He drew a deep breath. Here in the open air the sun shone so brilliantly, while the house seemed so full of dismal ghosts.
"Good heavens!" said he to himself; "can there be a more terrible lot than to go creeping and groping through life with unenlightened mind, like my poor aunt here!--always dreading treachery and deceit, sin and sorrow; seeing no more of the sunshine, of all the might and beauty of the world, than if she were blind, like that poor girl!"
A young girl was groping her way along the iron railing that divided the courtyard from the garden, which was on rather a higher level. She moved with slow and careful steps, holding in her uplifted left hand a plate, on which appeared to be slices of bread-and-butter, and with her right hand outstretched lightly touched every third rail. It was by these careful movements that Reinhold recognised the blind girl, even before she stood still, and, slightly raising her head, turned her face towards the sun. The sun was very powerful, but her eyelids never even quivered. She had opened her eyes wide, as a flower turns its open petals to the sun, and lovely as a flower was the expression of the sweet, pure, child-like features.
"Poor poor Cilli!" murmured Reinhold.
He had remembered the name from last night's conversation, and that the blind girl was the daughter of Kreisel, Uncle Ernst's head clerk. And the man who had been standing in the doorway of the low building a little way off, which from the desks in the windows seemed to be the counting-house, and now came towards the girl across the intervening part of the courtyard, must be her father--a little old man with a perfectly bald head, that shone in the sun like a ball of white marble.
The blind girl instantly recognised his footsteps. She turned her head, and Reinhold saw the two thick blonde plaits, as they fell so far over her shoulders that the ends were concealed by the stonework supporting the railing. She nodded repeatedly to the newcomer, and when he was by her, bent her head that he might kiss her forehead, and held up the plate with both hands, from which he took a slice of bread-and-butter and began to eat at once, at intervals saying a few words, which Reinhold in the distance could not catch, any more than he could the girl's answers. But he could have sworn that they were words of love that were thus exchanged, as from time to time the old man stroked the blonde hair with his left hand (the right was occupied with the bread-and-butter), while a happy smile played upon the girl's sweet face, which he now saw in profile. And now the old gentleman had finished his second slice of bread-and-butter, and taking a white handkerchief out of his pocket, he shook it out of its folds and wiped his mouth with it, then refolded it in its original creases and put it back in his pocket, while the girl, as before, presented her forehead for a kiss. The old man hobbled away, and stood in the door waving his hand; the blind girl waved her hand and nodded in return till he disappeared, exactly as if she could see what she really only heard with her acute ear, or calculated by the time it took, it being evidently a daily habit. Then again she raised her eyes to the sun with the self-same expression of child-like innocence on the pure face; and taking in her right hand the plate, which before she had held in her left hand, retraced her steps as she had come, lightly touching every third rail with the tips of her fingers.
Reinhold had observed the whole scene without moving. The poor blind girl could not see him, and the old man had not once looked that way.
Now for the first time he recollected himself. The touching scene had riveted his attention as though by a charm, and the charm had not left him, as he followed the blind girl's movements with breathless attention; mentally he touched each third rail as she did, as though he himself were groping along by the railing, following her light and graceful movements step by step. He waited for her reappearance from behind a white-thorn bush which grew against the railing, and now hid her from his sight, as a sailor waits for the reappearance of a star which he is observing, and which, as he gazes, is for some moments obscured by over-shadowing clouds. But she did not reappear as the moments passed, and the bush seemed to be moving. Perhaps she was trying to gather a branch and could not manage it. In a moment he was through the garden gate and at her side.
A thorn from the bush protruding through the railing had caught hold of the end of her little white apron as it was blown about by the wind, and would not let go, though she patiently exerted all her efforts to extricate it.
"Allow me," said Reinhold.
Before he came up to her she had raised herself from her stooping attitude, and turned her face towards him, which as he spoke was suffused with the loveliest blush. But there was not the slightest trace of embarrassment or terror in the pure features.
"Thank you, Captain Schmidt," said she.
The sweet, melodious tone of her voice harmonised wonderfully with the bright child-like smile that accompanied the words.
"How do you know, Fräulein Cilli, who it is that is speaking to you?" said Reinhold, as he stooped down and freed the light material from the thorn.
"From the same person who told you that my name is Cilli, and that I am blind--from Justus."
"Will you take my arm, Fräulein Cilli, and allow me to see you home? I suppose you live in the house that is just in front of us?"
"I walk safer alone; but give me your hand. May I feel it for a moment?"
She put out a small, soft white hand to him, which Reinhold touched with a feeling of awe.
"Just what he said," she murmured as though speaking to herself. "Strong and manly--a good, a true hand."
She let go his hand, and they walked on side by side, she by the railing again, feeling the rails, he close to her side, never turning his eyes from her.
"Did Anders tell you that too?" he asked.
"Yes; but your hand would have told me without that. I know people by their hands. Justus's hand is not so strong, though he works so much; but it is as good."
"And as true," said Reinhold.
Cilli shook her head with a laugh, that was as sweet and soft as the twittering of the swallows.
"No, no," said she, "not as true! He cannot be, for he is an artist; so he can have but one guiding star--his Ideal--that he must look up to and follow, as the kings followed the star in the East, which going before them stopped at Bethlehem over the house in which the Saviour was laid in a manger; but beyond that he must be free, free as the birds in the branches overhead, free to come and go, free to flit and flutter and sing to his heart's content."
They had reached the end of the railing. Before them stood the house in which Cilli lived. She rested the tips of her fingers upon the iron pillars which ended the railing, and raised her face with a strange dreamy expression on it.
"I often wish I were an artist," said she; "but I should like better still to be a sailor. Sometimes I have wonderful dreams, and then I fly over the earth on wide-spread wings. Below me I see green meadows and dark forests, and corn-fields waving their golden grain; silver streamlets wander down the hill-sides and mingle their waters in the broad rivers which glitter in the light of the sun as it sinks to the horizon. And as it sinks, and the waters, with the church spires reflected in them, take a rosy hue, a terrible anguish overwhelms me, as I feel that it will sink before I can see it--this sun which I have never seen, of which all I know is that it is above all things beautiful and great and glorious. And when the sun is so low that in another moment it must disappear, there lies before me, boundless, illimitable, the great ocean! It is impossible to describe what I feel then, but I fancy it must be what the dead feel when they rise to everlasting joy, or what great and good men feel when they have done the deed which renders them immortal."
A couple of swallows flitted chirping through the air. The blind girl raised her sightless eyes.
"They come over the sea, but I cannot, I never can get beyond the shore, never beyond the shore!"
For the first time a shadow came over the charming face that was uplifted to Reinhold, but the next moment it was once more lighted up by the bright, child-like smile.
"I am very ungrateful," said she, "am I not? How many people never see the sea even in their dreams as I do, and did only last night! Justus passed our window--we always have lights very late--and he called out that you had arrived, and were so nice and pleasant, and had told so many wonderful things about your long voyages. You must tell me about them. Will you?"
She stretched out her hand to him again.
"Indeed I will," cried Reinhold. "I am only afraid that your dreams are more, immeasurably more, beautiful than anything I can tell you about."
The blind girl shook her head.
"How strange! that is what papa always says, and even Justus, though he is an artist, and the whole world lies before him as beautiful as on the first day of creation, and now you say it, who have seen the whole world. I can look at the sun without flinching; you must hide your eyes from its glory. I--I cannot see the loving smile upon my dear father's face, cannot see the faces of those I love. How can my world be as glorious and lovely as yours? But of course you only say that not to make me sad. You need not be afraid; I envy no one. From my heart I can say that I grudge no man his happiness, especially those who are so good, so intensely good as my father and Justus!"
The face that was turned to him beamed once more with the brightest sunshine.
"When once I begin to chatter there is no stopping me, is there? And I have kept you all this time, when you have so much to do of far greater importance. I shall see you again."
She gave his hand a slight pressure, and then withdrew her own, which she had left in his till now, and stepped towards the door, which was only separated from her by the width of the path which on this side lay between the garden and the house. Then, however, she stood still again, and said, half turning over her shoulder:
"Was not Justus right when he said you were kind? You did not smile when I said I should see you again!"
She went into the house, feeling the door-posts with her finger-tips, turned once more as she stood on the threshold, nodded, and stepped into the hall.
Reinhold had not smiled, but as the fair vision disappeared in the shadow of the entrance he passed the hand which she had held so long over his eyes.
"And you thought you knew how to love!" said he to himself. "What are our purest, holiest aspirations when compared with the heavenly purity and goodness of such a mind as this poor blind girl's, who is as unconscious of her beauty and her charm as are the lilies of the field? How could so lovely a flower have blossomed here?"
He looked around. The bell which had summoned the workpeople to their breakfast as Cilli came out of the house rang again. The men returned to their work. Looking round the corner of the house, he had a peep through the wide-open doors of the workshops, which seemed to occupy the whole of the ground-floor. Crosses and tombstones were being chiselled and carved by busy hands.
A chill came over Reinhold, to see this sad, gloomy sight just now, when the world lay so bright before him, lighted up by the fancies of the blind girl who lived over these melancholy workshops, and in whose dreams the tapping and knocking of these dreadful hammers and chisels must mingle!
He asked for his uncle. No one had seen him that morning; he might be in the engine-room or in some of the back yards. Where was Herr Anders' studio? Here in this very building, the first door round the corner; the second was the young lady's studio.
Reinhold walked round the house and knocked at the first door, near which was a high window half shaded from within. No one answered, and he was going on when the door opened a little way. But it was not the friendly countenance of the sculptor, with its bright eyes and cheery smile, that met him, but a strange, dark face, from which a pair of black, sparkling eyes glared at him.
"Beg pardon! I expected to see Herr Anders."
"Herr Anders is not here; he is in his own house, the third door upstairs."
He of the dark complexion said this in a forbidding tone and in German, which, though fluent enough, betrayed the foreigner in every syllable.
"Then I will go and look for him there."
"Herr Anders is going to the Exhibition; he is dressing."
"Reinhold now observed that the young man himself was in the act of dressing and still in his shirt-sleeves, whose extreme whiteness made the darkness of his complexion even more remarkable. The interruption of his toilette quite explained the unfriendly tone of his answers, and the want of hospitality that made him hold the door only just enough open for him to speak to the stranger.
"Perhaps you know whether Fräulein Schmidt is in her studio?"
The pertinacity of the question seemed to irritate the young man. The black brows frowned heavily, the delicate upper lip with its slight moustache curled sufficiently to show the white teeth for a moment. "Non lo so," he blurted out.
He shut the door, muttering between his teeth something else in Italian which did not sound like a blessing.
Reinhold felt convinced that Ferdinanda was in her studio, and that the ungracious youth knew it; but at the same time it would not make her very unhappy if he paid his visit later, or did not pay it at all. At all events he must look for his uncle first.
He returned to the yard, passing a place where huge blocks of marble were being cut through by the aid of large suspended saws, each of which was regulated by a man. It must have been fatiguing work, requiring great strength, and indeed was only undertaken when the machinery could not turn out enough work, as was now the case; there was no doubt that the machine certainly could do much more. So said the workman, taking the opportunity to get a little breathing-time. The steam saws were in that building; they had just seen the master go there. But Uncle Ernst was not near the steam saws, he had just been there; perhaps he was in the lathe-room close by.
Reinhold had some difficulty in taking in the words which a workman shouted in his ear, so loud was the screeching, overpowering noise of the immense saws as the steam power drove them backwards and forwards with inconceivable rapidity through great blocks of marble as high as a man; eight, ten, and twelve saws working at once through the same block and cutting it into as many inch-thick slabs. And between each two blocks was a man upon a small platform incessantly busied in throwing water, mixed with sand from a pail, upon the sparks caused by the saws; and the one who had got down to answer Reinhold sprang hurriedly back to his place to extinguish the sparks which now came from his block in trails almost a yard in length.
In the next room which Reinhold entered a less awful noise was going on. Though here, too, was heard the rattle of the driving bands as they stretched like interminable snakes from a wheel in one corner of the ceiling to another at the other end, and so descended to a second at a medium height, and once more went up and down in bewildering quivering lines; and here again wheels rattled and clattered, and the iron strained and screeched and creaked as it cut through the marble, boring holes, cutting with chisels, filing, shaving, scraping, and in every possible way converting it into skilful and sometimes even artistic forms. Entablatures with sharp plinths, slender fluted columns, elegant pedestals for candelabra or vases, even vases themselves which, rapidly revolving, were polished by busy hands with pumice stone.
Herr Schmidt had been here a few minutes ago--was perhaps now upstairs in the workshops where the fine work was done before it came here to be polished.
Those workshops lay on the opposite side of the yard, so that Reinhold now first obtained a true idea of the dimensions of the establishment as well as of the enormous extent of the business. He had already been into three workshops, and had glanced into as many more in passing. What an amount of capital must be sunk in these massive buildings, and in the ground alone which was taken up by them and the yard, and in these complicated ingenious machines, and in the already completed goods, and again in these masses of rough marble which lay about all over the yard, and between which ran the paved road for the strongly-built waggons, upon which the powerful horses dragged these enormous weights backwards and forwards.
And all this was done by the man of whom Aunt Rikchen had rightly said that he ought to understand the feelings of a person who has learnt nothing in his youth! This man who as a boy and youth had with his father gone up and down the Havel and the Spree in the great boat which was the only property of the family, till after the old man's death he had started a business in bricks and sandstone in the lonely spot above the town, in the modest little house where Reinhold had visited him ten years ago.
What industry, what energy and what intelligence had been brought to bear, to attain such a result, to create a world out of nothing! Was it to be wondered at if he who had created it carried his head higher than other men; or if this head, which had so much and so many to think of, to consider and to care for, were often shadowed by heavy clouds?
Loud voices, which sounded close to Reinhold, startled him out of these meditations, a high one and a deep one, in which he thought he recognised his uncle's. A dispute must be going on. The high voice got gradually louder, till a thundering "Silence!" stopped the flow. It could only be Uncle Ernst thus thundering.
He stood still, uncertain whether to go nearer or to avoid the disputants. They however came round the great blocks of marble which he had just been looking at, his uncle and a red-haired man, whose ugly face was distorted and inflamed with anger. On his uncle's forehead, too, from which the broad-brimmed hat was pushed back, lay a red angry cloud, but his large powerful eyes had a calm and steady look, and his voice, too, was calm and steady as now seeing his nephew, he said:
"Good-morning, Reinhold, though it is not a good morning for me."
"Do you require my presence any longer, Herr Schmidt?" asked the man.
"Certainly. You will dismiss the people in my presence."
"That I shall not do, Herr Schmidt."
"In my presence, and in that of all the others. Sound the bell!"
And Uncle Ernst pointed to a small platform over which hung a great bell.
"That is not my office," said the overseer hotly.
"True," answered Uncle Ernst, "for from this moment you no longer hold any office."
"I claim a quarter's notice."
"That we shall soon see."
Uncle Ernst went up to the bell; Reinhold stepped before him.
"Let me," said he.
He did not wait for his uncle's answer, and pulled the rope that hung down; immediately the mighty clang of the great clapper sounded through the yard, overpowering and drowning the screeching and shrieking of the saws, the tapping and knocking of hammers and chisels, and startling the workmen at their work. Presently they emerged from all sides with anxious faces.
While they assembled and stood in groups as they came from the workshops to the number of about two hundred, so Reinhold thought. Uncle Ernst stood leaning against a block of marble with folded arms, staring straight in front of him; a few steps from him stood the overseer, now very pale, and in whose alarmed and anxious looks it was easy to see that fear alone kept him in his place.
Reinhold had come up to the side of the block upon which his uncle was leaning so as to be near him in any case. Whatever was the matter it was certainly nothing pleasant, and as his glance fell upon the people, he noticed several desperate and even wild faces.
And now Uncle Ernst stood erect; the great eyes flashed over the assembled crowd, the arms fell from his broad breast, and from that broad breast came the mighty voice like thunder:
"Men, you know the rules of this establishment; they are all put before you, before each of you that enters my service; they are hung up in every workshop; no one can say that anything is not clear or is difficult to understand, and they shall be kept, as by me the employer, so by you the employed. If there is one amongst you who can come forward here and say that I have diverged one hair's breadth from what I promised you, or that I have in the smallest degree not fulfilled my duty and obligation, let him come forward and say so."
He paused, crossed his arms again, and looked down, as though he would not intimidate any one by his glance, but left them free to express an opinion. Reinhold saw that here and there a few heads collected together, and several quick secret glances were exchanged from one group which he had noticed before. A man stepped forward, but the others held him by the arm, and he went back. Uncle Ernst looked up again.
"No one has come forward; I must assume that you have nothing to say against me, that you have no grounds of complaint. I, however--I have grounds of complaint against some of you, and that you may all hear what it is, and who it is, and may behave accordingly in the future, and that any man who is secretly following in the same way may know how to behave if he is otherwise an honest man, is why I call you together now. Jacob Schwarz, Johann Brand, Anton Baier, stand forward!"
A considerable agitation arose amongst the people; all eyes were directed towards the group which Reinhold had already noticed. The same man came forward again decidedly, and looked behind him, whereupon two others followed hesitatingly.
"What is it?" said the first.
"You will soon know," said Uncle Ernst. "You know all of you that our rules forbid you to belong to any union; that I might have sent away these three on the spot when I found out what they were about a week ago, and that I allowed mercy to take the place of justice in not sending them away, but giving them time for consideration. Yesterday evening the time of grace expired; they did not give Herr Roller the required assurance yesterday evening that they had left the union. Herr Roller ought not to have allowed them to return to their work; he did do so and is consequently henceforth no longer your overseer, and is dismissed absolutely from my service."
There was a movement amongst the crowd; consternation was depicted on most faces, malicious satisfaction on many; the overseer attempted a scornful smile, but got no further than a sickly grin.
"You," continued Uncle Ernst, for the first time turning to the culprits, "take your things and leave the yard at once! And you others, let this serve as a warning to you and a reminder of what, indeed, you must all have known long ago, that I am not to be trifled with, and that when I say a thing I mean it--and now go back to your work!"
A good many of the men turned at once and began to disperse; but others--a few from almost every group--remained, and as the ranks thinned drew closer together, as if to afford each other protection. Those too who had moved away at first now stopped again, turned back, and also drew together, so that in a few minutes the throng was divided into two parts; the last mentioned, who for the present were more amenable and conciliatory, were by far the larger number; but the others--of whom there might be about thirty, were evidently the bolder and more determined. Reinhold moved to his uncle's side.
"What are you waiting for?" asked Uncle Ernst, "what do you want?"
From the group of malcontents who had now clustered thickly together, a man stepped forward, not one of the three; a young man who would have been handsome if his youthful countenance had not been marred and distorted already by evil passions. His pale, bold eyes had a watery look, as if he were already too much addicted to the bottle. He waved his hand as if he were standing on a platform to speak, and with great fluency began:
"We wish to know, Herr Schmidt, why we should not be socialists and communists too, if we choose; who is to forbid us to enter the ranks of the army of workers who are marching against the hardhearted middle classes to win back the rights which are so shamefully withheld from us? We wish to know----"
"Silence!" thundered Uncle Ernst; "silence, wretched boy! and blush for shame if you have any shame left in you!" Uncle Ernst advanced a few steps, and the lad retreated before him like a jackal before the lion, and slunk back into the knot of men which had drawn still closer together. "What are you standing there for, laying your heads together and muttering and threatening? Do you think that I fear you any more than I fear this wretched boy, whom I took from the streets, and clothed, and fed, and sent to school, and who wants to know now why I withhold his rights from him! His rights? Your rights? To keep honestly to what you have promised, what you have pledged yourselves to by your own signatures, that is your right--neither more nor less! Who forced you to sign your names?"
"Hunger!" cried a rough voice.
"You lie, Carl Peters!" cried Uncle Ernst; "and if you did suffer hunger it was because you are a sot and carry the money which belongs to your wife and children to the gin palace."
"We are all socialists, every man of us!" called another voice from the crowd.
"Then you are all liars and cheats, every man of you!" cried Uncle Ernst. "You lied when you signed your names to what you knew you would not and could not keep! You have cheated me every day and every hour that you worked for me, when you knew that I would not tolerate in my house or my yards any one who is pledged to your insane principles; but that I would drive them out of my house or my yard as I do now all of you that stand there!"
A sullen murmur sounded through the crowd, and some single loud threatening shouts were heard. Uncle Ernst sprang with one bound straight in front of the knot of men.
"Be off with you!" he thundered; "be off with you at once!"
The foremost fell back upon those who stood behind them. Evidently no one had courage to proceed to action. They gave way gradually; the knot began to separate.
"Be at the office in half an hour to be paid off!"
The men were gone and the overseer with them. Uncle Ernst turned to Reinhold.
"There is a specimen for you of your fine Prussian discipline, which impressed you so greatly during the war; there is an instance of the last new German truth and honesty as it is learned in Bismarck's school."
"But uncle, excuse me, what has Bismarck to do with all this?"
"What has he to do with it?" Uncle Ernst stood still. "What has he to do with it? Who was it who gave the rule that might came before right? Or, if he did not say it, who gave such effect to it in his actions that the accursed maxim has become the leading principle with men nowadays, on which they regulate their conduct--both active and passive? Who has taught our good simple folk how a man may live in perpetual conflict with those whom it has chosen as its representatives, and grasp at his objects over the heads of these representatives?--how an army of followers may be created, and a docile party say 'Amen' to everything, or say anything else that is needed to attain these objects? Did you not hear what was said about the army of workers? That is no longer the mad dream of some crack-brained enthusiast. It is a reality, which is increasing threateningly as an avalanche, and which will sooner or later precipitate itself in wild destruction upon us all. Who can blame them? Might is stronger than right! And so the revolution is declareden permanence, and war between every man and his neighbour. For the present he has conquered--he thinks he has conquered--and glories in his victory and in the imperial crown which he has won for his master, and which he has taken from the shelf, where another laid it who would not take it from the hands of the people!--from the hands of the people of those days--a good, true, faithful people, whose most sacred dream was this crown! Ask them if they still believe! Ask them what they think of the crown by the grace of God! Ask them what they dream of now!"
Uncle Ernst pointed to the dismissed workmen, who were crossing the court, in larger and smaller parties, towards the lower building, from the door of which Cilli's father had issued before, and were gesticulating wildly and talking together.
"Will they be paid off without any disturbance?" asked Reinhold.
"The police-station is too near," answered Uncle Ernst, with a bitter smile. "They are still afraid of the police; you need be under no anxiety. And, before I forget it, thank you, my boy."
"What for, uncle?"
"There was no necessity for it, but I saw that you were ready to stand up for me at need."
"Had you doubted it?"
"No, in spite of your enthusiasm for Bismarck. And now go to Ferdinanda. You are going to the Exhibition?"
"I heard something of it; but, to tell you the truth, I have lost all inclination for it."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Uncle Ernst. "Ferdinanda would be inconsolable, and--I do not like to have my business arrangements interfering with the family affairs."
Uncle Ernst pressed Reinhold's hand heartily, and walked into the house, passing through the workmen, who drew back timidly on either side. Reinhold left the place with a hesitating step. He would have liked to remain with his uncle, at any rate; and he was more than doubtful that Ferdinanda would be inconsolable if he did not come.
The youth in the shirt-sleeves who had answered Reinhold with such scant courtesy, slammed to the door, and shaking his fist muttered a big oath in his native language between his sharp white teeth. Then he went back into the room and walked with light steps up to a door which divided his studio from the next one. He put his ear against the door and listened for a minute or two. A smile of satisfaction lighted up his dark face, he drew a deep breath as he stood erect, then stealthily as a cat he ran up the winding iron staircase which led to his own room, whence he had come on hearing Reinhold's knock.
In a few minutes he came downstairs again, this time without attempting not to make a noise; indeed, rather stepping more heavily than was necessary and whistling a tune. He had coat and waistcoat on now, and instead of the slippers which he had worn before, had varnished boots on his small feet, at which he glanced with much satisfaction as he walked downstairs. Arrived at the bottom, he went immediately up to a large and handsome Venetian looking-glass and examined his whole figure with the greatest care, arranged his blue tie, fastened one of the gold studs more securely into his shirt-front, and passed a comb through his shining raven-black hair. He whistled more and more softly, and finally left off altogether. Then coming away from the looking-glass, he moved rather noisily first one and then another obstacle as they came in his way, till there was nothing between him and the door against which he had just now listened.
Seizing a stool, which for this very purpose he had placed within reach against the wall, he stood upon it, and applied his eye, as just now his ear, to the door, close to it; for with great trouble he had bored a hole with a very fine gimlet, and with great trouble, too, had he learnt how to look through it so as to see into the next room, or at least to see her in the place where she worked.
The blood rushed into his dark cheeks as he thus looked. "O Bellissima!" he murmured between his lips, pressing a passionate kiss upon the wood.
Suddenly he sprang down noiselessly like a cat: the stool again leaned against the wall, and he stood before the unfinished marble of a colossal female figure as some one knocked at the other side of the door.
"Signor Antonio!"
"Signora!" exclaimed the young man from where he stood. He had grasped chisel and hammer, so as the better to play the part of one surprised.
"Can you come in here for a moment, Signor Antonio? Fatemi il piacere!"
"Si, signora."
He threw his tools aside and ran to the door, which was now unbolted. Notwithstanding this and his having received an invitation, he knocked before he opened it.
"Ma--entrate! How smart you are, Signor Antonio!"
Antonio dropped his dark eye-lashes and glanced at his slender figure down to the very tips of his varnished boots--but only for a moment. The next the passionate sullen eyes were fixed upon the beautiful girl, who, wearing her ordinary dark morning dress with a long apron, stood before him with her modelling tool in her hand.
"You have no need to think of dress; you are always beautiful!"
He said it in German. He was proud of his German since she had praised his accent during the Italian lessons he gave her and told him that every word in his mouth sounded new, new and delightful like meeting a friend in a foreign land.
"I feel anything but beautiful this morning," answered Ferdinanda, "but I want your help. My model has failed me; I wanted to work at the eyes to-day. You have finer eyes than your countrywoman, Antonio; do stand there just for a few minutes!"
A smile of gratified pride stole over the youth's handsome face. He stood before Ferdinanda in the precise attitude which she had given to her statue.
"Bravo!" said she: "it is difficult to say whether you are a better actor or sculptor."
"Un povero abbozzatore!" he murmured.
"You are no workman," said Ferdinanda; "but as you well know, an artist."
"I am an artist as you are a princess."
"What does that mean?"
"I was born to be an artist, but am not one, as you were born to be a princess and yet are not one."
"What a mad notion!"
She did not say it angrily, but rather in a tone as if she agreed with him, which did not escape the sharp ear of the Italian.
"You know it yourself," he said.
She made no answer, but went on working, though without much spirit.
"She has called me to say something to me," said Antonio to himself.
"Where were you last night, Antonio?" she asked after a pause.
"At my club, signora."
"When did you come home?"
"Late."
"But when?"
"At one o'clock. Ma perché?"
She was leaning over the small table which held her tools and feeling about amongst them.
"I only wanted to know. We went to bed very late last night. We had a visitor, a cousin of mine, and there was a great deal of smoking and talking; it gave me a dreadful headache, and I went into the garden for an hour. Will you sit any longer, or shall we give it up? I dare say it is difficult, and you seem tired."
"No, no," he murmured.
He placed himself again in the attitude, but not so well as before. His brain was full of bewildering thoughts, which made his heart beat.
"When did you come home?"
"I was in the garden for an hour."
Was it possible! No, no, it was impossible--it was only an accident. But if he had met her alone in the garden in the dead of night, what would he have said, what would he have done?
Everything swam before him. He passed his hand, which he ought to have held up to his brow, across his eyes.
"What is the matter?" cried Ferdinanda.
The hand dropped, the eyes, which were fixed upon her, shone like flames of fire.
"What is the matter," he murmured--"what is the matter! Ho, non lo so neppur io: una febbre che mi divora; ho, che il sangue mi abbrucia, che il cervello mi si spezza; ho, in fine che non ne posso piu, che sono stanco di questa vita!"
Ferdinanda had tried to stop this outburst, but without success. She trembled from head to foot; the flaming eyes emitted a spark which penetrated to her own heart, and her voice trembled as she said, as quietly as she could:
"You know I cannot understand you when you speak so fast--so wildly."
"You did understand me," murmured the youth.
"I did not understand anything more than I can see for myself--that you are devoured with fever, that your blood boils to suffocation, that your brain is bursting, that you are tired of life; which means, in German, that you stayed too long yesterday at your club, raved too much about your beloved Italy, and consequently drank too much strong Italian wine."
The veins on his white forehead started out in blue lines, and he uttered a hoarse cry like that of a wild beast. He clutched at his breast, where he usually carried his stiletto, but the pocket was empty, and he looked around as if seeking for some weapon.
"Would you murder me?"
The right hand, which was still clutched in his breast, loosened its grasp and fell by his side; the left hand followed, and the fingers linked themselves together; a rush of tears broke from his eyes: the fire was extinguished, and, sinking on his knees, he faltered:
"Mi perdona! Ferdinanda, l'ho amata dal primo giorno che l'ho veduta, ed adesso--ah, adesso!"
"I know it, my poor Antonio," said Ferdinanda, "and for that reason I forgive you once more, for the last time. If you repeat this scene I will tell my father, and then you must leave the house. And now, Signor Antonio, rise!"
She gave him her hand, which, still kneeling, he pressed to his lips and forehead.
"Antonio, Antonio!" called Justus' voice from without, and then a knock was heard at the door, which opened into the yard. Antonio sprang to his feet.
"Is Antonio here, Fräulein Ferdinanda?"
Ferdinanda went herself to open the door.
"Still at work?" said Justus as he entered. "But I thought you were going to the Exhibition with your cousin?"
"I am waiting for him; he has not made his appearance yet. You go on with Antonio; we will meet in the sculpture-room."
"As you like. What you have done to the eyes to-day is no good at all--it is all wrong. You have worked without a model again. When will you learn that without models we are helpless! Andiamo, Antonio! if you are not ashamed to walk through the streets with me."
He had laughingly placed himself by the Italian, as if to amuse Ferdinanda by the comparison which he himself observed between his short little figure in the old velvet coat and light trousers of doubtful newness, and the slim, handsome, smart youth, his assistant. But Ferdinanda had already turned away, and again repeated, "We shall meet in the sculpture-room."
"Dunque andiamo!" cried Justus; "a rivederci!"
The door was shut, the footsteps of the two men died away--Ferdinanda had not moved.
"Una principessa!" she murmured. "He is the only one who understands me. What use is it to be understood by him? If he were a prince, indeed! And yet it is delicious to know that one is loved like that--delicious and dangerous! He watches every step I take, nothing that I do escapes him; but really yesterday he does not seem to have been at home. He does not know yet that I dare not do anything when he is near."
She sank down upon a stool, and took the letter from her bosom whichhehad given her yesterday over the garden wall. She already knew it by heart, but she liked to see the trace of the loved hand.
"Why did you not try to let me know that you would be at the station? You could have written quite safely to Schönau; it was mere chance that I came by that train--mere chance that I made acquaintance with your cousin in the carriage. How can we ever get on, how can we even prolong our present miserable existence, if we leave everything to chance? If we do not struggle for our happiness by boldly meeting our cruel fate? As it was, I had to find some excuse for tumbling head over heels out of the carriage; and how easily I might have missed you, or found you with your father, and then there would have been another opportunity lost! I hope now things may be a little better. Your cousin is, so he told me, acquainted with my sister, and she herself explained how they had made acquaintance on the road, and he made himself extremely useful to the party. My sister speaks of him very highly, and assures me that my father is delighted with him. He will, of course, call upon my father; at all events I shall come and thank my 'comrade' for the service he has done my belongings, either commissioned by Elsa and my father, or without any commission at all--leave that to me. At all events it will give us an opening that will be very useful, as your cousin seems a pleasant fellow, with whom little ceremony will be necessary. Get on good terms with him, and make use of 'my cousin' to take you out walking and to concerts, theatres, and exhibitions. By the way, go to-morrow--splendid opportunity--to the Exhibition. I shall only be on duty till twelve o'clock, so perhaps at half-past twelve I may persuade Elsa to go, as she has already expressed a wish to do so. I can take the opportunity of introducing you to her all the more easily that we were formally introduced yesterday; so be prepared for it. I write these lines, as usual, in flying haste, during the few minutes that I dare steal away from the family circle; forgive such a scrawl. I kiss your lovely hand now in my thoughts as I did erewhile when you gave it me over the garden wall for the first time--not for the last, I swear!" ...
She let the letter fall into her lap. And no word of his father! not a word that could show that he was in earnest, in real earnest; that he would at least make an attempt to free them from their present humiliating situation! And he knew nothing yet of last night's scene! She crumpled up the paper which lay under one hand, and seizing it the next moment with both hands covered it with kisses, smoothed it carefully out, and replacing it in her bosom, laid her hot forehead upon the marble slab of the little table.
"Una febbre che mi divora," she murmured; "il sangue mi abbrucia, il cervello mi si spezza--sono stanca di questa vita! Yes, yes!" she cried, starting up, "I am tired of this life, which is no life at all, but a hideous mockery of life, a death before death--worse--a living grave! I will force my way out of this ghastly tomb, or die by my own hand!"
She walked up and down the room, wringing her hands and sobbing, now throwing herself upon a chair and gazing wildly before her, now starting up and again wandering about with gestures of despair. The loud clang of the great bell caught her attention for a moment. She knew that it was something quite unusual--perhaps some great accident had happened: a boiler burst, the saws of one of the machines bent, and the wall to which it was fastened pulled down and in ruins, as had happened a few months ago; perhaps a fire--what did it signify to her whether people were crushed and killed, or all burnt together? Was not she broken and wounded in soul and body, wandering amongst the ruins of the happiness which had never existed except in her dreams! A despairing woman, to whom a hair shirt would be suitable and ashes on her head, that head that she had once carried so proudly--like her father! It was all his fault. He it was, who had declared war between them! And he did not know yet; but the hour was coming soon, even to-day if she were followed--and then?
She had lain awake the whole night thinking over that question; she had racked her mind over it the whole morning. And then? and then?
How could she alone find an answer without him? And he--he! When last night she described in a few hasty words the scene that had taken place at table, had he given the one only answer that she had expected--"Then we must try to settle it without our fathers' consent!" He had answered nothing, not a word! and his silence confirmed what she had most feared--the only thing that she had feared and dreaded--that he was not prepared to carry the matter out to the last, to its extreme end--that he did not love her as she loved him!
Of what use were her courage and determination? She was helpless! She--helpless!
She stood still before a looking-glass which she was just passing. She examined her face, her figure as though she were the model whom she had ordered for the next day, and wished to see whether the form thus reflected were really what it laid claim to be. Was she really as beautiful as they all said? Was the great French sculptor right who came to see Justus last year, and at sight of her stood thunderstruck, and then exclaimed that till he saw her he had never believed that nature could have produced so perfect a form.
But Antonio, too, was beautiful--beautiful as a dream, and yet she did not love him. And was he, who was not even an artist--was he to let beauty alone so fascinate him that he should give up family prejudice, rank, social position, all--for what? A woman never asks such questions if she loves; she makes no calculations, no bargains--she loves, and gives freely, joyfully, everything that she has to give--she gives herself.
She leaned back in her chair, buried her face in the cushions, and shut her eyes.
"He does not know how passionately I love him, how I would cover him with kisses," she murmured; and yet, how did it go? "The only charm which a man cannot withstand, and which he follows unresistingly ... and his gratitude for which is, in fact, only recollection and longing----"
It was from a French novel that she had gathered this melancholy piece of knowledge--not a good book--and she had not read to the end. But this sentence, which she did not dare repeat entirely to herself, had fallen into her heart like a spark of fire, and smouldered and burnt there--in her heart, in her cheeks, in her closed eyes, in the beating pulses of her temples--air! air!
She started up and clutched at the empty air like a drowning man. "I am lost," she cried, "I am lost, lost!"
A knock at the door, which she had already heard once or twice, now sounded louder. She let her arms fall, glanced round the room, grasped the letter hidden in her bosom, and passed her hands over her hair and brow and eyes and cheeks. "Come in!"
"I was afraid of disturbing you," said Reinhold, standing in the open doorway.
"Oh, come in and shut the door."
It was the Ferdinanda of last night, with the half-careless, half-sullen, impenetrable manner, and the deep, monotonous, tired voice.
Reinhold did as he was desired. She replaced the modelling tool, which she had caught up at random, on the little table, and gave him her hand.
"I have been waiting a long time for you."
"I should have been here sooner," answered Reinhold, "but a handsome young fellow next door, whom I seemed to disturb in the act of dressing----"
"Antonio, an Italian--Herr Anders' assistant."
"He either could not or would not give me any information. So I have been through the yards and the machinery department in search of your father, and--did you not hear the noise?"
"No."
Reinhold stared with astonishment, his heart was still beating and his mind still full of what he had seen and heard. The clang of the bell had frightened Aunt Rikchen out of the house, where he had just led her back only half quieted; the servants had run and stood in the distance, staring anxiously; blind Cilli had come into the doorway and had said a few kind words to him as he passed by; and here, fifty yards off, his own daughter had heard nothing!
"Do you artists live in a world of your own?" he asked in astonishment, and then he explained what had happened. "I am afraid," he added, "that half the manufactory will have to be closed. My uncle will suffer immense loss, for he has heavy contracts to fulfil, so the men told me before. Heaven only knows how it will all end!"
"What will it signify to my father?" answered Ferdinanda, as a bitter smile played about her lips. "The world may come to an end if only he can have his own way! You do not know my father quite yet," she continued more quietly. "We, unhappily, are accustomed to this sort of thing; all we know is that we live over a volcano. If we left off work every time there was a storm we should have no peace, and should never finish anything."
She had taken off her great apron. Reinhold was standing looking at her work.
"How do you like it?" asked Ferdinanda.
"It is beautiful," answered Reinhold, with sincere admiration; "but I could wish it were less beautiful if it might be less sad. The expression of the mouth, the look of the eyes as they are shaded by the head--the whole effect of the otherwise lovely face seems to me not quite in keeping with the peaceful and rural occupation suggested by the sickle and wheatsheaf. As I came in I fancied a maiden looking out for her lover. She is looking out for him, but woe to him when he comes! He had better be careful of the sickle! Am I right?"
"Perfectly," answered Ferdinanda. "And now I am more glad than ever that I am going with you to the Exhibition. It must be a pleasure to look at the work of real artists with any one who can so closely criticise the work of an amateur."
She was standing at the end of the room, and let the water from a tap in the wall run over her hands into a washhand-basin. "Excuse me," said she, "but that is what we are obliged to do here. Now tell me how you slept."
"Perfectly as soon as I got to sleep. I was a little excited at first."
"So was I. I had to walk for a long time in the garden before I could calm myself. May I confess? I was so ashamed of my father's losing his temper before you, as you could not know what he was like in such matters, and that he can work himself up into a perfect fury over a mere nothing. Luckily, he only fights these battles in imagination; and, for example, if the son of the man whose very name--heaven only knows why--puts him into such a state, if Herr von Werben were to pay you a visit, and my father met him, he would be courtesy itself. I tell you that because I presume you will not be able to avoid some intercourse with the Werbens, and might think the situation more serious than it really is. Indeed, I am convinced that if I had not, in my extreme nervousness, cut short the introduction yesterday at the station, and my father could have seen that Herr von Werben is a man very much like other men, that scene never would have occurred. But one can't think of everything."
So said Ferdinanda as she slowly walked through the garden, which led, by a back door, from the studio to the house. The sun threw a shadow from the trees upon the garden wall, as the moon had done last night.
"It really was only a shadow on the wall," said Reinhold to himself.