A fortnight had elapsed. The autumnal storms, which had burst over the country, had stripped the last withered leaf from the top of the acacia tree, and the little garden with its shade loving plants, as well as the dry tendrils of the bean vines, were destroyed by the ceaseless rain.
Even in the "tun," whose inmates usually possessed the art of making the sunlight within shine all the more brightly in the stormiest weather, a strangely dull, sorrowful mood had prevailed, like the autumn mists which float over forest and meadow, and are only now and then lighted by a noontide sunbeam. A dull oppression weighed upon Edwin's mind, and with all his manliness he was unable to shake it off. This mysterious silence and disappearance caused him more pain than the sharpest break in his life, the most open renunciation on the part of the beloved being. He hourly felt that all must be past, but he could not yet realize it to be at an end. It was as if he carried a bullet in his body very near the vital organs, and until it was extracted, no one could tell whether he would survive or bleed to death.
Besides, now that he again spent more time in the house, he became very anxious about Balder. During the time of his futile love-making, when he had often only seen his brother at dinner or late in the evening, the latter had succeeded in concealing the fact that his time was divided between arduous toil and complete exhaustion. Now it could no longer be hidden. Marquard, whom Edwin instantly called in to prescribe for a first severe attack of pain in the chest, shook his head very angrily over the unpardonable carelessness which had permitted matters to go so far. He forbade Balder to make the slightest exertion, and during some of the stormiest days kept him in bed. Balder smilingly protested against his tyranny, and declared that he did not suffer at all; nay that he could breathe more freely and easily when in his stooping posture at the turning lathe. He would doubtless have carefully avoided acknowledging that, when at work, he could more easily forget the anxiety about his health which daily became more pressing. But it was useless. Edwin saw through the ambiguous words, especially as, roused from his long dream, he had now discovered for the first time that during the last few weeks Balder must have done double work to defray the current expenses. This was all that was needed to make the recollection of the time so hopelessly lost, still more painful and bitter. "Careless children ought never to be left alone," he said reproachfully, crushing back tears of sorrow for his brother and rage against himself. "Now you have accomplished a fine piece of business, worked shamefully hard that I might not only play the fool the more undisturbed, but become your murderer into the bargain. Oh! child, all the duchesses in the world, who might want to make me their court-fool, would not outweigh a single hair from your thick locks, though they really might lose a few handfuls without injury. Instead of taking up my station on the nearest street corner, as was my duty, and waiting to see if some one would give me work, I've wasted my days in the most worthless way, playing the courtier, while you--fie! A fine brotherly love on both sides! One idles enough for two, and thoughtlessly allows himself to be fed at the expense of the other, who meanwhile works for two so recklessly that he almost deprives himself of life, and the idler of his only brother."
He would not allow himself to be quieted, until he had carried the dearest things he possessed, a few dozen of his most valuable books, to an antiquary, and thus defrayed the most pressing necessities for several weeks. Besides this, as the lectures had not yet commenced, he plunged headlong into all kinds of remunerative work, criticisms upon new books and contributions to scientific journals, and remained persistently at home all day long, with the exception of a short afternoon walk, never losing thought of Balder amid all his work. No one interrupted this strict seclusion except the faithful doctor, Mohr, who came daily for several hours to play chess, and Reginchen, who brought up the meals.
Some change seemed to have taken place in the child, which transformed her whole nature in a mysterious, but very charming manner. She no longer sang and glided about like a young bird, or even prattled in her half childish, half motherly way to Balder, whom she now had to nurse; but the thoughtful, somewhat absent and sorrowful expression her countenance now wore, undoubtedly suited it better than her former wholly unshadowed mood. She seemed to have grown an inch taller, her face was perceptibly narrower, her cheeks less blooming, but suffused with a delicate glow from within. Moreover she was often found, as if spell-bound, standing still in the midst of a task gazing steadily into vacancy. When Balder asked what she was thinking about, she blushed crimson and laughed in an embarrassed way, but the next instant her face again wore a strangely quiet expression, such as no one had ever seen before.
Even Edwin, who usually noticed her but little, remarked her altered manner. "Our little house swallow is thinking of building a nest," said he. "You'll see, Balder, before next spring she'll leave us to become her own mistress. It's a pity! I can't imagine the tun without this wandering ray of sunlight."
Balder was silent. He had long been uneasy about the matter. Little as he was in the habit of thinking of himself, this time, with a joyous terror that for some moments threatened to burst his heart, he could not help believing that he was the author of this change. On the very day Franzelius bade them farewell, the young girl had asked him to lend her Schiller's poems. She had heard so much about them, she wanted to see if they would please her as well as her cousins and the head journeyman. The book was in Balder's locked drawer; he had pressed in it a flower from a small bouquet she had once brought him when she came home from a walk. The verses he had written on her birthday were also there, but he did not think of them when he took out the volume. Afterwards, when it was too late, he had recollected them, and as the verses expressed somewhat plainly what for years he had carefully hidden in his heart, he could scarcely doubt that they would now do their duty and reveal all. Probably it might have been so, but for that twilight hour in the shop, when the state of another equally reserved soul had suddenly become clear to her. There was only room for one thought at a time in her head and heart, and therefore, as her love for literature was not very great, she had not taken out the borrowed book she had placed in her work table, and had no suspicion what a secret she would have learned. Even in her leisure hours, she did not have much time for reading. Whenever she was left to herself, she eagerly knitted the before-mentioned stockings, whose unusual size could not fail to remind her for many days of the lucky fellow destined to own them.
Balder, however, who knew nothing of all this, could not help interpreting in his own favor the altered manner of the child he secretly loved, especially as since he required her care, she had become at once more devoted and more reserved. His first emotion at this supposed discovery was, as has been stated, one of joyful alarm. Having renounced all the happiness of healthy men, he had never thought such an event possible, nay scarcely desirable. He looked upon himself as a passing guest at the table of this world, who could only taste the various dainties, and who after a short enjoyment of the pleasures of the feast, a modest sip from the beaker of earthly joys, must silently slip away. That he might take his place there with the others, join in the festivities till midnight, and drain the last dregs of the wine cup, was something of which he had not dared to think. He had yielded the more freely to a feeling of happy hopelessness, because he thought himself sure, of standing in no one's way by so doing. This fair, innocent child, in the exuberance of perfect health, possessed exactly what he lacked; that she had grown up in the insensibility of pure nature, without intellectual wants, culture, or training, while every expression, every gesture revealed strength, freshness, and the most joyous good nature, attracted him to her as one is attracted toward an object always longed for and always withheld. When she entered his room, he forgot his sufferings and banished the thought of the future, since she herself seemed to be satisfied with the present and the pleasures it contained; therefore the thought that any change could take place in this familiar, unconstrained intercourse had hitherto never occurred to him.
Now he was suddenly thrown into a state of bewilderment in which he was no longer in harmony with his own heart, since that which had hitherto filled it with such pure and calm emotions, now appeared sinful, and certainly was the source of many sorrows.
But he had reached his twentieth year and the feeling of delight must needs outweigh all sadness. Almost insensibly, the hopes he believed long since buried, again appeared before his eyes. Why should not a miracle be performed in his case as well as in so many others, and nature summon her wondrous powers of healing, especially as the soul was now ready to assist? And if it should really prove that the strength of manhood was to make amends for the sufferings of his youth, how beneficent was the star which had enabled him to find in this little spot, the treasure that would make him rich for all time.
This belief became more and more fixed in his mind, so that he submitted to all the remedies prescribed without opposition and with far more patience than usual, and he even, often as a loving word to Edwin or Reginchen hovered on his lips, strictly observed the prohibition against speaking. He would lie half the day in a reverie, his eyes fixed upon the sorrowful plaster mask of the prisoner opposite him, composing verses which he hastily wrote down as soon as Edwin's back was turned. Even his old regret that he could not make up his mind to confess his secret to his brother, who never had one from him, no longer troubled him. When he had grown strong again and could at last go out into the world and cast aside all his premature renunciation of self, he would pour out his happiness, and compensate Edwin tenfold for what he had lost.
All these thoughts had passed through his mind, while the leaves of the acacia were falling off, and Edwin wandered about with a wound that would not heal. The oppressive stillness that pervaded the tun, seemed to have affected the other lodgers in the house as well; they appeared to be in that uncomfortable, chilly autumn mood, in which man, like nature, gradually becomes silent, until the crackling flames in the stove beget encouragement and the lips of human beings once more unclose. Christiane's piano emitted no sound. The head journeyman, whose grumbling and scolding often echoed in the air as long as the windows of the work shop remained open, was no longer heard. In the rooms occupied by the old couple no one opened a window to look at the thermometer, which hung on the shady side of the house. They well knew it was no weather for a once famous tenor to expose his throat to the air. Even Herr Feyertag was in a bad humor, although an unusual number of jack-boots were ordered and business was very prosperous. His son, who had imbibed from Franzelius all sorts of wild communistic ideas, caused him a great deal of anxiety, and out ran with seven league boots that worthy citizen and man of progress, his father. All such cares seem doubly threatening in the autumn rain, and we are the more inclined to believe the end of the world is coming, when the summer sunlight has long lulled us into forgetfulness of all anxiety.
But suddenly this consoler seemed inclined to return for a time to celebrate another festival. When Edwin opened his eyes one morning, the brightest blue sky was smiling into the tun, and the atmosphere was as still and soft as if ashamed of all the stormy misdemeanors of the last few weeks. As good things, like evil ones, rarely come singly, this morning also brought all sorts of unexpected pleasures. First came a letter containing money to discharge a debt long since given up as hopeless, the fee for a private lecture on Hegel's philosophy, which Edwin had given a sceptical Russian. The auditor had suddenly disappeared, and Edwin supposed him to be either in Paris or Siberia. But he had preferred to make his peace with the Lord, and had now obtained a position in St. Petersburg, from whence he sent double the fee. Edwin was just forbidding Balder (who in his delight suddenly broke his vow of silence and insisted that the money must be devoted to buying back the books that had been sold) to meddle with the financial department of the tun, which now, since Balder by his secret earnings had basely betrayed the confidence reposed in him, was to be exclusively in Edwin's hands, when Marquard came in, and after carefully examining the patient, declared him out of danger for this time. He cautioned him however, against any excitement or bodily exertion, which would again open the scarcely healed wounds Then he turned to Edwin: "I wish I could be as well satisfied with you," he said, looking sharply into his face, "but I must confess that your appearance, your pulse, your whole condition, don't suit me at all. A few more days of this stooping, drudging, and brooding, and we shall be just where we were the evening of the ballet. Deuce take it! I'd rather prescribe for a whole cholera hospital, than a single thinking patient, who's always opposing Mother Nature, and by his pondering and cogitations during the day, tears into lint the repairs she makes in his nerves at night. Or is--you have no secrets from Balder--your crazy abstract love affair at the bottom of it? That was all that was wanting! How far have you progressed with the little princess in Jägerstrasse? Still the 'fir and the palm' longing and yearning in anxious pain?"
"If the matter is of scientific interest to you," replied Edwin with a totally unembarrassed face, "you may as well know that the story ended before it had fairly begun. I should be strongly inclined to put the apparition in the category of delusions of the senses, if it were not for the perplexing circumstance that the phantom which so mysteriously appeared and vanished, was visible to you also."
Marquard looked at him with a sly twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "May I feel your pulse again?" he said dryly.
"Why?"
"Because it's a matter of scientific interest to me, to see whether a philosopher, who makes truth his trade, can tell a lie without any quickening of his pulse. Besides, I can if you desire, go my way and pronounce you incurable. I should then come here only as court physician to the younger branch." He seized his hat and cane as if to go.
"I really don't understand," replied Edwin, as he quietly continued to cut the leaves of a book, "why I should take the trouble to lie to such an infallible diagnostician! In all seriousness, I've not seen the fair mystery in Jägerstrasse for a fortnight or more."
"For a very natural reason," retorted Marquard laughing: "because for a fortnight or more the beauty has lived inRosenstrasse. Oh! you sophist! You strangle the truth and salve your conscience with the snares of your formal logic."
Balder looked at Edwin, who had turned deadly pale. The book fell from his hand, his lips moved but no sound came from them.
"There sits the detected sinner," cried the doctor in a jeering tone. "Ah, my son, lying and deceit are all very well if one is careful not to be caught in them. Besides, I am the last person to attempt to force a confidence, which is not voluntarily bestowed. Good morning!" Nodding to Balder, he left the room and stumbled grumbling down the steep dark staircase. When he had almost reached the bottom, he heard some one call him and Edwin came leaping down.
"Marquard, one word more!"
"What is it?"
"I only wanted to tell you--you may think what you please, but it's the plain truth--I thought she had left the city. What do you know about her? Is it anything more than a freak of the imagination, that she is living in Rosenstrasse--"
"In the third house from the corner, on the right hand side as you come from the long bridge. Of course on the second story. I was driving past the house yesterday afternoon, when it was still quite light, and instantly recognized her, as in spite of the infernal weather, she was standing at an open window. There are not two such faces. So, with a half sad, half wearied expression--thinking partly of Edwin, and partly of a velvet cloak--she leaned against the casement, and absently scattered bread-crumbs to the sparrows in the street. Suddenly she started back and shut the window. She might have seen me looking up, perhaps she even recognized me. However, as I had resigned her to you once for all--"
"Thank you, Marquard. Adieu!"
So saying, Edwin left the doctor standing on the dark stairs and hastily ran up again, without hearing the expression of astonishment which the latter sent after him.
When he returned to the tun, he endeavored to assume a cheerful expression, and even laughed heartily, as if Marquard had told him some comical story.
"It's all right," he said to Balder. "The tragi-comedy is to have an after piece. What do you say to that, child? We'll recommend the subject to Mohr for a fantastic story, the title will be promising: 'The Ghost in Rosenstrasse.'"
"All will yet be well," replied Balder gently, repressing a sigh. "Such a parting was unnatural, and who knows whether you both would not have suffered too severely in the trial. Now no harm is done except that she too must have suffered in having been deprived of you a week."
"Oh! you flatterer!" exclaimed Edwin, who was pacing up and down the room with his hands in his pockets. "Deprived of me? And what compelled hex to be deprived of me, except her own free ducal will? Oh! child, child, don't let us call X, U to each other! The matter stands simply thus: I knew nothing of her, and she neither wished nor wishes to know anything of me. And now see, my dear child, what a pitiful weakling man, and especially your wise brother is! Instead of being satisfied that this fortnight's silence is meant as a discharge, he will not be content to rest until he has received his dismissal in due form, if in any way he can obtain another audience.
"You see," he continued, while Balder was silently trying to calm his fears at this new turn in the state of affairs, "we have our boasted free will and the admirable categorical imperative mood, the standard specifics for all attacks of moral fevers. I can solemnly assure you, Balder, I'm no coward, no such pitiful weakling, that I would not swallow the bitterest medicine, if I knew it would cure me. 'You can, because you ought!' Certainly, I can force myself not to steal, murder, commit adultery, or break any other of the ten commandments, because I know they are in themselves half holy, half salutary, and the world would be out of joint if we did not hold in check certain desires for our neighbor's purse, life, wife, or anything else that is his. Buthere, in my case--what do you command, Herr Imperative Mood? What do you desire, Herr Free Will? That it looks ill formeum esse conservare, if I simply baffle this longing and stay away, I have sufficiently experienced during the last fortnight. Whether matters will be worse if I see her again, who can tell? So I think I'll go there and ask her whether she thinks me a fool or a man over wise, for again playing with heat and cold which have given me chilblains already?"
"Fortunately we're rich young men again," he added smiling. "For although she esteems me very highly because I visit her without gloves, it might seem quite too magnificent if I should call in a straw hat at the end of October. I will spend something on myself, child, and even look around for a respectable winter overcoat. My old one has gone Heaven knows where with Franzelius, who wore it for a Sunday coat."
He could devote no more attention to his books, but while talking to Balder in a half earnest, half satirical tone, made as careful a toilette as is possible when a man possesses but one suit of clothes, and finally, with his huge paper shears clipped his beard before the tiny mirror. "I should really like to know," he said, while engaged in this operation, without looking at Balder, "whether I should be less indifferent to her, if I were a handsome young fellow like you, so that she could be vain of me, or rather see her natural love of beauty satisfied by my insignificant self. That I shall ever be necessary to her, is not to be hoped. But to be an elegant superfluity, like a parrot, or a piano on which she doesn't even know how to play--the prospect wouldn't be very glorious, but for lack of a better. There, the bushes have been pruned till they're fit to appear at court. I look quite ghostly; this fortnight has been hard upon me. But perhaps it will touch her: 'heart-sick, pallid, and true.' Good bye, my boy. I'll bring back all sorts of things for dinner."
He was so strangely agitated that he embraced Balder, kissed him on the forehead, and then rushed out of the room, humming in his powerful "transcendental" voice--as Mohr called it--"la donna è mobile."
His first errand was to a hatter, his second to a ready made clothing store. When, though the October sun was shining warmly, he took his way toward the Rurfürsten Bridge in his new winter overcoat, he could not help laughing at his shadow, which he could scarcely recognize in its present stately contour. He crammed the large pockets with oranges, of which Balder was very fond, bought all sorts of trifles for him, and seemed to himself very brave and resolute, in using so much self constraint as to lengthen the long distance to Rosenstrasse by his numerous delays. He even felt capable of maintaining perfectly his self control, if it should chance that he never saw her again. When he at last knocked at her door, he considered it a great proof of his courage, that he went to meet danger so boldly.
The third house from the corner on the right hand side--now he was standing before it. The early hour, which was by no means suitable for visiting, did not trouble him in the least. Yet he willingly allowed Mohr, who happened to meet him just in front of the house, to drag him away for some distance, and listened patiently to his contemptuous criticism of a new tragedy which had created a greatfurorethe evening before, and which was a wretched abortion, badly pieced out with stolen fragments. What was at this moment, the "degeneration of the German stage" to him! what even his friend's hopes that his "sinfonia ironica" would at last obtain recognition, since a very able musician--he did not say it was no other than Christiane--was sincerely interested in it. They saw Franzelius on the other side of the street, engaged in an eager conversation with a dirty fellow in a blue blouse. He recognized them, but pulled his cap farther over his face and looked away. Mohr was just beginning to criticize the first number of the "Tribune of the People," which he had with him and which he declared to be an infallible remedy for melancholy. But Edwin suddenly turned away, and under the pretence that he had a lesson to give in that house, hastily retraced his steps as if to make up for lost time, and went up the steps without delay.
His heart beat even more violently than at his first visit to her. On reaching the landing, he tried several times in an undertone, to see if he had breath enough to say good morning. But not until he had gazed at the bell handle for at least ten minutes, did he feel sufficiently composed to ring and ask the old woman who opened the door, if Fräulein Toinette Marchand was in.
"She lives here," was the reply, "but it is so early that she isn't dressed yet."
"She will probably see an old friend," replied Edwin quickly, and without heeding the woman's gesture of denial he crossed the threshold. At the same moment, one of the doors leading into the corridor opened, and the beautiful face, looking twice as charming in a lace morning cap as it had ever seemed before, suddenly appeared.
She recognized him instantly; an involuntary movement of the head told him that her first thought was to refuse to see him, but the next instant she changed her mind.
"Is ityou!" she exclaimed, but without betraying any surprise in the tone. "I half expected you; I know no one can escape destiny. Come in. You will doubtless excuse my cap."
He silently followed her into a neatly furnished room. His emotion was so great, that he vainly strove to utter a few indifferent words, and as if exhausted by a long walk, he sank down into one of the chairs beside her sofa. Neither did she seem to know what tone to adopt. Standing beside a flower stand, which however contained no exotics like the one in Jägerstrasse, she busied herself in pulling off the yellow leaves, and in binding up a drooping tendril.
He had time to look at her. She was attired, in a simple morning dress, which displayed her supple figure to even more advantage than her usual costume, and the little cap on her wavy brown hair gave her a somewhat matronly air, which contrasted most charmingly with the pale, childish face.
"My change is very much for the worse, don't you think so?" she asked, still busied with the flowers. "This plush furniture--it's said to be an elegant apartment, but in comparison to the really stylish appearance of the old rooms, looks like a mere lumber shop. However, I can pay this quarter's rent and live among respectable people. But tell me, how did you discover me? I thought, as I had discharged the carriage, and no longer allowed the dwarf, who begged most pitifully to be kept, to wear livery, I could live here in the most complete incognita--so long as my money lasted. You were angry with me because I vanished so suddenly, were you not? Look into my face and tell me frankly, whether you were really angry or not?"
She had turned hastily toward him and was now gazing at him with beseeching, mischievous eyes, as if she no more doubted the falsity of her words, than that he would be weak enough to show mercy before justice.
"My dear Fräulein," said he, trying to smile, "as you have, unfortunately, never permitted me to show you any kindness, I've not ventured to take the liberty of being angry with you. I had forced myself upon you, you took the first opportunity to get rid of me--that's so natural, that a man needn't be your 'wise friend' to understand it."
"Oh! no," she answered thoughtfully, "that's not exactly it. Do you know that I've more than once commenced a note to you, to tell you where I was to be found. Then I tore it up again. Silence seemed to me wiser for us both; wiser for me, that I might wean myself in time from that most dangerous luxury: a friend; and wiser for you, because some day you might get tired of being my 'wise friend,' and then the affair would end in a way I would fain spare you. You smile. So much the better, if you find no danger in it. Besides, it would now be too late; you've found me again, probably your friend the doctor, who saw me at the window yesterday, tattled. I'm very glad you're here. You can't imagine what tiresome hours I've spent, almost always sad or listless."
"Where did you wish to go?"
"Yes, where? That was just the question. Back to my commonplace poverty--ah! at the thought a cold shudder ran over me, as if I were about to jump into a marsh and sink up to my neck. To stoop to the yoke of a governess, here in the city, where I've lived as a great lady, seemed terrible too. So I shall live on in this way a few weeks longer, and then when the last louis d'or is exhausted, close my eyes, and dare a plunge--into the great nothing. Or do you believe that there is a something?"
"No," he answered quietly. "And for that very reason, it seems to me folly to hastily throw away the something we possess here."
"Hastily? How long is one to wait? When would you permit a person, who did not find this something worth the trouble it costs, to take refuge in nothing?"
"When he quite despairs of being anything in the world, of making himself useful or giving pleasure to himself or anybody else."
"Well then--in that case, you might without hesitation sign my passport for departure. For thatIam an utterly useless creature, and at the utmost can only afford Jean Jacques a little pleasure when I give him five groschen to feast at a cake shop--"
The tears that she had vainly endeavored to repress, burst forth, yet she did not turn away from him, but stood at the little table before the sofa, resting both slender hands on its polished surface as if to support herself, while large drops fell from her black lashes.
Edwin watched her with the deepest sympathy. He was obliged to use the greatest self control, to refrain from standing up and clasping her in his arms, to console her as one would a child.
"If you did not endure my presence simply for the sake of my wisdom," he said as calmly as possible, "I would give you the most absurd proofs, that your existence was a necessity of life to some one besides Friend Jean, a blessing, a source of joy, though to be sure not wholly unclouded. But aside from all nonsense: you must not go on so, Toinette. You're quite right: one who lives so during the day, at last passes out of the day into the night that has no morning. I see that I've come just at the right time. Courage, child, courage! Permit me to tell you that you don't yet understand the life you wish to cast away. No indeed," he continued, as she gazed at him through her tears with a look of surprise, which seemed to say: 'yet I've experienced enough'--"you know only want and affluence; but there are a thousand steps between, on which a sensible person can sit down very comfortably and accommodate himself to the world. To be sure, he must possess one thing to make life endurable anywhere."
"You mean a contented heart?"
"Heaven forbid, my dear friend! It should be a very much spoiled, exacting heart; do you suppose, for instance, mine would take a predilection so easily? But it will not matter if the heart is needy and rich at the same time--that wonderfully contradictory condition called love, when we know not which is most blessed, to give or to receive, where we are never satisfied with giving and receiving, and in this absurdly delightful and nonsensically clever occupation, have no time to consider the rest of earthly things, plush furniture or wooden chairs, because the whole question of wealth or poverty has been transferred to another province."
He relapsed into silence, and eagerly watched the effect of his words. Her tears had ceased to flow, and she was gazing absently and dreamily into vacancy.
"I don't understand you, and you can't understand me," she answered with a scornful shake of the head. "How often must I tell you, that I've no talent for what you call 'love!' As in this present world, both in reality and romance, everything seems to turn upon it as a pivot, you must easily understand, that I do not suit such a world. No, things can't go on so, long. And really, if I were not so cowardly, and did not fearpain--but that will, always restrain me until life becomes still more unendurable, and the feeling of loneliness and desolation at last increases to a physical anguish keener than all other."
He rose and took her hand. "Dear Toinette, you're in a morbid, over-excited state, and must allow your friend to cure you. Will you trust yourself to me? You shall not swallow any bitter draught, or have your heart cut out, that we may see what this obstinate little muscle wants ere it can do its duty like a thousand others. I'll show you a little of the world, teach you how it is constituted on an average and how men bear with each other and till the void of which you complain, on week-days and holidays. To-morrow will be Sunday. I should think we might do like nine-tenths of our fellow citizens, and take advantage of the fine weather for a little excursion into the country.
"Willingly. But where shall we go?"
"That's my affair. I must beg you to leave the whole arrangement to me. Fortunately you have dismissed your carriage, so you will leave the striped waistcoat at home."
"Poor boy! Why don't you give him a share in the pleasure?"
"Because private tutors are not able to go out to amuse themselves with a train of attendants. I'll persuade my brother to accompany us instead. I hope you don't object."
"I! Didn't I tell you long ago, how curious I've always been to see what kind of a brother you have."
"You'll make the acquaintance of a very charming young fellow, and I warn you in advance, do not allow it to be too evident that you like him much better than your pedantic friend. With all my brotherly love, I won't answer for it that I should not feel a certain degree of jealousy. But many things which you think 'wise' and don't understand in me, will perhaps become clearer when you've seen a man like Balder. By the bye, you'll not wear a very magnificent dress? I hope to show you that the fewer ducal pretensions people make, the more royally they can amuse themselves."
She smiled. "You're a good man, to take so much trouble about a poor, incurable creature. Do whatever you choose, you shall have unlimited authority to improve me as much as you can."
"To-morrow morning at ten, then! Farewell, most august friend."
"You're graciously dismissed, worthy friend and marshal of the royal household." With a bow of mock condescension, she gave him her hand, which he raised to his lips with smiling reverence.
"And until to-morrow morning, neither poison nor dagger!" he cried on reaching the doorway, shaking his finger.
"I'll hold out until then," she answered gaily. "Out of curiosity to see your brother."
"It's true! Rinaldo is in the old chains again!" exclaimed Edwin, as he entered the room where Balder sat alone, sunning himself in the window. He was apparently unoccupied, for he had hastily locked up the volume in which he had been writing verses, when he heard Edwin's step in the courtyard below, nevertheless the reflection of his poetic dreams still lingered in his eyes.
"Have you found her?" he asked. "How did she appear?"
"Exactly as usual, neither cordial nor repellant. Oh! child, if you could but solve this problem! How can one long for grapes, which not only hang too high, but are after all merely painted. If, in the moon, there live creatures resembling men, who breath a special atmosphere, and have in their veins some vital ichor different from our blood, they may appear like this girl. Something of the true woman is lacking, and yet she possesses everything that hundreds of others need to attain the full meaning of womanhood. My brain aches with trying to understand the mystery."
He threw himself into a chair before the table, now set for dinner, and drank a glass of water.
"And shall you go to her every day as before?" asked Balder sadly.
"As long as I can hold out. As long as it lasts. For I fear she will ultimately become such a mystery to herself, that she will commit some mad act. I proposed to cure her, to make life dear to her, to transform Mephistopheles, 'first of all I must bring her into better company.' But I don't imagine I shall succeed in finding a life purpose for her, a task which will really warm her heart, fill her days, and of which she can dream at night. Ah! if she only had a brain like that of my little hedge princess Leah! But that's the strangest thing of all: she's clever and yet entirely without any craving for knowledge; without prejudices and perfectly indifferent to the opinions of others, kind hearted without any interest in mankind; gay without being contented, bright without being warm--and I, as a punishment for my sins, am condemned to lavish as much heart's blood upon this strange specimen of her sex, as if I were attempting a moral transfusion, instead of the physical one that has long been tried. You'll see, child: when I've once succeeded in replacing the moon-lymph in her veins with warm, earthly human blood, the first dandy that comes along will reap the advantage, and I shall have to pocket the disappointment. However, perhaps your clairvoyant eyes will solve the enigma more easily than I."
"I--how should I--?"
"I promised to take her into the country to-morrow and to bring you with me. She's very anxious to make your acquaintance."
"You're joking, Edwin."
"Not at all. I should like to know what impression she makes upon perfectly unprejudiced persons. In spite of my own folly, I'm sure that you're not in love with her. If you become really dangerous to her peace of mind, so much the better, let her experience for once what the feeling is and I'll endure the inevitable disappointment with dignity. Seriously, child, I should like to see what she's worth 'between brothers.' Besides, you ought not to decline, for Marquard thinks a drive in this air would do you a great deal of good."
A pause ensued. Balder gazed silently into vacancy and did not seem disposed to give an immediate answer. At last he said: "You must not take it amiss, Edwin, but I can't go with you; surely you know it will be better for me to stay at home."
"Better? For whom?"
"For all. I should only be a burden if I were obliged to limp about everywhere with you--and then--I've been in ladies' society so little. I should be either very stupid, or say something awkward which would embarrass you."
Edwin had risen and now stood directly before him. "Can you look me in the eyes, you cunning hypocrite?" he exclaimed. "As if you could ever do or say anything awkward! I know exactly why you don't want to go: you think I'm only taking you out of brotherly love and courtesy, and would really much prefer being alone with my cold sweet heart. But this time, dear searcher of the heart, you're entirely wrong. I assure you, by all that a private tutor holds sacred: you'll do me a favor by making one of this party. Besides, I've exhausted my Latin, and fear if we're alone she'll discover it and give her tutor lover his discharge in good earnest."
He knew what a trump he was playing, in representing the affair as a sacrifice Balder was to make for him. But the latter, contrary to his expectation, remained firm in his refusal, and as he pleaded the sensitiveness of his chest, Edwin was compelled to desist from urging him. The real reason: that he was longing for a day when he could give himself up to his love dream undisturbed and also see Reginchen alone, he certainly did not confess to Edwin, perhaps not even to himself.
The next morning dawned as clear and bright as could be desired for a Sunday excursion. Punctually at ten o'clock Edwin entered Toinette's room. She came toward him with unfeigned cordiality, attired in a more simple dress than any he had yet seen, and laughed when she noticed his astonished face. "Is this right?" she asked. "This is the costume in which Duchess Toinette walked about her native city, when she had no court philosopher, court dwarf, or court splendor. I hope you're not courtier enough or tasteless enough to think this countrified garb pretty. Even my landlady, who has usually been very well satisfied with me, was horrified at the idea of my going into the country with my cousin--that's what you are now--in such a dress. But I've undertaken to cure you, as well as to be cured by you. You shall confess that beautiful things are beautiful and ugly ones ugly, and that we may make necessity a virtue or even a jest, but never a happiness or a pleasure."
"I'm afraid your cure will fail," he answered laughing. "You might crawl into a turtle's shell and still please me, if only your head and hands peeped out."
"So you're an incorrigible courtier!" she replied, shaking her white finger at him. "But where did you leave your brother?"
He told her that he had vainly endeavored to induce him to come with them.
"You've probably described me to him as something very horrible," she answered thoughtfully, "to the life, as I seem toyou, a heartless, brainless, finery-loving creature. Well, perhaps he'll form a better opinion of me when he sees me with his own eyes; for I must make his acquaintance, that's settled. But now come. I feel a childish delight in the anticipation of this drive. We won't keep the carriage waiting."
"The carriage? Plebeian country parties set off from the city gate in a wagon. But you must be contented to walk there on your august little feet."
"Very well. You shall have no cause to complain of me."
She tied under her chin the strings of an old and somewhat shabby velvet hat, which however was very becoming to her young face, and called to Jean to bring her cloak. The boy came and saluted Edwin with the same solemn stiffness as usual. He was dressed in a common black suit, and only the high shirt collar recalled the livery. When the young lady told him that he might have his time until six o'clock in the evening and go to visit his parents, his thick lips curled for a moment in a joyful grin, but instantly resumed an expression of solemn respect. Then they left the house, and Toinette leaned lightly on Edwin's arm. The streets were full of people in their Sunday attire, elegant equipages rolled past them, the air was still, and when they crossed the bridge, all the windows of the old castle glittered in the autumn sunlight. Toinette paused before a huckster who was selling fruit.
"It's improper to eat in the street," she whispered to Edwin. "But just for that very reason you must buy me one of those beautiful apples. I feel as if I were masquerading. Why shouldn't we take advantage of our disguise? Or must people stare at plebeian picnics?"
"Heaven forbid!" he answered. "Eating is the main object. And as for the propriety--you see I wear no gloves today."
"But unfortunately, a terribly respectable hat. If the shops were not closed, I should make you oblige me by buying a new one at once. I liked your looks much better before; but it's no use now. We must both appear like scarecrows among the pretty Sunday toilettes."
"Then the birds will at least keep away from these grapes," he answered laughing, as he handed her a paper horn full of the fruit. "I'll put the apples in my pocket. Good Heavens! Here are the oranges I bought for Balder yesterday. What shall we do with all these blessings? Ah! here comes a droschky. Now we can eat our breakfast more comfortably."
He signed to the driver and helped his companion in. Just as he was in the act of entering the vehicle, he saw Leah approaching with her father. The old gentleman's face was as bright as ever, but his daughter looked somewhat paler, and for the first time Edwin noticed with surprise the dark brilliancy of her eyes and the grace of her walk. They also recognized him, the young girl with a sudden blush, the father, after a hasty movement as if to rush up to him, restraining himself. Then they went on in the stream of pedestrians, while Edwin entered the droschky and called to the driver: "To Charlottenburg!"
"Who was the beautiful girl to whom you just bowed?" said Toinette, turning to look after her.
"A former pupil. Do you think her beautiful? I confess I was somewhat struck by her appearance to-day. During the time I taught her, till within a few weeks ago, I noticed nothing remarkable in her face, except that she has very wise, earnest eyes."
Toinette made no reply and seemed lost in thought. After a time she said. "And what did you teach her?"
"If you'll not repeat it, to injure the child's character: in philosophy. To be sure it didn't last long."
"In philosophy? Is that a suitable study for us women? I thought it was only fit for men."
"So most men think, and that's why my little philosopher would find it hard to get a husband, if it should be noised abroad that she had taken lessons from me."
"That danger, as you know, would not frighten me, if you would take me for a pupil. But I fear I should disgrace you. I've learned too little and read too many novels."
"Novels are not the worst introduction to philosophy. Don't you think that Père Goriot affords more food for the thought, than many a text book placed in the higher schools for girls and which does not contain a syllable about what is called life?"
"It depends upon who reads it. I've had a great many thoughts. But they were so sad that they cannot have been the right philosophy, at least not yours; for you're always cheerful, so the world must wear quite a different aspect to you in your wisdom, from what it does to me in my stupidity."
"Very possibly," he said smiling. "But we must first prove it. You must tell me your thoughts, and I will tell you mine. Afterwards we'll see against which there are the fewest objections."
"And is there nothing more in philosophy? Did you make no farther progress in your lessons to that young lady?"
"Oh! no. I began with her at the A. B. C, told her how, from the most ancient times, thoughtful men had demonstrated the relations of things in the world and what singular dreams about origin and decay, soul and body, gods and spirits they had had. I'll wager that if you had listened, you would not have been bored; for you have a tendency toward melancholy, and philosophy is like a magic lantern; the clear outlines of the pictures of the world it conjures up can only appear on a dark background, but on that dark background is thrown the real brightness, the light that brings cheerfulness and peace, while the common every day sunlight, like ordinary human reason, is only sufficient for the every day restless flickering dawn."
She made no reply and gazed steadily into vacancy with a charmingly thoughtful expression.
After a pause she said: "And is any real goal reached? After pondering over everything, do we know something definite, something that cannot be called in question?"
"Yes and no. We arrive at what we have longed to know, the fact that there are secrets of which our narrow minds can never have anything more than a dim idea, although certain philosophers, who take the chimeras of their own brains for the revelations of omniscient truth, venture to give information even in regard to them. But is it not a gain to learn how much we are capable of knowing, and where the ever shrouded abysses lie? And the way along these--can you not imagine that it would be as refreshing and full of enjoyment, as to wander amid lofty mountains, among glaciers and ice fields, past ravines and waterfalls that seem completely inaccessible?"
"Yes indeed," she replied, "if one is sure footed and not predisposed to giddiness."
"The strength will increase on the way, if one is not a cripple when he leaves home. And then in addition to the pleasure of looking around, seeing the world, and drawing one's breath freely, do you know what other benefit will be received?" She looked at him inquiringly.
"In order to climb up, we throw away much of the useless and troublesome lumber we've dragged about in our shallow, thoughtless existence, and when we have reached the heights and arrived so much nearer to heaven and its stars, we learn to dispense with all this trash and despise it. The atmosphere is rarefied, and earthly things, viewed from the mountain tops, shrivel so incredibly that on coming down, we see the dearest objects and most beloved friends with very different eyes."
"By which they would hardly be the gainers. And then we should be more unhappy than before."
"No," he answered with an expression of quiet joy, as he thought of Balder, their boyhood, and all their struggling life in the bare tun. "What is really good and true, little as it may be prized by fools, appears for the first time in all its beauty, as allied to all the noble things we have experienced and learned far above the plane of every day life. You ought to make the attempt; I don't believe you would regret it. Besides," he added smiling, "my alpenstock and mountain shoes will always be at your service."
She looked earnestly into his face. "You think I don't see your aim. You want to destroy or disgust me with what you call my vanity, but which is really just as much a part of myself, as my brown hair, my white teeth, and my dark eyes. Very well, we'll make the trial. Begin the lesson at once; of course you must first tell me your thoughts, then you shall hear mine. So: 'in the beginning God created Heaven and earth'--"
He laughed and took a bunch of grapes from the paper horn that lay on the opposite seat of the carriage. "What are you thinking of?" he answered in a jesting tone. "This is Sunday, and we're going on an excursion into the country. What would you say of a banker who accompanied a lady to Charlottenburg and talked to her on the way about stocks and bonds? To-morrow, if you feel inclined to listen, I'll read you as many lectures as you desire. With you, I shall at least run no risk, as in the case of my other pupil, of being discharged by an orthodox father and a theological aunt, on account of dangerous theories. And I'm not afraid of wearying you! For in the first place I can't imagine any novel so interesting as the history of truth, and secondly you know my weakness in being unable to look at you long without talking stupid nonsense."
She shook her finger at him again. "Don't let me repent that I didn't take little Jean with me for a chaperon, because I thought you a knight without fear and without reproach. And now we'll eat our breakfast."
Meantime the droschky was moving on in that contemplative trot which distinguishes the Berlin droschky horses above all others of their race and calling, over the broad road on which, during the last few weeks, the trees in the Thiergarten had strewed all their autumnal foliage. In spite of the beautiful weather, the foot paths on each side were entirely deserted, for the real stream of pleasure-seekers does not pour out of the city gates until the afternoon. They passed only solitary couples, so absorbed in themselves that they did not notice the two who drove by them eating grapes. Now and then, a carriage dashed past their phlegmatic horse. Whenever this occurred, Edwin saw that Toinette made an impatient movement and wrapped herself more closely in her cloak. The air was soft, almost still, but her ducal blood seemed chilled by the slow pace at which they moved. He laughed.
"I see clearly that your habit of being drawn by four horses makes you impatient of this half way style. Shall we dismiss our carriage and continue our way on foot?"
She instantly assented, called to the coachman to stop, and without waiting for Edwin's assistance sprang out as lightly as a feather. She did not even take his arm, but walked swiftly beside him, still holding in her hand the horn from which she was eating the last grapes.
"Why mayn't I give you my arm?" he asked.
"Look at those other couples," she answered petulantly. "Is there anything more out of taste than the sentimental custom of keeping step? Either the gentleman must take little mincing steps like the lady, or she must accommodate herself to his pace by making long strides, which is still more ugly. And all this because they love each other! We have not even that excuse, so let each walk as is most comfortable. You can't lose me, for I haven't a groschen in my pocket. If I ran away from you, I should be obliged to starve."
He laughed and said that was not the mode of death usual among duchesses, especially when they had such black eyes; to which she retorted that her duchy was hanging up in the closet at home; if she sold it she could scarcely live on the proceeds a fortnight, and even for that length of time not in a style suitable to her rank. Such were the harmless jests with which they amused each other as they walked on; he had never seen her in such gay spirits, and it was happiness enough for him, after his long separation from her, to be permitted to walk beside her and look at her every movement. It was so charming to see her eat the grapes, and when the paper was empty bite an apple with her little white teeth. She had removed her gloves and untied the strings of her hat and the sunlight falling through the bare branches flickered over her lovely face.
On reaching the first of the long row of villas, she stopped to rearrange her dress. It was even more lonely here. Most of the houses, on account of the early commencement of autumn, had already been deserted; in the gardens of the pleasure resorts, the Pagoda and others, tables and benches still stood awry, as they had remained during the long rains, and the yellow leaves were not even brushed away. But all this dreariness and inhospitality could not damp the spirits of our young pair. Toinette--and especially Edwin--were delighted to have the beautiful castle garden all to themselves.
"It's strange," said the young girl as they walked through the silent avenues and at last paused beside the famous carp pond, where to-day the broad heads of the fishes were scarcely visible beneath the thick covering of yellow leaves--"I always feel happiest and gayest when everything around is very grey and dreary. When anything was going on in my little native city, a ball or a shooting match, or any kind of festivity, I always felt very melancholy among the happy cake-eating crowd. And in our castle park, which is almost as ancient and venerable as this, and has a great many places where it's not safe to go, I've wandered about half a day like a little deer, and been perfectly at home. Do you see now that I'm nothing out of my fine clothes, that it's from no coquetry that I prefer to wear velvet rather than calico? Here, for instance, even beside you, I feel too poor and shabby for these royal avenues. You smile. Say what you please, it may be vain and foolish and brainless, but it's natural to me, and I can't help it, I shall carry it with me to the grave."
Meantime they had reached the mausoleum of Frederick William III. and his beautiful queen. The invalid soldier who guarded it was asleep on a bench, and when wakened seemed greatly surprised to see visitors so early, but Edwin gave him a large fee, and he opened the silent hall of death without objecting. Edwin did not enter it for the first time; but the magical solemnity of the dusky room had never moved him so deeply, as on previous visits he had been admitted with a crowd of strangers. Now the light fell through the blue dome upon the silent marble figures and the young fresh girl at his side, who could not resist the spell of the place, and mutely, with a strangely eager expression, as if expecting some solemn event to happen, gazed for a long time at the glorified image of the royal lady. Edwin at last approached her, and in a whisper asked if she were ready to go. She did not hear him and remained spell bound by the fascination of the place, until the door keeper rattled his keys and reminded them it was time to leave. Then, as if longing for some hand to lead her back to life out of the regions of the dead, she took Edwin's arm and even in the sunlight that shone upon the park walked beside him a longtime in silence, absorbed in her own thoughts. He too kept silence, though his heart was burning. Never had she seemed so lovable, so far above all other women whom he had even known, as during her quiet reverie in the blue soft twilight. He had to use the utmost self control to speak of any thing but his passion.
"I'm really grateful to you," he began, "for being so deeply affected by that solemn spot. Scarcely any other place hallowed by art and association, has ever so moved me. Surely the fate of those two human beings has its influence too in the silence, the thought of so much dignity in misfortune, so much unassuming goodness on the throne, so much affection in the simplest form. Neither was intellectual or highly cultured. But in the decisive moment their innate nobility put the right words in their mouths, the right resolution in their hearts, and their thoroughly plebeian sense of duty always made them appear truly royal in the high position in which they were placed. And then--isn't it touching to think how this prosaic, sober, almost awkward monarch, devoted himself to his beautiful wife with an ideal love which outlasted death, and while building barracks and living simply and frugally in the plainest palace in his capital, was constantly thinking how he could have this house of death still more magnificently adorned by the greatest masters, because it contained his wife's heart and with it all the poetry of his life. Then at last he ordered his own effigy to be placed beside hers, wrapped in the simple soldier's cloak he had preferred to the purple mantle, that even in death, he might remain faithful to himself and to her. Isn't there greatness in so much humility, and more true royalty in this unassuming figure than in all the boastful imperial pomp of this great conqueror?"
At first she did not answer. Not until they approached the gate of the park and she drew her hand lightly from his arm to put on her gloves, did she say: "You're perfectly right; the only true nobility is to remain faithful to one's self. The common run of mankind concern themselves much about their neighbors' opinion, imploring their advice as to the guidance of their lives, but he who has the germ of a noble nature lives and dies by the light of his own inward grace and is sovereign of himself. As for these rules of living, they are pitiful torments which evil unhappy meddlesome people have invented to sour the life of their fellow mortals. He who thrusts his neck under the yoke deserves the bondage. One can grow old in such a servitude and yet never know what it is really to live."