, after all that has happened, it has become impassable. No, there could be no talk of that, but I wished to receive news of my child. I could not bear longer to have my boy so far away, not to be able to see him, not even to possess a picture of him. I wanted his at any price, therefore I chose the shortest means, and wrote to the mother."
"Well, and--?" asked Hugo, with interest.
Reinhold laughed bitterly--
"T might have spared myself the humiliation. No answer came--that certainly was answer enough, but I wanted just to know how the child was; I thought of the possibility of a mistake, of its being lost--what does one not think of in such a case?--and wrote again. The letter came back unopened"--he clenched his fist in wild anger--"unopened, to me! It is my uncle's work; there is no doubt of it. Ella would never have dared to offer it to me."
"Do you think so? You do not know your wife. She certainly has 'dared' to offer it, and she alone could dare it, as her parents have been dead some years."
Reinhold turned round quickly--
"How do you know that? Are you still in communication with H----?"
"No," said the Captain, quietly; "you may imagine that the state of mind which existed in the family towards you was also partly carried over to me. Since I left H---- at that time, a few days after you did, I have never revisited it, but I correspond still with the former bookkeeper of the firm of Almbach, who has taken over the business, and continues it on his own account. I heard a few things from him."
"And you only tell me this now, after being together for nearly a fortnight?" cried Reinhold, almost furiously.
"I have naturally not wished to touch upon a subject which it seemed to me you wished to avoid," answered Hugo coolly.
Reinhold walked up and down the room a few times--
"Her parents are dead, then? And Ella and the child?"
"You need not be anxious about them; my uncle left a good fortune, much more than people thought."
"I knew he was richer than he wished to be deemed," said Reinhold quickly, "and this certainly alone gave me perfect freedom of action in my departure. I was not necessary for my wife and child. They were safe from any change of fate, without even my presence. But where are they now? Still in H----?"
"Herr Consul Erlau was appointed the boy's guardian," informed Hugo, rather shortly and distantly. "He appears also to have taken very active interest in the deserted wife, as directly after expiration of the time of mourning she moved into his house with the child. There both were still living, half-a-year ago; so far my news extends."
"Indeed?" said Reinhold thoughtfully, "only I do not understand how Ella, with her education and her habits, can possibly exist in the splendid establishment of the Erlaus. I suppose she will have arranged a few back rooms so as never to appear, or, notwithstanding her fortune, have undertaken the post of housekeeper. She will never be able to rise above this ambition. Had it not been so, I should have borne much, indeed all--for the child's sake."
He went to the window, pushed it open, and leant out. The evening air blew cool into the close room, where now a long silence ensued, as even the Captain seemed to have no more inclination to prolong the conversation. After a time he arose.
"Our departure in the morning is arranged rather early; we must be awake betimes. Good night, Reinhold!"
"Good night!" replied Reinhold, without turning round.
Hugo left the room. "I wish this Circe of a Beatrice could see him at such moments," muttered he, shutting the door. "You have conquered, Signora, and torn him to yourself as your indisputable property--you have not made him happy."
Reinhold remained a few moments longer immovable, at his place; then he raised himself and went over to his work room. He had to pass through several apartments in order to reach it. This abode, which occupied the entire ground floor of the roomy villa, was not so brilliant as that of Signora Biancona, but yet more extravagantly furnished, as the magnificence which reigned there was here ten times surpassed by the artistic decorations of the rooms; so there pictures hung on the walls, statues stood in the window niches, whose value could only be estimated by thousands; here were produced masterly copies of the most splendid art treasures of Italy. Wherever the eye turned, it met vases, busts, drawings and beautiful works, which elsewhere would have been each alone the ornament of any drawing-room, and which here, scattered everywhere, only served as additional decorations. Everywhere was wealth of beauty and art such as only a Rinaldo could gather around him in so lavish a manner, to whom gold as well as fame flowed in never-ceasing plenty, and who was accustomed to throw the former away quite recklessly.
In the middle of the study there stood a splendid piano, the gift of an enthusiastic circle of admirers, who wished to offer a visible testimony of their thanks to the master; the writing-table was covered with cards and letters, which bore the names of the first people in the kingdom, both as regards birth and genius, and which here were indifferently thrust aside, without the recipient placing the least value on them; from the principal wall, a life-sized picture of Beatrice Biancona looked down, painted by a celebrated hand, most charmingly represented, a really speaking likeness. She wore the fanciful costume of one of her chief parts in an opera of Rinaldo's, through the successful representation of whose works she herself had only risen to be an actress of the first order. The painter had succeeded in embodying the utterly infatuating magic, the glowing charm of the original, in this portrait. The beautiful figure appeared half-turned to the piano in an inimitably graceful pose, and the dark eyes gazed with deceptively life-like truth down upon the man whom they had kept so long already in indissoluble bonds, as if even here, in the sacred place of his works and labour, they would not leave him alone.