"You will see, Carla, he will not come to-day either," said Frau von Wallbach, trying to find if possible a more comfortable position in her arm-chair.
"Je le plains, je le blâme, mais----" Carla, who was sitting at the piano, played a scale very softly with her right hand.
"And Fräulein von Strummin has also gone away without paying us a farewell visit."
"Silly little thing," said Carla, repeating her scale.
"And Elsa has never once been here to apologise for the omission."
"So much the worse for her," said Carla.
"I wash my hands of the blame," said Frau von Wallbach, slowly rising and going into the reception-room which some of the dinner guests were entering. Carla was also getting up, but remained sitting when she heard that it was a lady, and moreover one of little importance. She let her hands fall into her lap, and looked thoughtfully down before her.
"He is not half so clever, he often evidently does not understand what I say; I think even he isun peu bête. But he--adores me. Why should I give up my adorers for a betrothed who never troubles himself about me? He would soon drive them all away." The door behind her into the anteroom was opened. Only intimate friends at small entertainments ever entered through this apartment--her room. The new-comer must be either Ottomar or the Count. She had heard nothing, and as the steps came nearer over the thick carpet, let her fingers wander dreamily over the keys, "Already sends the Graal to seek the loiterer----"
"Fräulein von Wallbach!"
"Ah! my dear Count," said Carla, looking up a little, and giving the Count her left hand over her shoulder, whilst the right played "My trusty Swan." "Will you not go first and say 'how do you do' to Louisa? She is in the drawing-room with Frau von Arnfeld." The Count lifted the carelessly-given hand to his lips, "And then?" he asked.
"You can return here--I have something to say to you." The Count came back in half a minute.
"Draw that chair here--not so near--there--and don't let my strumming disturb you. Do you know, my dear Count, that you are a very dangerous man!"
"My dear Fräulein von Wallbach!" cried the Count, as he twirled his moustaches.
"You must be so, when even Louisa already thinks so. She has just preached me the most charming sermon."
"But what have I done? All the world worships you; why should I not dare what all the world may do?"
"Because you are not all the world."
"Because----" Carla lifted her eyes; the Count was always bewitched when he could look into those blue eyes, unhindered by glasses, under whose weary, drooping eyelids a secret world of tenderness and archness seemed to him to be concealed.
"Because I have come too late," he whispered passionately.
"A man should not be too late, my dear Count; it is the worst of faults in war, in politics, in everything. You must bear the consequence of this fault--voilà tout." She played:
"Only one year beside thee,As witness of thy bliss, I asked."
"Only one year beside thee,As witness of thy bliss, I asked."
The Count gazed before him in silence.
"He takes it for earnest," thought Carla. "I must rouse him up again a little."
"Why should we not be friends?" she said, reaching out her right hand to him, whilst the left played:
"Return to me! and let me teachHow sweet the bliss of purest truth."
"Return to me! and let me teachHow sweet the bliss of purest truth."
"Certainly, certainly!" cried the Count, imprinting a long, burning kiss on the offered hand; "why should we not be friends?"
"Friendship between pure souls is so sweet, is it not so? But the world is not pure. It loves to blacken all bright things. It requires a security. Give it the best possible under the circumstances. Marry!"
"And that is your advice to me?"
"Mine more especially. I shall gain immensely by it; I shall not quite lose you. More, I cannot--more, I do not expect." And Carla played, with both hands:
"Let me convert thee to the faith,One bliss there is, without remorse."
"Let me convert thee to the faith,One bliss there is, without remorse."
"Good God, Carla--my dear Fräulein von Wallbach! do you know that something similar--almost in the same words----"
"You have heard from Signor Giraldi," said Carla, as the Count paused, embarrassed. "You may say it out, I do not mind. He is the cleverest of men, and one can keep nothing secret from him, even if one wished to do so, and--I do not so wish; you also--need not wish it. He is very fond of you. He wishes you well; believe me and trust in him."
"I believe it," said the Count, "and I should trust him implicitly, if the engagement which is in question did not also include just a little touch of business. You are aware that I have to-day bought the Warnow estates, I should hardly have taken such a tremendous risk upon myself, indeed could not have done so, if it had not appeared that at least half the money in the form of dowry----"
"Fi donc!" said Carla.
"For heaven's sake, do not misunderstand me!" cried the Count. "It is evident that this suggestion could only come from Signor Giraldi, and from no one else. The thing is simply that Signor Giraldi, as the Baroness's agent----"
"Spare me anything of that sort, my dear Count," cried Carla. "Once for all, I understand nothing about it. I only know that my sister-in-law is a delightful creature, and that you are a terriblyblaséman, whom every well-behaved girl must really be afraid of. And now go into the drawing-room, I hear Baroness Kniebreche, and she would never forgive you if you have not kissed her hand within the first five minutes."
"Give me courage to go to execution," whispered the Count.
"How?" The Count did not answer, but took her hand off the keys, covered it with passionate kisses, and hurried in a state of emotion which was half affected and half real, into the drawing-room.
"He is a good creature after all," murmured Carla, turning, and looking after him with her glass in her eye.
"That he is," said a voice close to her.
"Mon Dieu! Signor Giraldi!"
"Always at your service."
"Always at an opportune moment. You have not yet been into the drawing-room? Of course not. Come! let us have a few minutes' chat. Atête-à -têtewith you is a much envied privilege, which even Baroness Kniebreche herself would respect."
"And then this respectabletête-à -têteis not quite so dangerous as the preceding one," said Giraldi, sitting down by Carla on a little sofa, which stood at the end of the room beneath a candelabra on the wall. "Did you speak to him?"
"Just now!"
"And what did he answer?"
"He understands everything--except----"
"Not everything then?"
"Do not smile ironically; he is not quite a nonentity. He is clever enough, for example, to ask what the special interest is which you can have in his engagement with Elsa."
"Do not be angry if I still smile a little," said Giraldi. "What, the Count inquired as to the interest I have in the matter--he, on whose side the whole profit lies! But there! I confess the sale would have been delayed for a long time, as the General out of sheer obstinacy would not consent at all, and your brother, from some reasons of propriety, would not sell direct to the provisional board, and insisted upon a go-between; I further admit that the Count is not only in every other respect more convenient and more suitable than any one else, but he is also more lucrative to us, because as a neighbour he can really pay more than any one else. But that is an advantage on our side, which we fully compensate to him by granting him other advantages, with the details of which I will not trouble you. Believe me, my dear Fräulein von Wallbach, that the Count knows all this as well as I do, and he only affects ignorance and consequently hesitation for reasons which I will set before you. Firstly: It is always well not to see the hand which throws fortune into your lap; you can then, if convenient, be as ungrateful as you please. Secondly: He loves you, and--who can blame him?--he does not consider the matter quite hopeless, so long as you remain unmarried. Thirdly: It is not absolutely certain that Fräulein von Werben will accept him, and he has in fact better reasons for this uncertainty than his philosophy and vanity combined will allow him to imagine."
"You are again referring to the fancy that Elsa is supposed to have for the handsome merchant-captain," said Carla. "Much as I admire your acuteness, my dear Giraldi, here you pass the limits of my belief."
"But supposing I have unquestionable evidence? supposing I have it in black and white, from the hand of Elsa's most intimate friend, that little Fräulein von Strummin, who went off in such headlong haste, to startle us, from the security of her island, with the news of her engagement to the sculptor, Justus Anders. Pray do not laugh. What I am telling you is absolutely true. Herr Justus Anders, again, is the Captain's most intimate friend; the two pairs of friends it appears have no secrets of any sort between them; Fräulein von Strummin also has none from her betrothed, and she writes in her letter, which arrived this morning, word for word--" Giraldi had taken an elegant pocket-book from his coat pocket, and out of it a paper, which he unfolded.
"If any one comes in, it is supposed to be a letter from the sculptor, Enrico Braga, from Milan. She writes the following, word for word--I am not responsible for the peculiar style:
"'One thing more, dearest man, over which Lesto would howl himself to death with joy if he could understand it, and you also will rejoice like a child, as you always are. My Elsa loves your Reinhold with all her heart and soul, and that is saying something for any one who knows as I do that she is all soul, and has the most divine heart in the world. I have no permission, still less any commission, to tell you this. But we are never again to play at hide-and-seek with one another, you know, and must also inspire our poor friends with courage, and the best way to do that is to be always saying to them, "He," or in your case, "She loves you!" I have proved it at any rate with Elsa. Ah! my dearest heart, we ought indeed to feel ashamed of being so happy, when we think how unhappy our friends are, and only on account of these horrible "circumstances." If I only knew who had devised these "circumstances" I should just like to have a few words with him, you know.'"
"This is wonderfully interesting," said Carla; "and it will interest the Count extremely."
"Without doubt," said Giraldi, returning the letter to his pocket-book. "By the way, what a wonderful woman you are, never once to have asked where I got this. In the meantime, I propose that we do not communicate this until you are certain of one thing."
"And that is!" Giraldi bent towards Carla and looked straight into her eyes.
"That you do not finally prefer to bestow your hand upon Count Axel Golm, instead of on Ottomar von Werben."
"You are really too bad. Signor Giraldi, do you know?" said Carla, flicking him on the hand with her pocket-handkerchief.
"If you say so! But look here, my dear young lady! any communication with regard to Elsa's maritime fancy would in the end determine the Count to give up his suit; and until now it has appeared to us most convenient for all parties to marry him to Elsa. If you want him for yourself, and it seems so, well, that may also be managed; but in your place I would not be too hasty. We can keep the game going as long as we like. Why not drain the sweetness of courtship to the last drop? The more so that Ottomar--great minds are never shocked at truth--scarcely appears to appreciate, at its true worth, the happiness which awaits him in the arms of the cleverest and most agreeable of women."
"Which means, if I am not mistaken," said Carla, "that Ottomar must do as you wish; you have got the whip-hand of him. Well I know, dear friend, how powerful your hand is; but I confess that in this case I do not understand where the power lies. That Ottomar has had mistresses--very likely has them still--well! I have read Schopenhauer, who says nothing about monogamy, because he could nowhere discover it, and I should not like to be the first woman to find her beloved the less interesting because he is pleasing to other women. His debts? Good gracious! name any one to me who has none! and my brother says they are really not so bad. My brother urges our hastening on our wedding, and so does my sister-in-law now. The General is, as you know, most inconveniently obstinate in carrying out his plans; and society will be greatly injured if we are not on our wedding tour by the beginning of March; on the 15th Ottomar must enter upon his office at St. Petersburg."
"Let us make our arrangements accordingly then, if we are otherwise agreed," answered Giraldi. "By the middle of February you will discover that your finely organised nature will no longer stand the strain of the season, and that, before you enter upon the new period of your life, you absolutely require quiet and repose, which you cannot procure in town, and can only find in the retirement of the country. And then it falls in admirably, that at that very time the Baroness, my dear friend, impelled by the necessity of rest, seeks a shelter in quiet Warnow. I have for this purpose reserved the castle and park from the Count, who this morning became the possessor of the property. He will be delighted that Fräulein von Wallbach should share the retirement of her betrothed's aunt. Not alone! The Baroness, at her own urgent request--mark that--will be accompanied by Fräulein Elsa. The Count, whose business at that time--and particularly the harbour works at Warnow--makes his residence in the country a duty, will do everything to cheer and enliven the ladies' solitude. Your brother--I myself--will come and go. What a spectacle, to watch the spring awaking in the country, on the shores of the ocean, perhaps to see the further blossoming of dear Elsa's quiet fancy for the man of her choice, who has gone to his new post--he has lately been made Superintendent of Pilots--I think they call it so--at Wissow, just the same distance from Warnow as the Count is at his house. How do you like my little plan?"
"Charming," said Carla, "Ã deux mains. But is it practicable?"
"Leave that to me. Give me your two pretty hands upon it, that you will support me."
"There, you have them."
"And I impress my lips upon both of them in confirmation of the agreement."
"I really must venture to disturb yourtête-à -tête," said Herr von Wallbach, entering from the drawing-room. "The company have all arrived. Only Ottomar, whom we must again give up, and the Baroness still fail us."
"I forgot to tell you," said Giraldi, as he greeted Herr von Wallbach, "that the Baroness begged me to make her apologies--an indisposition--her nerves are so shaken----"
"What a pity," said Herr von Wallbach. "Will you have the kindness, Carla, to tell Louisa? It makes no difficulty, as I was to have taken in the Baroness. Baroness Kniebreche claims you. Signor Giraldi." Giraldi bowed. Carla had gone. "One moment," whispered Wallbach, holding back Giraldi by the arm. "I am glad, very glad, that the Baroness is not coming. This is a day of surprises. To-day, to our inexpressible astonishment--Lübbener cannot get over it at all--Golm paid the half million down! The concession, for the publication of which we feared we should have weeks to wait, as there was still some difficulty about the security, will appear to-morrow in theGazette. Yes, my dear sir, you may rely upon it. I know it for certain from Herr von Stumm, who implored me not to betray him. It was to be a delightful surprise, on the part of the Ministers, for us; and--and--my dear friend, I am not easily put out of countenance, butc'est plus fort que moi--from the same unquestionable source I have learnt that the General's name does not appear in theMilitary Gazettewhich will be published to-morrow."
"Which means?" asked Giraldi.
"Which means that he is passed over, and that, according to our ideas, he will be forced to send in his resignation."
"How extraordinary!" said Giraldi.
"There is no doubt about it," continued Wallbach excitedly; "I could certainly understand the step, even see its necessity, if it had been the only means by which our affair could have been carried through; but as we have the concession in our pocket without that, it is----"
"An unnecessary cruelty."
"Is it not? and one which will have further consequences. I prophesy that Ottomar will not go to St. Petersburg."
"But that would be more than cruel, it would be absurd," said Giraldi.
"You do not know our ways. There is great consistency in such things with us." Giraldi was spared an answer. In the doorway to the drawing-room appeared, supported on Carla's arm, the bent form of an old lady who was waving an immense black fan up and down, and cried out loudly in a cracked voice:
"If Signor Giraldi will not come to old Kniebreche, old Kniebreche must go to Signor Giraldi."
"I fly, my dear madam!" said Giraldi.
Elsa's old cook sat on her stool, with her elbows resting upon her knees, staring at the brick floor; August, who was leaning against the window, went on silently cutting his nails with his knife; and Ottomar's servant was perched upon the table, swinging his long legs.
"It has just struck twelve," said the cook, with a despairing look at the hearth, on which the kettle still hung in solitary state over the fire, as it had done since early morning. "Can neither of you at least open your mouths?"
"What is there to say?" answered August "It will always be likely to happen with us soldiers."
"It's a sin and a shame!" said the cook.
"A 1," affirmed August. The Dutch clock ticked, the kettle bubbled. Friedrich let himself slide off the table, and stretched his arms.
"I can't say that I am generally much in favour of these parades," he said, "but it is my opinion that to-day we servants might as well have joined it."
"Yes; the young master always has the best of it," said the cook. "It is well to be out of range of the firing. If I had been in his place, I would have paraded them to-day." She smoothed down her apron. August shook his head.
"With us military men, that would----"
"Oh, stuff!" interrupted the cook. "Military here, military there! If any one dismissed my father, I should dismiss him, and that pretty sharp, too!" She gave her apron another energetic pull, stood up, walked to the hearth, turned the kettle round, and then, as that manifestly did not help matters, began to cry vehemently, from a sense of her helplessness.
"Hullo!" said the lady's-maid, who just then stepped into the kitchen, "have the lamentations broken out here also?" She sat down on the stool from which the cook had risen, and stroked down her black silk apron as the other had her coarse kitchen one.
"There, I've had enough of it! I can't stand playing at nursing old women who faint every time anything goes wrong in the house! And to be turned out of the room by the young lady because one treads too heavily, and told to send that stupid goose Pauline, doesn't suit me any better! And, moreover, I am not accustomed to a party once a fortnight at the outside, and now I suppose even that will come to an end! No, I thank you! To-morrow they may look out for another lady's-maid, if such like require another lady's-maid, indeed! And----"
"There, I've had enough of that!" said the cook.
"I may talk, I suppose, if I like!" said the lady's-maid.
"But not in my kitchen!" cried the cook, sticking her still strong arms akimbo, and walking up to the audacious speaker. "What! you will talk about 'such like' here, in the face of an old, respected servant, who has been twenty years in the house, or eight years like August, to say nothing of Friedrich, although he also is a respectable man, and would rather have gone to the parade to-day than sit here and see such misery! Do you know who 'such like' are? All your tag and rag, from whom you ran off to us--they are 'such like,' with their yard-long trains, and fallals and crinolines! And you are 'such like,' you shameless hussy, you! and if you don't leave off grinning this very minute, and get up off my stool, and clear out of my kitchen, I'll give you a couple of boxes on the ear that will make you remember 'such like' to the end of your days!"
"I shall not dispute with you," said the lady's-maid, getting up in haste, and slipping towards the door from under her antagonist's raised arm. "You are too----"
"Out with you!" said the cook.
"Too vulgar!" And the lady's-maid slammed the door behind her.
"That is one of the A 1's," said August.
"A regular one," said Friedrich.
"And you are dunderheads," cried the cook, "to put up quietly with such a thing!"
"One should not enter into any discussion with such a person," said Friedrich.
"The house-door bell has rung," said August, delighted to be able to break off the conversation, which was taking so disagreeable a turn. "Our master can hardly be back yet? And we cannot receive any one to-day?"
"That depends," said the cook. "Our poor young lady has not seen a soul to-day, and the poor thing must want to speak out. But it must be to a real friend."
"Of course," said August, buttoning his livery-coat, "one of the A 1's. Herr von Schönau or----"
"Well, make haste and go upstairs."
"Ah! the Captain!" cried August, seeing Reinhold in the anteroom. The Captain stood high in August's favour, and the Captain, who always looked so amiable, looked so grave to-day.
"The Captain, of course, knows all about it already," said August.
"For heaven's sake!" cried Reinhold, "what has happened? Is any one ill in the house?"
"Ill--yes," said August, "but only from fright. Fräulein Sidonie fainted immediately, and so of course we heard all about it. The Lieutenant is, of course, gone to the parade, and will not be back till evening, as he is on duty afterwards at the barracks; and I had to put all the General's orders on his uniform, and he went to his Excellency the Minister and the other Excellencies to say so-and-so; and our young lady is with Fräulein Sidonie; but she will certainly wish to see you, and if you will come in here and wait----" August had ushered Reinhold, who, in his bewilderment, followed him mechanically, up the stairs, and opened the door of the drawing-room. Reinhold remained alone for a few anxious moments. What could have occurred to have caused the family such a shock as he saw reflected even in the servant's face? And to-day, of all days! As if his heart were not heavy enough already! A light step crossed the floor of the dining-room and over the carpet in the next room, and Elsa stepped in, holding out her hand to him.
"You have come to take leave. I know all from Fräulein--from Meta."
"I have come to take leave," answered Reinhold; "but before we speak of that, tell me, if you can, what misfortune has happened to you? It must be some misfortune." He still held her hand in his, and gazed, himself pale from emotion and sympathy, into her pale lovely face, with the beloved brown eyes, which, formerly so bright and happy, now looked so anxious and sorrowful.
"My father would reproach me if he heard me call that a misfortune of which he affirms himself to be proud. And yet--who knows how it appears to him in his heart, or how he bears it in his heart, and how he will bear it?" She suppressed her sorrowful emotion with a deep-drawn breath, and offering Reinhold a chair, and herself taking a place on the sofa, continued in a calm voice:
"My father has been passed over in the promotion for which he stood next! You know what that means. He has just gone to offer his resignation in person to the Minister!"
"Good God!" said Reinhold, "an officer of his high character, of his vast services to the nation--is it possible!" Elsa sat there, her fixed burning eyes looking down, a bitter smile trembling on her lips, while she slowly nodded her head once or twice. Reinhold saw how forced was the self-command with which she had come to meet him, how deeply she felt the insult which had been offered to her father.
"And to think," he said in a low voice, "that I myself assisted to bring about this catastrophe. Your father has repeatedly impressed upon me what difficulties he had to struggle with, how precarious, how insecure his position was, and that a mere trifle might suffice to make it untenable----" Elsa shook her head. "No, no!" she said, "it is not that. My father was determined to retire if ever this unhappy concession was carried through against his will. But that they should not even have waited, even given him time to carry out his resolution, that is what he resents, and what I fear will make his proud heart bleed." The tears ran from her fixed eyes down her pale cheeks. Reinhold's heart was full to overflowing with love and sympathy. A voice within him cried out, "My poor, poor darling," but he dared not speak out yet. Elsa had dried her tears with her handkerchief.
"You must not look so miserable," she said, trying to smile; "my father has done his duty, and you have done your duty. Is not the consciousness of this the best, the only consolation in such a case as this, which we must accept whether we will or no?"
"Certainly," said Reinhold; "and yet how sad it sounds from such lips."
"Because I am a girl," said Elsa. "I think it is just we girls who can do so little for ourselves, who are often so helpless in the face of circumstances, who are not early enough impressed with this idea. What would have become of me in these last few days if I had not done so. If I had not at least tried to do so, so far as lay in my power. And now to-day, when I have heard every thing from my father about Ottomar----" Reinhold looked up startled. Elsa's eyes had fallen, a burning colour had come into her cheeks; she went on slowly in a low voice, "I have learnt everything!"
"Could not that, at least, have been spared you?" said Reinhold after a silent pause.
"I think not," said Elsa, again looking up. "I think that my father followed a right impulse this morning when he told me everything, as to a friend (and, oh! how thankful I am to him for it, and proud!), told me of his position, of our position--confided to me even that. Oh! I cannot get rid of the thought that it would have been better, that it would have turned out better--for us all, if I had known it, if not from the beginning, at least after that terrible morning. Only a woman's hand could, had it still been possible, have smoothed out the entangled threads of all the faults and follies there and here. What would I not give for the minutes that have been irreparably lost. Ah! I know I should have found the words to touch Ottomar's and your cousin's hearts. Poor Ferdinanda! What must she have suffered? What must she suffer? And my poor Ottomar, too! He is really not so guilty as he perhaps appears to you. It is not your fault that you have not learnt to know him better, that the wish of my heart has not been fulfilled--that you might become true friends. We know now why he shunned you, as indeed he did even his best friends, Schönau and the others--even myself--all of us. And so he has strayed so far, so helplessly away in the loneliness of his heart. And yet I know him from earlier, better days, how tender, how loving and affectionate his heart was; how susceptible he was to all that was beautiful and good, even if he had not the strength to let it ripen in him, to live for that alone. But it must be very difficult in the life that he leads, that he must lead, which I also have led in my way, and have enjoyed myself in it--all these prejudices of rank, these social fetters, which we no longer feel as such, because we have grown up amongst them and can never free ourselves without a hard struggle. And if he failed in this struggle, the strange circumstances of our family will certainly have contributed to it; and, lastly, the rebuff which he has experienced in the person of his father, whom, I know, in the bottom of his heart he deeply reverences. I will not defend him, when, passionate and hot-headed as he is, he rushed out of the house--we none of us knew what he intended--and returned engaged to Carla; but he must not, he cannot be utterly condemned." She gazed anxiously, with clasped hands, into Reinhold's face, a bitter feeling was stirring in him. If she spoke so eloquently of the singular position in which her brother was at the decisive moment, was not this position hers also? Would not she so speak at the last moment for herself? So decide for herself? or was it already on her account that she spoke? Had she so decided? Was he to read her decision between the lines?
"I always find it difficult," he said, "to condemn any one--in men's hearts there are so many depths, which no lead can reach--and I have not condemned your brother. On the contrary, I have for his sake and--I cannot deny it--for yours----" His voice shook, but he collected himself by a strong effort and went on quietly, "Done every thing which a brother would at such a time do for a brother. I have even set my uncle's friendship and affection, which are very dear to me, at stake, and I fear, lost them. That it was all in vain, that I must let that be, which I foresaw would be to those most nearly concerned a deadly blow, which would more or less recoil upon us all without exception--I do not know whether I need tell you how hard this has been to me, how hard it is!"
"You do not need," said Elsa. "Take the thanks of the sister for the brother. You do not perhaps believe how grateful I am to you, and how your words have comforted me. Since this morning, through all the trouble which has come upon us, I have continually asked myself how you would be affected by it. I have longed to hear these words from you. Now that I have heard them my heart feels lighter, and now, between us two at least, all will be again as it was."
"Do you believe that? do you really believe it?" asked Reinhold. The smile died away upon her lips. She gently drew back the hand which she had given him, and which he firmly held; the blood flew again into her cheeks, which then became whiter than before.
"Have I been mistaken?" stammered Elsa.
"I do not think so," said Reinhold, "because, forgive me, I cannot think that at this moment you have been quite sincere. And--you have yourself said it--what brought ruin upon your brother, and upon my cousin, save that they were not open, neither to themselves, nor to each other, nor to their friends--that they never had the courage of their opinions--that they never had the true courage of their love? Well! I, for my part, will not and dare not burden my soul with this reproach. I will keep my conscience free, however heavy my heart may remain. May I speak out what is in my heart? and will you answer me as your heart dictates?" She sat there, pale and motionless, only the hand which she had given him, and which now lay in her lap, trembled.
"I will," she said, in a low voice.
"Well then," said Reinhold, "I came to take leave of your father, and before I took leave of him, to thank him from the bottom of my heart, for the kindness with which he had overwhelmed me, and for the confidence with which he honoured me. Perhaps, thought I, since I still remain in your neighbourhood, and my duties will also often bring me here, he would then have said that he hoped and wished to see me again. And I must have replied, that as an honourable man I could only take advantage of this permission under one condition. And I should have said 'That condition, General, is impossible. I have had the fullest opportunities in this unfortunate business, and in the many confidential conversations with which you have honoured me, of entering into your thoughts and feelings; you have condescended even to initiate me into the circumstances of your family, and I am convinced that you will never of your own free will, grant me the hand of your daughter whom I love.'" Elsa neither answered nor stirred, only her bosom rose and fell wildly.
"'Whom I have loved,'" continued Reinhold, in a voice trembling with emotion, "'I may say from the first moment that I saw her. Since then I have thought of her every hour of the day; and when I lie awake at night, her image stands out before my soul, clear, steadfast, immovable, like the north star; and I am as sure as that I am a living man, that this love can only end with my life.' That is what I should have said to your father."
"And then," said Elsa softly, "then should you have come to me?"
"Yes," said Reinhold, "then I should have come to you." A lovely colour lay upon her cheeks; her eyes resting full and steadfastly upon him, gleamed through tears, whilst her voice seemed as if it would cry out for joy, and again trembled with emotion.
"I should have said to you, that I was unutterably happy in the knowledge that I was loved by you, and that I love you with my whole, whole heart, and will so love you for evermore." They held one another in a close embrace. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her lips; she leant her head, sobbing, on his shoulder.
"Oh! my God! is it possible? This morning--even when I came in at the door--here, see! see! I wanted to give you this--my treasure! I meant to part with it, to renounce all happiness. And now, now! I may keep it, may I not, and look to my lord, as the needle does to the pole? I have learnt it from it." She kissed the compass and let it slip again into her pocket, and threw her arms again round Reinhold, and said:
"And now, my dearest, that you know that I will be true to you, waking and sleeping, and will be your wife, and will follow you to the ends of the world whenever you call me, do not call me yet, but leave me here with my father, whose support and comfort I am in this affliction, with my Aunt Valerie, who clings to me in the anguish of her heart. Ah! there is so much suffering which I only partly guess, but which does not therefore the less exist, and which I know will overflow so soon as I turn my back. It will perhaps come even now, and I cannot check it, but I shall have done my duty, you know, as Meta would say." The old sweet smile gleamed in the brown eyes which shone upon him. "We must just have patience and be sensible, and love each other very, very much, and then everything must come right, will it not, my darling?"
"The man who knows himself beloved by you," whispered Reinhold, "can only fear one thing in this world--not to deserve your love."
The two friends wandered up and down the brightly-illuminated platform of the station, waiting for the train. Uncle Ernst's carriage which had brought them, had come very quickly, the train was only just being made up, they had still nearly half an hour.
"You will not stop in Sundin?" said Justus.
"Only to-morrow," answered Reinhold; "I hope that will suffice to present myself before the President, and my immediate superiors, the Government surveyor, and the other gentlemen, and to receive my instructions."
"I think the President has been here," said Justus, "for the last four days. He is to be Chairman of the Board for the new railway. They made him the most splendid offer, I am told."
"So the papers say, but I do not believe it," answered Reinhold. "A man like the President could not agree to such a project, and moreover, if he were here, he would certainly have sent for me."
"And the day after to-morrow you will be at your post with a north-easter whistling in your ears, and will swagger about in your pilot coat. What a lucky man you are!" Justus sighed; Reinhold looked at his friend, who, with downcast eyes walked dejectedly beside him, and then burst into a fit of laughter.
"It is all very well to laugh," said Justus; "'laden with foreign treasures, he returns to his former home,' but how do I stand? A leafless stem."
"Do not cry yourself down, Justus."
"Ah! cry myself down!" said Justus; "do you mean to say that it is not enough to drive a poor fellow mad! I meant to have spared you this to-day, so as not to disturb your happiness and joy; but perhaps it is better for me to tell you now, instead of writing to you as I intended. You will be in his immediate neighbourhood, and will surely do me the kindness to go over some day and appeal to the old gentleman's conscience--though I don't believe he is old."
"Alack!" said Reinhold, "blows the wind in that quarter?"
"And how it blows!" cried Justus, "so that one can neither see nor hear. You know that Meta wrote to me on her arrival that every thing was going capitally. Mamma was, as she foresaw, entirely on her side, but papa, of course, made a tremendous row--only then, as she also foretold, to give in utterly a little while after, supposing that the 'stone-cutter' could maintain his daughter suitably, as he could give her nothing--not a shilling--he was a poor, ruined man. Good! I accept the ruined father-in-law, and he accepts me upon my showing that I had already for some years made--but you know all about that, and I only repeat it now to set before you in its proper light the abominable treachery of this man." Justus had halted under a lamp, and took a letter out of his pocket. "If the spelling leaves something to be desired, the letters are big enough, as you see, and the interpretation is clear enough from one point of view at any rate." Justus struck the crumpled leaf with the back of his hand, and read:
"'Sir' (the first time I was 'Dear Sir'),
"'In consequence of a telegram that I have just received from Berlin, the state of my affairs is so completely altered, my daughter's future prospects are so entirely changed, that the position which you can offer her at the best no longer appears sufficient to me; and before I give a final answer'--as if he had not done so already, the Jesuit!--'I must, as a conscientious man and provident father, beg for a few weeks delay, until the fortunate conjuncture of circumstances which has just occurred for me can be completely gone into.
"'Sincerely yours,
"'Otto von Strummin,
"'Lord of the Manor of Strummin,Member of the Assembly, Vice-Presidentof the Agricultural Society of ----'
"I can't read that--but it is enough!" And Justus crumpled up the unfortunate letter, and with a scornful snort stuffed it again into his pocket.
"Am I not right, Reinhold? Every possible difficulty stands in your path, I admit, but through it all, at the worst, you have to deal with a man who is the very soul of honour, and on whose word once given--and he will give it--you may rely. You can build your house upon a solid foundation, but how can a man build a house upon sand--treacherous quicksand, which, when he thinks he is as firmly fixed as the Colossus of Rhodes, gives way under his feet? If I only knew what the 'Lord of the Manor' really means! It is my belief that the whole story--telegram, conjuncture, every thing--is all dust which he wants to throw into my eyes to get rid of me--don't you think so?"
"Of course he wants to get rid of you," answered Reinhold, "and the man's meaning is pitiful enough; but the matter to which he alludes has some truth in it, and I think I can tell you what it all means. Herr von Strummin has probably, for some reason or another, been kept in the dark as to the position of the question of the concession, so as to shut him out of a share of the first rich booty, possibly has been persuaded that the concession will not be granted. Disordered as his affairs appear to be, perhaps in a desperate condition, he was delighted to see his daughter provided for, and shut both eyes (which, by the way, are somewhat prominent) to the 'stone-cutter's' position. Now he has been informed that the concession is afait accompli, some additional promises--God knows what--have been made to him, and everything looks bright to him. He reminds himself that he is lord of the manor and so forth, and that it is his duty to protect his daughter from a mesalliance. You see it is again the old pitiful bargaining with men's hearts, sticking to insane prejudices at the expense of all sound morality. But console yourself, Justus, it is not you, but Herr von Strummin who has built his house upon sand. He will find it out soon enough, and he will come to you and say, 'My dear sir, I have been terribly in the wrong, and here is my daughter's hand.'"
"That would be splendid," said Justus, smiling in spite of his trouble, "only--I do not believe in it."
"Justus! Justus!" cried Reinhold; "do I hear this from you? From whom have I learnt that sandstone is hard to work, but marble much harder, and that whoso works all his life in sandstone and marble must take life easy, if he would not have the devil take possession of him. Do you really mean him to take possession of you?"
"You may well say that," answered Justus; "I do not recognise myself any longer. It is as if gipsies had stolen me in the night, and left a miserable, dismal, incapable sneak in my place. All that I have lately done has been rubbish, which I would undo were I not certain that I should make it still worse. Oh! this love! this love! I have always foreseen it, I have always said it would be fatal to me; it always has been fatal to every artist. To-day, whilst you were paying your visit, I glanced into Ferdinanda's studio. She is working at a Bacchante--in her present mood! but there is genius in it, only it is carried to madness, to absolute caricature. That is what she has got by it, that glorious creature! Uncle Ernst is all right again. He has allowed himself to be elected delegate of the city, because he has not got enough to do, and next year will have himself elected to the Chamber of Deputies and the Imperial Diet, and will stupefy himself with work, which is at any rate more wholesome than wine. But poor, poor Ferdinanda! I think, Reinhold, you must get in." The platform had meanwhile filled with travellers, some of whom hurried into the opened carriages, or after taking possession of their places, stood chatting at the doors. Amongst the latter was a party of young men in shooting dress, whom the two friends had just passed.
"I don't think he will come," said one of them, in whom Reinhold thought he recognised Herr von Tettritz.
"Seems so," said another--Herr von Wartenberg, as Reinhold, turning his head, convinced himself. From the door of the waiting-room hastily appeared a gentleman, also in shooting-dress, followed by a soldier-servant carrying the game-bag and gun over his shoulder. It was Ottomar. And Ottomar, for all his haste, had at once recognised the two friends. They saw how he started, and then, as if he had remarked nothing, passed on, but suddenly turned round.
"I am not mistaken. Good-evening, gentlemen. You are coming with us?"
"I am," said Reinhold, "to Sundin."
"Ah! I heard as much from my sister, who, I think, had it from Fräulein von Strummin, and also at Wallbach's, from whom I have just come. You have got the post; I congratulate. Sorry I was not at home this morning. Parade, barracks--nonsense! You may be thankful that you have nothing more to do with such stuff. I envy you, by Jove! It's shameful that we have seen so little of each other lately. It's a little your fault too; you might have let yourself be seen again. I shall heap coals of fire on your head, and visit you at Wissow--next spring. Golm has invited me to shoot snipe--best in all Germany, so he says, and I believe him--for once. My sister will very likely come earlier--to Warnow; perhaps Fräulein von Wallbach also. My aunt Valerie, who finds this place too noisy, has invited both the young ladies.Au revoir, then, or will you--but that will not do--we are already six. We are only going as far as Schönau, a property belonging to an uncle of the Captain's.Au revoir, then. I will soon pay you a visit too, if you will allow me--it was delightful in your studio. I must also see Fräulein von Strummin; I hear she is wonderfully----"
"Take your seats, gentlemen!" said the guard.
"Werben, Werben!"
"Coming! Good-bye, good-bye!" Ottomar shook hands with the friends in passing, and hurried to his clamouring companions.
"Does he know?" asked Justus.
"No--by-and-by, perhaps; it is, for the present, a strict secret between Elsa and me. I shall write to the General from Wissow."
"It is better so," said Justus. Reinhold did not answer. The evening of his arrival stood out suddenly, with all its details, in his memory. How eagerly Ottomar had then sought his friendship, how heartily Uncle Ernst had received him, how Ferdinanda herself had welcomed him! And now! It was not his fault--that was at least a consolation.
"Here is an empty carriage," said Justus.
"Farewell, my dear Justus! Say goodbye again to Cilli for me, and Herr Kreisel, and tell him not to trust in the Sundin-Wissow; and hearty thanks for your friendship and affection."
"Not a word more, or--I am desperately sentimental to-day. This love--this horrible----" Justus smothered the rest of his blasphemy in a mighty embrace, pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his eyes, and rushed away.
"Good fellow!" said Reinhold to himself, as he arranged his goods in the carriage. "I never should have credited him with it. Strange! What has restored to me courage, and the old feeling of security, has robbed him of his ready creative power and his cheery humour. And yet the impediments which lie in his way are child's-play compared to those that surround us. God grant he may soon smile again! Cilli is right--he cannot live without sunshine." Reinhold had seated himself. The signal for starting had already been given, when the door was again thrown open, and a gentleman was hastily bundled in by the guard.
"Here, please, I have no more empty carriages. Your ticket at the next station!" The guard shut the door.
"Good-evening, President; allow me," said Reinhold, taking the President's great travelling-bag and putting it in the net.
"Good gracious! is it you?" cried the President. "Where are you going?"
"I would not fail to present myself before you in Sundin on the 1st of December, according to your orders," answered Reinhold, rather surprised.
"Yes, yes, of course!" said the President. "Pardon me--such a stupid question! I am so worried, so perplexed--once more, forgive me!" And he stretched out his hand to Reinhold with his accustomed gracious friendliness.
"It is quite unnecessary, President," said Reinhold; "I know that you are busied about more important things and men."
"Yes, yes, more important things," said the President--"evil things! And the men--these men, these men--pray sit opposite to me! One can talk so much better, and I am very glad to see an honest face again." The President wrapped his rug round his knees. His fine, clever face looked pale and worn, and the touch of quiet irony and sarcastic humour which Reinhold had noticed at their first meeting had altogether failed him.
"I have been four days in Berlin," said the President, "and should certainly have begged you to come and see me, only, to confess the truth, I have been skulking about like a criminal with the police after him, so as not to be seen by any respectable men, if I could avoid it. Perhaps you know what took me to Berlin?"
"The papers, President----"
"Yes, yes, the papers. Unfortunately there is no longer any decent obscurity. Everything will come out, and if it were only confined to the truth!--but unfortunately it is generally neither the whole truth, nor even the half. What falsehoods have not people--that is to say, the gentlemen concerned in the matter--told about me! I was concerning myself actively in the existence of the railroad, working for it, dinning into the Minister's ears that the concession must be granted--I, who have fought against it from the first, and warned the Minister most strenuously against it! Then, as that would not do, they attacked me from the other side. I had been an opponent, a determined opponent--I had been convinced at last--Saul had become Paul. That sounded more probable, but not probable enough. I was not convinced--I was simply bought. That was believed at once--it spoke for itself. A President, with his few thousand thalers salary, notoriously devoid of private fortune, the father of six children--how could he withstand such inducements! It is a shame and disgrace that it was believed, as it will be believed to-morrow, that there was not enough offered! The crafty fellow knows only too well what he is worth; he will quietly bide his time, watch for his opportunity, and feather his nest well!' That is the worst, you see. Confidence, is shaken in the honour and integrity of our officials. It is the beginning of the end for me--the threatening cloud which foreshadows a future which I pray God I may never live to see!" The President tugged here and there at his rug which he was generally so careful to keep smooth, unfastened his kid gloves which he had just buttoned, and drew them off his trembling hands. Reinhold himself was moved by the intense emotion of a man usually so cautious and so shrouded in diplomatic mists.
"It would be presumption in me," he said, "if I ventured to contradict a man of your great experience and judgment. Nevertheless I cannot refrain from suggesting that, just because the case concerns you so nearly, you may perhaps see it in too black a light."
"May be, may be!" said the President, "but this is no isolated case; there are others which unfortunately speak on my side, where high officials have succumbed to the temptation put before them. And then----" He was silent for a few minutes, and then continued even more excitedly:
"If the higher powers only had tact, I say--only tact not to strengthen this most dangerous, and I confess exaggerated, tendency of the public mind to suspicion and distrust. But you will feel it painfully--the slightest acquaintance was sufficient to make one honour and respect the man--General von Werben----"
"I know, President," said Reinhold, as the President again became silent; "and my acquaintance with that excellent man has not been a transient one."
"Well then, what do you say to this?" cried the President. "Differences have existed between him and the Minister, I know; differences which must have been settled by a superior authority. It is difficult, it is almost impossible to work with any one who is determined not to act in concert. One must give way, and of course the inferior; but just at this time that should have been avoided. It will throw fresh oil into the fire, as if it did not burn fiercely enough already, as if matters had not already been made easy enough for these promoters! They will laugh in their sleeves: 'Do you see that? do you hear that? We had just intended, modest as we are, to take our shares into the market to-morrow at 75; but now we ask 80--85! Paper that can send a General von Werben flying, cannot be difficult to float!'
"You will see, my dear sir, they will trumpet it in all the papers, and--even if it is all false--if the General's position were untenable, the mob goes by outward appearance, judges by outward appearance, and--outward appearance is against us." The rug slipped from his knees, but he never seemed to observe it.
"And if that were all! But we, of whom our illustrious sovereign has so rightly said that we are appointed by fate to eat our bread in the sweat of our brow, we begin to desire to live for show, for glittering useless show. Take this railway business; it is all show whichever way you look at it--good high roads, decent communal roads are all that we need for the moderate requirements of our island, which the prospectus boastfully calls the 'granary of Germany.' Show is the security upon the ground of which alone the concession can be obtained; I know that they could not raise even the few hundred thousand thalers. The subscriptions according to rule from 'good and substantial houses,' are show--shameful show; the only real subscription is from Prince Prora, through whose territory nearly a third of the railway passes; the other ten million are from Count Golm, and Co.--and not one thaler is paid up, or ever will be paid. So it goes on, so it must go on. You can't gather figs from thistles, and as to what is to be expected from that magnificent harbour which is to crown the whole, well, you know all about that as well as or better than I do." The President stood up and went to the window, through which the lights of the town were already disappearing. Then he came back to his place and said as he leant over towards Reinhold, in an almost mysterious voice:
"Do you remember a conversation on the evening when I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at the Count's table at Golmberg? I have so often thought of it lately. Your storm--I hope to God it may not come--but if it comes as you have prophesied, I should take it for a parable of what is hanging over us. Yes! for a sign from heaven! to awaken us, to startle us out of our criminal intoxication, out of our empty, visionary life, to withdraw the glittering show from our eyes, to show us, as Fichte says, 'that which is.' Ah! where is the hand which would now write us 'Speeches to the German nation?' I would bless that hand. Instead of it our philosophers prate about the intellect, which is meant for nothing but to lead the will into absurdities, and to crush and destroy all joy and cheerfulness which is yet the mother of all virtues; and our poets are disciples of the French school, and learn how to be frivolous and disreputable to the heart's core without offending external proprieties, or wander, poor creatures, with their beggar's staves in the ruins of the age, and try to make us believe that the clouds of dust that they raise are creatures of flesh and blood; and our composers show forth theblaséimpudence, the shameless sensuality of the age in music which fairly bewilders the moral and æsthetic feelings of the great and small world, or heats the fevered blood to madness.
"It cannot remain so. It is impossible; a nation cannot continue to dance before the golden calf and sacrifice to Moloch. Either it will be overwhelmed in the flood of its sins, or it must cling to the saving Ararat of honest, manly, and middle-class virtue. God grant that our people may have strength for the latter. There are times when I despair of it." The President leant back and closed his eyes. Did he wish to break off the conversation? Was he too much exhausted to pursue it further? At any rate, Reinhold did not venture to express the thoughts with which his heart was full. Each sat silent in his corner. The last lights of the town had long disappeared. Over the broad, dark plain, through which the train rushed, lay a light covering of snow, from which the woods rose up gloomily. Above, in the darkening sky, sparkled and shone, in countless numbers, the eternal stars. Reinhold's eyes were gazing upwards. How often had he so gazed from the deck of his ship on stormy winter nights with an anxious, fearful heart! And his heart had again beat high with courage, if only one of the loved and trusted lights illuminated his lonely path. And now, when they all beamed upon him, those silver stars--and greater, mightier than all, the star of his love--now, should he lose courage? Never! The storm might come--it would find him ready; it would find him at his post.