A storm of applause rolled through the opera house, and the curtain had not even been drawn up as yet. It was for the overture, whose last tones had just resounded. The theatre was filled to overflowing in every place, with the sole exception of one small proscenium box close to the stage; this was occupied by a single elderly gentleman, probably some rich eccentric, whom it pleased to procure by lavish expenditure of money the entire possession of a box, as on such an evening it would otherwise hardly have been obtained. Every where else the dazzlingly lighted spaces and tiers of boxes, with their rich parterres of ladies, offered a brilliant and variegated picture. The world of artists, as well as aristocracy, was fully represented. All which the town possessed in the way of beauties, celebrities and persons of distinction, had appeared to prepare a new triumph for the much admired favourite of society. And was this merely what it was all for? No young composer was offering his work timidly to the approbation or disapprobation of the public: a recognised and undisputed sovereign in the realms of music stepped before the world with a new display of his talent, in order to gain a new conquest by it. This certainly lay written very plainly, although not as if it were agreeable, upon Maestro Gianelli's face, who conducted the orchestra. At the same time he did not venture to fail in zeal or attention. He knew only too well that if he attempted here, where of course a portion of the success depended upon him, to intrigue against the all-powerful Rinaldo, it must cost him his post, perhaps his entire future, as in such a case the disfavour of the public would be ensured to him. Therefore he did his duty to the fullest extent, and the overture was performed with perfect execution.
The curtain rustled, and in anticipation the composer received the homage of eager silence. Before the first act was half concluded there was not one of the audience who had not already forgiven Reinhold the tyranny with which he had disposed of all means in his hands, and insisted mercilessly on having his views carried out. The representation was in every respect perfect, and the scenery a masterwork. All felt that it was a different hand to that of the usual manager which had ruled here, and raised simple theatrical effects everywhere to artistic beauty; but all these external advantages disappeared before the all-attracting power of the work.
It was, perhaps, the most perfect which Rinaldo had ever composed in his own peculiar line, a line by many so much admired, and by so many others deplored. At all events this time he produced the very best in that style to which Beatrice's influence had drawn him; was it the highest which he could produce? This question was absorbed at present in the ringing applause with which the audience greeted this new creation of their favourite. Was it not Rinaldo again with all the fiery spirit of his genius, of which none could tell positively whether it were at home above, in the heights of idealism, or below in the depths of passion, and which roused again in men's hearts all feelings which lay between these two poles.
The storm raged over the northern heaths, and the billows surged against the coast. As mists are driven along the cliffs, so rose and fell the tones in chaotic confusion, until at last a dreamlike, beautiful melody dawned forth. But it only hovered like a fleeting vapoury picture over the whole, never completed, never ringing forth clear and full, and soon it was lost amid other sounds, which not so pure and sweet as it, yet attracted with a singularly strange charm. The mists separated, and out of them appeared the demon-like beautiful form, which was the chief performer and central figure of the whole opera. Loud acclamation greeted Signora Biancona's appearance on the stage. Beatrice showed to-day that she still understood how to be beautiful, as at the commencement of her career. What art may have done towards it was not now brought into consideration, enough that the apparition standing before the public was perfect in every respect. The half fantastic, half classic costume displayed her figure in all its grace, her dark curls flowed loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes gleamed with the old devouring fire. And now that voice was raised, which had been the admiration of almost all Europe, full and powerful, filling the extensive space--the singer still stood at the zenith of her beauty and artistic strength.
The melodies flowed forth, still more glowing, more fiery, and before the audience a picture of sounds was unfolded which seemed to borrow its colours, now from the brightest sunlight, now from the scorching heat of a crater. It pourtrayed the lost wild life of one whose cup was filled to the brim, and who drained it to the very dregs. This rushing forth beyond all bounds and limits, the volcanic glow of feelings, the goblinlike play with tones carried the hearers irresistibly away on the sea of passion, there to cast them adrift between shuddering and enchantment, between heaven and hell. At times, indeed, notes rang out like pæans of joy and triumph, but between were startling, harsh discords, and then again sounds of that first lost melody were wafted back, which ran through the entire opera like a soft, intensely painful yearning plaint. As a dream of love and happiness passes through the soul of man without ever descending to reality, so breathed and died these tones in the distance, while in the foreground stood ever and ever again the one figure, which Rinaldo had endowed with the highest dramatic power, of which he was a master like none other, which he had surrounded with all the magic of his melodies, whose sensual, entrancing charms were laid like a ban upon the listeners' souls.
Beatrice was, if any one, adapted to understand this music exactly in its innermost being and nature and to do it justice; she, whose peculiar element was passion, who, as an actress, had sought and found her triumph in it only. It rang out of every note of her singing, quivered out of every motion in her acting, which raised itself to a greater dramatic height than ever before, while she represented hate and love, devotion and despair, rage and revenge with life-like truth. It was as though this woman poured forth a stream of fire, which imparted itself to the audience, who, half charmed, half alarmed, followed her performance. Never yet had the singer been so entirely part of her task, never yet had she delivered it so perfectly as this time. No one guessed, indeed, for what prize she struggled, what urged her to employ her best powers. Was it not to win backhim. whom already she had more than half lost! He had admired the actress before he had learned to love the woman, and the actress now called all the power of her talent to her aid, in order to maintain that of the woman. For the first time the storm of applause was indifferent to her, as it succeeded every scene; for the first time she did not care for the worship of the crowd; she only waited for the one glance of passionate rapture which had so often thanked her on such evenings--but to-day she waited in vain.
"Signora Biancona surpasses herself tonight," said Marchese Tortoni, enthusiastically, to Captain Almbach, who was in his box. "Often as I have admired her, I never saw her like this before."
"Nor I," replied Hugo, monosyllabically.
Cesario looked at him in undisguised astonishment. "That sounds very cool, Signor Capitano. Have you no other expression of admiration for this woman, who stands so close to your brother?"
Hugo's countenance was indeed as cool as his tone, while he replied quietly, "That is just Reinhold's taste. Sometimes our views lie very far apart. However, it would be unjust not to admire Signora Biancona to-night without reserve, and I do it, too--that is to say, from a spectator's point of view. Close to her, such a passion, beyond all reason, which seems to know no limits, would be rather unnatural. I can never quite dismiss the thought that one day Donna Beatrice will carry this truly masterful acting into reality, and could be a sort of Medea there also, who only breathes forth death and ruin. That shecando it, one sees by her eyes and--although I do not otherwise exactly belong to the timid class, I could not love such a woman."
"And yet Reinhold's works require exactly this fiery representation," said the Marchese, reproachfully, "and of that only a Biancona is capable."
"Yes, to be sure, she has always been his doom," murmured Hugo, "and he will never be free so long as this doom reigns over him."
The two gentlemen had long since remarked Consul Erlau in the opposite stage box, and exchanged greetings with him. They never suspected that he was not alone any more than did others of the audience, as the lady who accompanied him sat far behind in the background of the box, entirely concealed by the folds of the half lowered curtain, but yet so that she could quite overlook the stage, and her companion, when he spoke to her, took the precaution of rising and stepping back also. She wished, evidently, to avoid being seen, and also to avoid a visit from the two gentlemen.
Ella had actually obtained the fulfilment of her wish by her indulgent adopted father. So far she knew but few, and only the unimportant compositions of her husband, several songs and fantasias, nothing else. The peculiar field of his labours and its results--the opera--was unknown to her. In consequence of the deadly wound inflicted upon her, she had never been able to conquer herself sufficiently to witness the triumphs which his operas obtained in her native town, those triumphs which were founded on the ruins of her life's happiness; and what she learned from the newspapers, or through strangers to whom her near connection with the admired composer was not known, only plunged the dagger deeper into her soul. Now, for the first time, the tone poet, Rinaldo, appeared before her in the most genial of his works, now she learned to know the power of those notes which so often had conquered friends and foes, and even carried away opponents to admiration, and the effect was overpowering. Half bent forward, listening breathlessly, the young wife followed every note of the music; she was now still capable, amid all the beauties which developed themselves before her, of gazing into the dark depths which were disclosed therein. For the first time she understood her husband's character entirely and wholly, this glowing artist's nature with all its contradictions, with its storms, tempests and struggles; for the first time she comprehended what the deeply injured wifewouldnot comprehend until now, the inner need of nature which compelled Reinhold to tear himself loose from the confined fetters of provincial every-day life and to follow the call of his genius, which made this catastrophe for him a struggle between life and death.
That he also broke those bonds, which under every circumstance ought to have been held sacred by him, that he sacrificed the duties of a father and a husband, who forsook his own for what would have been justifiable independence of a free man, could not be exonerated even by his genius; but in Ella's heart there now dawned, softly suggested, the question--what had she herself been in those days to her husband, that she should have required him to resist temptation, which came before him in the guise of a Beatrice Biancona, and what could she offer against a passion, whose glowing romance had, from the first, ruled the artist more than the man. The wife entrusted to him was then far too much oppressed with the burden of her education and surroundings, to be able to raise herself in any degree to his height; in her place there stood another in all the glory of her beauty and talent, and this other showed the young composer the path of liberty and fame. He had succumbed! Ella felt from the depths of her inmost heart that he would not have done so, could she have been to him then what she was to-day.
For the last time the curtain was drawn up, and until the last note Reinhold showed that he had been true to himself. The finale was as grand as the entire opera, and created a thrilling effect. Yet the work was wanting in one thing, the highest, for which not all the brilliant flashes of genius could atone, namely, harmony with itself. It had no peace, and awoke none in the minds of the audience. The composer appeared to have infected his work with the conflict which lay unappeased in his own breast; it was after all but the despair of life, of happiness, of himself. When the nightlong tempest had raged until exhausted, no fluttering morning's red peeped forth, promising a new and better day; on the wide, dreary waste of waters only the wreck was driven about, and clinging to it the shipwrecked traveller reached his native coast at last--too late to be saved. When wearied and wounded to death he sinks down there; once more is heard completed, as if 'twere ghostly tones from the far off unapproachable distance, that dream-like melody for the first time ringing out full and perfect in death, and the notes fade and die softly, as the life-blood ebbs away.
The reception of this opera by the audience far surpassed any success which Rinaldo had ever gained. Surely this music and performance were certain of approbation from a southern public. There every spark took fire, there each flame ignited and spread from one to another. One would have imagined the applause must have exhausted itself at last, the acclamations must have moderated themselves, but to-day even the most exalted enthusiasm appeared capable of rising still higher. After the close of each act, after every scene, it broke forth anew, and ended at last in a regular uproar with which the whole house demanded the composer's appearance most tumultuously.
Signor Rinaldo let them wait long before he acceded to this demand, he allowed Signora Biancona to come forward alone, again and again, in despite of all the stormy cries which were for him. Only at the end of the opera, when the calls resembled a riot and the enthusiasm could no longer be controlled, only then did he show himself and was greeted in such a manner by the audience as must have satisfied the most immeasurable ambition.
Proudly and calmly Reinhold stepped on to the stage; he stood almost immovable amid the enthusiastic acclamations. He had long since learned to accept all triumphs as something due to him, and great as were to-day's, not for one moment did they deprive him of his self-possession. His dark eyes swept slowly along the rows of boxes, but suddenly remained fascinated at a certain point. It was as though an electric shock had at once passed through his whole being, he started so violently, and his glance flashed--that glance of passionate delight for which Beatrice tonight had in vain laid out all the power of her talent; and if the fair head which had only become visible for one moment did disappear again at the next, yet he knew who was concealed behind the curtains of the box, who was witness of his triumph.
"Eleonore, that was imprudent!" said Erlau, also retreating from the balustrade. "You leaned too far forward. You were seen."
The young wife made no reply; she stood erect, both hands grasping the back of the seat from which she had risen in perfect self-forgetfulness. The large eyes, full of tears, were still directed unabashed to the stage where Reinhold just then came forward again to thank the audience, that cheering excited crowd, for whom he was the sole centre of attraction. All the thousand eyes were fixed upon him alone; all these lips and hands announced his victory, and while wreaths and branches of laurel fell at his feet, his name, as if carried aloft by one surging wave, resounded back in a thousand echoes.
At the ---- Embassy a largesoiréetook place, the first entertainment of its kind for the season. A numerous assembly of guests moved through the magnificent apartments of the ambassadorial hotel. Trains swept and uniforms flashed in the rooms beaming with light and scented with the perfume of flowers; near charming ladies' faces and distinguished wearers of orders might be seen many grave, noteworthy figures in simple civilian's dress, and amongst all these well-known forms and names, many foreign ones were mixed, who, according to their appearance and title, claimed more or less attention, to lose themselves again in the throng of guests.
Reinhold and Captain Almbach were also amongst those invited; the former was, as usual, the object of flattery and compliments from all sides, although demonstrated rather less noisily than so lately in the theatre. Reinhold had for long been considered one of the greatest celebrities in society. His new opera made him quite the lion of the season, and nowhere could he show himself without being surrounded and congratulated by every one present.
The charming representative of his work, Signora Biancona, shared this universal attention with him. Unfortunately, this time it was impossible to express the admiration of both at the same time, as they seemed rather to avoid than seek each other. Observant lookers-on declared that some slight rupture must have occurred between them, as they had arrived separately and never once drew together. Nevertheless the actress was continually surrounded with admiration, due, probably, in no small degree to her beauty. Beatrice understood perfectly how to "drape" herself for the drawing-room as well as for the stage, and if her toilette generally displayed something fantastic, it harmonised so peculiarly with her style of appearance that she only appeared the more fascinating. The singer preferred black, like many of her country women, and had selected it again to-day, but the dress composed of velvet, satin and lace was still most extravagantly magnificent, and rich jewels glistened on the dark ground. Single crimson flowers, apparently scattered carelessly here and there in her hair, seemed to fasten the black lace veil, and with these the Italian's dark complexion and burning flash of her eyes, formed a whole, which if intended to create an effect, certainly attained this result in the highest degree.
"Ah, Herr Almbach, so I find you here?" asked Lord Elton, who, glad to find any one with whom he could speak English, came up to Captain Almbach. "I wanted to see you for several days. Your brother's new opera----"
"For mercy's sake, my Lord, do not talk about that!" interrupted Hugo, with a gesture of horror, "since the day of its performance I have been nearly plagued to death with my brother's opera; everybody feels in duty bound to congratulate me too. How often have I wished for a revolution, an earthquake, or at least a slight outbreak of Vesuvius, so that at least something else may be talked of in society."
Lord Elton shook his head half-laughingly, half-disapprovingly. "Herr Almbach, you should not speak so recklessly, if a stranger heard you he might misunderstand you."
"Oh, I have amused myself several times by getting rid of some of his worst admirers by such expressions of my sentiments," said Hugo, quite unconcerned. "I do not feel obliged to offer myself upon the altar of my brother's popularity by listening to their speeches. How Reinhold can endure this triumph so long, I cannot conceive. Artist natures must be very peculiarly organised in this respect; my sailor's nerves would have given way long since."
Lord Elton seemed to enjoy the Captain's humour again to-day; he remained steadily at his side, and was a silent, but yet very attentive listener to all the remarks which Hugo as usual poured forth mercilessly upon every known and unknown person.
"If I only knew why Marchese Tortoni suddenly makes such a comet-like course through the room," mocked he; "that door seems to be the magnet which attracts him irresistibly--ah! yes, now indeed I can understand this move."
The last words sounded so unmistakably angry, that Lord Elton also looked attentively at the entrance. There appeared Consul Erlau with Ella on his arm. Marchese Tortoni was immediately at her side, and all three passed through the doorway. The lady wore an apparently simple white costume, but one could see that Erlau liked to display himself as a millionaire, even so far as his adopted daughter was concerned. The white lace dress, which floated so lightly around Ella's delicate figure, far surpassed in costliness most of those heavy velvet and satin robes which rustled through the room, and the row of pearls which adorned her neck was of such enormous value, that many of the sparkling jewels were as nothing beside it. Her fair head merely wore its natural ornament; no diamond, not even a flower, decorated the rich blonde plaits, whose faint golden glimmer harmonised so wondrously well with the delicate pink colour of her complexion. That figure required no studied artifice of the toilet to prove itself beautiful, it was so without any such aid, and if the ladies' glances soon discovered what cost was concealed under this seemingly simple costume, the gentlemen had no less keen eyes for the poetry of the apparition which sailed past them.
The three had arrived in the middle of the room, when, by chance, one of the groups in whose midst Reinhold had been, suddenly broke up, and he himself appeared standing almost immediately opposite to his wife. It was not the first encounter of this kind between the husband and wife, and they must always be prepared for the possibility of meeting on such occasions. And so Ella seemed to be; only for a moment did her arm tremble on that of her companion, and a fleeting colour came and went in her cheeks; then, however, the large eyes swept calmly on, and she turned to the Marchese, who was telling her the names of some of the persons present. Reinhold, on the contrary, stood as powerless as if he had forgotten everything around him. Although his wife's present, appearance was no longer strange to him, yet she looked quite different by the dim lamp-light of the garden room at Villa Fiorina, in the gloomy, rainy light of the verandah on that stormy day, and in the half-dark background of the opera box. He had never seen her as to-night, in the dazzling flood of light in the saloon, in the airy pale dress; and, despite the place and surroundings, it came wafted to him, as a recollection of that dream-like morning hour at Mirando, when the sea broke so deeply blue beneath the castle terrace, and the scent of flowers arose from the gardens, while the white figure leaned against the marble parapet--certainly her face was turned from him then, but now it was turned to another. At the sight of Cesario, who still maintained his place by her side, dream and recollection vanished; before Reinhold rose his brother's words which had robbed him of all peace almost ever since that conversation. "Perhaps for another," resounded in his heart. An ardent, threatening glance fell upon Cesario; returning to the circle he had barely left, he withdrew with a violent movement from the Marchese's greeting and address.
The latter looked at him astounded. He had not the remotest idea of the cause of this sudden avoidance, but he suspected for long already, that more than enmity only, as he had imagined, lay between Reinhold and Erlau. It had not escaped him that some secret connection had taken place between Ella and his friend, and to-day's encounter confirmed this notion only too strongly. Cesario was too proud to take refuge in espionage like Beatrice, and so he endured an uncertainty, whose explanation he had as yet no right to require of Ella or the Consul, and which Reinhold would not explain to him.
The German merchant was almost a stranger in the gathering, yet his companion's appearance soon began to create a sensation. Erlau had, to be sure, knitted his brows at the unexpected sight of Reinhold, but when he perceived that Ella remained apparently quite calm, the meeting rather gave him satisfaction. The Consul was evidently very proud of his adopted daughter, and noted the admiring glances and whispered remarks which followed her everywhere. He told himself that her former husband must see these glances, must hear these remarks, and with a scarcely concealed triumphant expression he walked on past the groups.
The throng of guests moving up and down, and the numerous reception rooms, made it easy for those to avoid each other who did not wish to meet.
About a quarter of an hour after Erlau's arrival, Captain Almbach drew near to greet him.
"Are you here, Herr Captain Almbach?" asked the Consul, astonished.
Hugo made a slightly ironical bow. "I have the honour. Does it displease you so much?"
"Certainly not! You know I am always pleased to see you; but out of our own house one only meets you in your brother's company. It appears impossible to go anywhere in society without running up against Signor Rinaldo."
"He is intimate with the master of the house," explained Hugo.
"Naturally," growled the Consul. "I should like to find one circle that does not adore him, and in which he does not reign. I could not refuse our Ambassador's invitation, and wished, too, to show my poor Eleonore something more than merely a sick-room. Have you spoken to her?"
"Of course," said Captain Almbach, looking across the room where Ella was standing engaged in conversation with the Marchese, Lord Elton, and some ladies; "that is to say as much as Marchese Tortoni made it possible for me to do so. He claims the lion's share of the conversation. I retire modestly."
"Yes, my dear Herr Captain, you must accustom yourself to that," laughed Erlau. "In society Ella is seldom at liberty to converse with one alone. I wish you could see her do the honours of my drawing-room. Here, we are almost entire strangers, otherwise I assure you Marchese Tortoni and Lord Elton would not be the only ones who would annoy you in this way."
Ella in the meanwhile had finished her conversation, and left the group with a slight bow, in order to return to her adopted father. As the Marchese, much to his displeasure, was detained by one of the ladies, Ella was crossing the room quite alone, when suddenly, in the middle of it, a dark velvet dress pushed past her so closely and rudely that it seemed as if done on purpose. Looking up, she perceived close to her the beautiful but, at this moment, alarming countenance of Signora Biancona.
Ella betrayed neither fear nor confusion, she took her lace dress up slowly, and moved slightly aside. There lay on her part a quiet, but very determined protest against any contact in this movement, and Beatrice seemed to understand it only too well, still she came even nearer. Ella felt a hot breath close to her cheek, and heard the whispered words--
"Signora, I beg for a moment's audience!"
Ella answered with a look of astonishment and indignation. "You--of me?" asked she, equally low, but with an unmistakable intonation.
"I beg for a few moments," repeated Beatrice, "you will grant me them, Signora?"
"No!"
"No?" said the Italian's voice, in hardly concealed scorn. "Then you fear me so much that you dare not be alone with me even for a short time?"
Signora Biancona appeared to have touched the right chord. The bare possibility of such an idea broke down Ella's opposition. "I will hear you," replied she, quickly, "but where?"
"In the little verandah at the right of the gallery. We shall be alone there; I will go first, you need only follow me."
With an almost imperceptible motion, Ella bowed her head. The few words had been exchanged so rapidly and softly, that no one had overheard a syllable, no one even noticed the close vicinity of the two ladies, who, at that moment, were only surrounded by strangers; therefore, none remarked it when Signora Biancona immediately afterwards disappeared from the room, and Ella a few minutes later followed her example.
The gallery, adorned with statues and paintings, next to the reception-room was almost empty. Only few guests had sought the cooler apartment, at the end of which a glass door led into a half-open verandah, which by day probably offered an extensive view over the surrounding gardens, but tonight had been included in the entertaining rooms, as it also had been decorated with flowering and foliage plants, and if not so brilliantly lighted as the saloons, yet was sufficiently so; at any rate it was quite empty, and the half-hidden room, lying somewhat apart, which was unknown to most of the guests, offered the possibility of an undisturbed conversation.
Beatrice was already there when Ella's lace dress rustled through the doorway, but the young wife remained very close to it, without advancing even a single step beyond. With just the same unbending, proud bearing which she had shown at the first meeting in thelocanda. did she now await the commencement of this half-compulsory interview. The Italian's eyes hung with a truly devouring expression on the white figure which stood opposite to her, flooded with the light of the lamps, and whose beauty moved her to the bitterest hatred.
"Signora Eleonore Almbach!" began she at last, "I regret having to explain to you that yourincognitois already betrayed. For the present only to me, but I do not believe that it can be long maintained."
"And upon whom would it fall?" asked Ella quietly. "I did not spare myself when I assumed thisincognito.
"Whom then? Perhaps Rinaldo?"
"I do not know Signor Rinaldo."
The words sounded so icily positive, that it was impossible to entertain any doubt as to what she meant to express, and Beatrice was silenced for a moment by them. It was quite beyond her to understand the pride which could not even forgive a Rinaldo for a breach of faith once made.
"Indeed, I was not prepared for this denial," replied she. "If Rinaldo--"
"You wished to speak to me," interrupted Ella, "and I promised to listen to you. That the decision has cost me something, I need hardly explain to you; at least I did not expect to hear this name from you, nor do I wish it. Let our conversation be as short as possible. What have you to say to me?"
"Above all, I have to beg you to employ a different tone in our interview," said Beatrice, with irritation. "You are speaking to Beatrice Biancona, whose name is surely known to you in other ways than merely through our personal connection with one another, and who may indeed endure hatred and enmity on the part of an opponent, but not the contempt you are pleased to express."
Ella remained perfectly unmoved at this demand. She stepped a little aside, under cover of the tall foliage plants, so that she might not be seen from the gallery, and then turned again to the speaker.
"I did not seek this interview. It was you, Signora, who to some extent forced me to it, therefore you must allow me to preserve the tone which I deem to be suitable towards you; none other is at my disposal."
A glance of wild, deadly hatred shot out of Beatrice's eyes, but she felt that if she now gave way to her passion, it would rob her of all power, and prepare her antagonist a new triumph. She therefore crossed her arms, and replied with annihilating scorn--
"You make me do severe penance, Signora Almbach, for having been the conqueror in a struggle whose prize was your husband's love."
"You are mistaken," responded Ella, coldly. "Ineverstruggle for any man's love. I leave that to women who first gain such a prize with difficulty, and then must ever tremble lest they lose it."
The last words seemed to have touched a sore spot. Beatrice paled.
"Certainly you had a right to claim him on the strength of the bridal altar," said she, still retaining the former contemptuous tone. "Only, alas, even this talisman does not protect one from the misfortune of being forsaken."
Now it was she who aimed mercilessly for a wound which she herself had made, but the arrow glanced harmlessly back. Ella drew herself up erect and proud--
"Certainly not from the pain of such a fate, but at any rate from its shame. For the forsaken wife there remain the interest, the sympathy of the whole world; for the forsaken lover--only contempt."
"Only that?" said Beatrice grimly. "You mistake, Signora; one other thing remains for her--revenge!"
"Is that intended for a threat to me?" asked Ella. "Whoever challenges your revenge, may seek to protect herself against it; I am free from it."
"Of course, you came from the north where passion is not known, as we understand the word," cried the Italian. "With you prejudices, duties, the world's opinion, stand for ever and ever in the front--a woman'sloveonly comes in the second rank."
"Certainly in the second rank." Ella's tone was now one of unconcealed scorn. "In the first stands woman's honour; we are accustomed to place it unconditionally and everywhere in front--a prejudice certainly from which Signora Biancona has long since emancipated herself."
Ella did not know the rival whom she irritated, otherwise she would not perhaps have ventured to let the pride of the deeply injured wife speak in so crushing a manner; the effect was an appalling one.
It was as if all at once a demon sprang up in the Italian, as if her whole being really shot forth "death and destruction," so flashed her dark eyes; a half smothered cry of fury broke from her lips, and forgetting everything around her, she took one or two steps forward.
Ella shrank back at this more than threatening movement--
"What does that mean, Signora?" said she firmly. "Violence perhaps? You forget where we are. I see that I was wrong to accede to this interview, it is high time to end it."
Beatrice appeared to recover her senses to some extent; at least she stood still, although the unnatural expression of her eyes had not faded; convulsively her hand crushed the black lace veil which fell over her shoulders; she did not notice that in doing so one of the red flowers detached itself from her hair, and fell to the ground.
"You shall learn to repent these words--this hour, Signora," hissed she through her clenched teeth. "You do not know revenge? Very well, I know it, and shall know how to show it to you and him."
She swept away and left the young wife alone behind, who could not bring herself to re-enter the drawing-room immediately after this scene, and encounter Erlau's anxious enquiries. Drawing a long breath, she sat down on one of the seats, and rested her head on her hand. This wild hatred and threat of vengeance did shake her, but it showed her the truth also, through all veils. Only the successful rival is hated, only what is lost is avenged, or at least what is given up for lost--the infatuation was at an end.
But whom did these threatening words concern? Reinhold? The wife paled; she herself had offered a firm bold front to the menace; but at this thought a breath as of trembling fear passed through her soul, and as if in half unconscious pain she pressed her hand to her bosom and whispered--
"Oh, my God, that cannot be. She loves him surely."
"Eleonore!" said a voice quite close to her.
Ella started up. She recognised the voice at the first sound, even before she saw the figure, which stood on the other side of the doorway, as though it did not dare to pass. Reinhold seemed to gain courage when he saw no repelling movement, and entered completely.
"What is it?" asked he uneasily, "I find you alone here in this distant room, and just now I saw another come from it and hurry through the gallery. You spoke--"
"To Signora Biancona," added Ella, as he stopped.
"Did she insult you?" cried Reinhold irately. "I know her look, which betokened no good. I almost suspected it when I saw her disappear so suddenly from the drawing-room, and you were to be seen no more. I came too late, as it appears. Did she insult you, Ella?"
His young wife rose, and made a movement as if to leave--
"If she had done so, you understand surely that your protection would be the last which I should claim."
She tried to pass him, and reach the door. Reinhold made no attempt to detain her, but his glance rested upon her with such sad reproach, that she stopped involuntarily.
"Eleonore," said he softly, "one more question before you go--only one. You were at my opera--why deny it? I saw you, as you saw me. What urged you to go?"
Ella lowered her eyes, as if it were a fault of which she was accused, and a treacherous warmth flowed over her brow and cheeks, as she hesitatingly replied--
"I wanted to become acquainted with the composer, Rinaldo, in his works."
"And now that you have become acquainted with him?"
"Do you wish for my judgment upon your new creation? The world says it is a masterwork."
"It was a confession," said he with strong emphasis. "I did not, indeed, imagine that you would hear it, but as it was so--did you understand it?"
His wife was silent.
"I only saw your eyes for one moment," continued he passionately, "but I saw that tears stood in them. Did you understand me, Ella?"
"I comprehended that the author of such tones could not endure the narrow circle of my parent's house," replied Ella firmly, "and that perhaps he chose the best for himself when he broke through it and plunged into a life full of warmth and passion, such as his music paints. You have sacrificed everything to your genius--I bear you testimony that this genius was worthy of the sacrifice."
The last words sounded intensely bitter; they seemed to have touched the same chord in Reinhold.
"You do not know how cruel you are," said he in a like tone, "or rather you know it only too well, and make me suffer tenfold for every pang I once caused you. What indeed is it to you, if I rise or succumb in a life which the world deems unequalled happiness, which I often, so often already, would have given away for a single hour of rest and peace! What is it to you, if your husband, the father of your child, be devoured with wild longing for reconciliation with a past which he could never quite tear out of his heart, if at last he despairs of everything and of himself! He has merited his fate; therefore the rod was broken over him, and the elevated, virtuous pride of his wife denies him every word of reconciliation, denies him even the sight of his child--"
"For Heaven's sake, Reinhold, control yourself," interrupted Ella anxiously. "We are not alone here--if a stranger heard us!"
He laughed bitterly--
"Well, then he would hear the great crime, that the husband has for once dared to speak to his wife. And if all the world learn it, I care no longer upon whom the discovery, whom the condemnation falls. Ella you must remain," interrupted he beside himself, as he saw she wished to depart. "For once I must ease my breast of what I have carried about with me for months, and as you are at other times so inaccessible to me, you must listen to me now and here. You must I say."
He seized her arm, so as to detain her by force; but at the same moment Marchese Tortoni appeared at the door, and stepped almost furiously between them.
Reinhold let his wife's arm go, and drew back. Cesario's appearance showed him that the latter must have been present at least during the last scene; with dark brow and a grave look the Marchese placed himself at once by Ella's side.
"May I offer you my arm, Signora?" said he, very positively. "Your uncle is uneasy at your absence. You will allow me to accompany you to him."
Reinhold had already mastered his astonishment, but not his excitement. The interruption at such a moment irritated him to excess, and the sight of Cesario at his wife's side robbed him completely of his self-control.
"I request that you will withdraw, Cesario," said he violently and dictatorially, with that superiority which he had always employed towards his young friend and admirer, but he forgot that he no longer held the foremost place with the latter. The Marchese's eyes flashed with indignation, as he replied--
"The tone of your request is as singular, Rinaldo, as the request itself; you will therefore understand if I do not accede to it. I certainly did not understand the German words which you exchanged with Signora Erlau, but yet I saw that she was to be compelled to stay when she wished to go. I fear she requires protection--pray command me, Signora!"
"You will protect her fromme?" cried Reinhold, becoming excited. "I forbidyouto approach this lady!"
"You appear to forget that it is not Signora Biancona in this case," said the Marchese, cuttingly. "You may have a right there to forbid or allow, but here--"
"I have it here more than any other."
"You lie."
"Cesario! You will answer for this to me," cried Reinhold angrily.
"As you please," replied the Marchese, equally violently.
Ella had up to this time tried in vain to interrupt the sentences which were exchanged rapidly between the wildly excited men; they did not listen to her, but the last words, whose meaning she understood only too well, showed her the whole extent of the danger of this unhappy meeting. With quick decision she stepped between them, and said with a determination which commanded attention even at this moment--
"Marchese Tortoni, do not proceed any farther! It is a misunderstanding."
Cesario turned at once to her. "Pardon, Signora! We forgot your presence;" said he more calmly. "But you overlook the fact that in Signor Rinaldo's words there lies an insult to you, which I am not inclined to tolerate. I cannot and shall not retract my words, unless you were to convince me that he is right."
Ella struggled with herself in agonising indecision. Reinhold stood silent and gloomy; she saw that he would not speak now, that with this silence he wished to compel her, either to deny or acknowledge him as her husband; but to deny him, meant in this case to call forth the worst consequences. The insult had taken place, and with the two men's characters, a fatal meeting was inevitable. If it were not withdrawn, no choice remained to the wife.
"Signor Rinaldo goes too far when he still claims rights which he once possessed," replied she at last. "But no insult lay in his words, he spoke--of his wife!"
Reinhold breathed more freely--at last she confessed it before Cesario. The latter stood as if struck by lightning. Often as he had sought for a solution of the enigma, he had never expected one such as this.
"Of his wife!" repeated he almost stupified.
"We have been separated for years," said Ella voicelessly.
This explanation restored the Marchese's steadiness. He immediately guessed the cause of the separation; did he not know Beatrice Biancona? The one name made all clear to him, and left no doubt as to whose side the fault lay on now. The Captain was right in his conjecture; the discovery, instead of frightening Cesario away, rather made him break forth in passionate partizanship for the beloved and injured wife.
"Well then, Signora," said he quickly, "it only rests with you, whether you will recognise a claim, which Rinaldo founds upon a past, which exists no longer, and which he himself surely destroyed. You alone have to decide whether I may still approach you, if in future I may dedicate a feeling to you, which I confess openly is now more than the cold admiration of a stranger, and which one day you must accept or refuse."
He spoke with all the ardour of a long suppressed emotion, but also with the noble, immovable confidence of a man, to whom the beloved one is elevated above all doubt, and the language was sufficiently plain; it pressed urgently for a decision, from which the wife shrank back tremblingly.
"Yes, indeed Eleonore, you must decide," said Reinhold, now taking up the word. His voice all at once sounded unnaturally calm, but the glance which hung openly on his wife with an expression as if in the next moment the fiat of life or death should fall from her lips, showed better how it was with him. For one second's duration both their eyes met, and Ella could have been no woman had she not now seen that the most perfect, annihilating revenge lay in her hand. One single "Yes" from her lips would avenge all that she had suffered. Slowly she turned to Cesario.
"Marchese Tortoni--I beg you to desist--I still consider myself bound."
A short portentous pause followed the words. Ella saw what a struggle between pain and pride of the man, who would not show how deeply he had been struck, went forward in the young Italian's beautiful features; she saw him bow to her, without speaking a word, and turn to go; but courage failed her to cast a glance to the other side.
"Cesario!" cried Reinhold, going a step towards him as if in rising repentance. "We are friends."
"Wewereso," replied the Marchese, coldly. "You surely comprehend, Rinaldo, that this hour separates us. My accusation against you I must certainly retract! your wife's explanation exonerates you from it--farewell, Signora."
He left the husband and wife alone. Neither spoke during the next few minutes. Ella bent low over one of the perfumed flowers, and a few tears fell upon the broad shining leaves. Then her name was borne to her ear by a trembling breath--she seemed not to hear it.
"Eleonore!" repeated Reinhold.
She raised her eyes to him. Intense pain still rested on her face, but her voice sounded under perfect control again.
"What have I said then? That I shall never make use of the freedom which your step gave me? That was certain from the first; without this the experience of my marriage protects me from any second one. I have my child, and in it the object and happiness of my life. I require no other love."
"You, certainly not," said Reinhold, with quivering lip, "and my doom is indifferent to you--you have always loved your child only, and never me. For his sake you could break through all the prejudices of your bringing up and become another woman; you could not do it for your husband."
"Did he then ever give me such love as I found in my child?" asked Ella, in a very low voice. "Let it be, Reinhold! You know who stands between us, and will ever stand."
"Beatrice? I will not accuse her, although she was more to blame for my departure then than you perhaps believe. Yet, I was always master of my will--why did I yield to the fascination? But if I have now recognised its deception, and tear myself away--"
"Will you forsake her, as you forsook me?" interrupted his wife, in reproachful condemnation. "Do you think thatthatcould reconcile us? I have lost all belief in you, Reinhold, and it will not be restored to me, even if you sacrifice a second person now. I have no cause for sparing or considering this Biancona, but she loves you; she offered up all for you, and you yourself gave her an undisputed right of possession for years. If even you would now destroy the fetters you forged for yourself she would still part us for ever. It is too late; Icannottrust you any more."
Immeasurable sadness rang in the last words, but at the same time unbending firmness. In the next moment Ella had left the room. Reinhold was alone.
It was on the day following this entertainment, already towards evening, when Captain Almbach entered Reinhold's drawing-room.
"Is my brother still not visible?" asked he of the servant who met him.
The latter shrugged his shoulders, and pointed across to the locked door of the study.
"You know, Signor, that we dare not disturb him. Signor Rinaldo has locked himself in."
"Since this morning!" murmured Captain Almbach; "that begins, indeed, to be alarming. I must absolutely find out what has happened."
He went to the study door, and knocked in such a manner that it could not be unheard.
"Reinhold, open the door! It is I."
No answer came from within.
"Reinhold, twice to-day have I demanded admittance to you in vain. If you do not open the door now, I shall think some misfortune has happened, and burst it open in a minute."
The threat seemed to have some effect. Steps were heard inside the room; the bolt was pushed back, and Reinhold, standing before his brother who entered quickly, said impatiently--
"Why this disturbance? Can I never be alone?"
"Never!" said Hugo, reproachfully. "Since this morning you have been inaccessible to everybody--even to me; and your face shows that you are more fitted to bear anything than being alone. That unfortunatesoiréelast night; Heaven knows what befel you all! Ella suddenly disappeared from the room, and I am convinced you spoke together. Marchese Tortoni, who also became invisible, returned with a countenance as if he had received his verdict of death, and left the party the next moment. I find you in the gallery in a state of excitement beyond description, and Donna Beatrice looked like the last judgment day, as she entered her carriage. I bet that she alone has caused all the mischief. What is the matter between you?"
Reinhold folded his arms, and looked gloomily at the ground. "Nothing more now--we are separated from henceforward."
Captain Almbach stepped back in intense surprise. "What does it mean? You accompanied her."
"Yes, she knew how to manage that, and so at last it came to a decision between us."
"You have broken with her?" asked Hugo.
"I--no," replied Reinhold, with a bitter expression; "it was told me plainly enough that I might sacrifice no 'second.' It was Beatrice who brought the rupture violently about. Why must she force me to an interview so immediately after it had become clear to me what I had lost for her sake? She called me to account for my thoughts and feelings, and I told her the truth which she demanded--mercilessly perhaps, but if I was cruel, she challenged me to it ten times over."
"I can imagine it, from what I know of Biancona," said Hugo, in an under tone.
"From what you know of her?" repeated his brother. "Do not believe it! Did I not only really learn to know her last evening? It was a scene; I tell you, Hugo, even you, with all your energy, would not have been equal to her. One must have something of a fiend in one's nature to resist such a woman. That hour put its seal upon our separation."
The words were full of gloomy moodiness, but betrayed no relief, no removal of any weight. Captain Almbach shook his head.
"I fear the story will certainly not end there. This Beatrice is not a woman to waste away in helpless tears. Be upon your guard, Reinhold!"
"She threatened me with all her vengeance," said Reinhold darkly, "and so far as I know her, she will keep to it. Let her then! I do not tremble before what I called up myself--with happiness I had parted already."
"And if this separation continued irretrievable, do you not believe in the possibility of a reconciliation with Ella?" asked Hugo, gravely.
"No, Hugo, that is over. I know that she cannot forget. Not one voice in her heart speaks for me now, if it even ever spoke. The cleft between us is too wide, too deep; no bridge leads across it now. I have given up the last hope."
The brothers' conversation was interrupted at this moment by Jonas, who entered hastily.
Reinhold looked up, annoyed that his brother's servant should venture to enter his study so unceremoniously, and Hugo had a rebuke ready on his lips, when a glance at the sailor's face arrested it.
"What is it, Jonas?" asked he uneasily. "Is it anything important?"
"Herr Captain!"--the sailor's voice had quite lost its usual quiet tone, it trembled audibly----"I have just come from Herr Erlau's house--you know that I often go there now--the old gentleman is beside himself; all the servants are running about--Annunziata cries her eyes out, although she really is not to blame for it, and young Frau Erlau just now----"
"What has happened?" cried Reinhold, with the dread of presentiment. "Some misfortune?"
"The child is gone," said Jonas, desperately; "since this forenoon. If they do not find it again, I believe the mother will lose her life."
"Who? Little Reinhold?" enquired Hugo, while his brother stared at the messenger of evil, without power over a single word. "How could it happen? Was no one there to look after him?"
"He was playing in the garden as usual," related Jonas, "and Annunziata with him; she went into the house for a quarter of an hour, as she often does. When she returned, the garden door was open, the child gone, and not a trace of him to be found. They have roused all the neighbourhood, searched all the environs, but no ponds nor pits, where the little one could come to grief, are anywhere near, and if he had run away, he is big enough, after all, to find his way back again. No one can understand the mystery."
The brothers' looks met. In both their eyes stood the same terrible thought. The next moment, Reinhold, pale as a corpse, and trembling with excitement in all his limbs, seized his hat from the table.