The air was now pure again, and I determined to go down to the kitchen-garden in quest of information. But, while passing Uncle Joachim's open windows, I did not hear the Canoness's voice, and could nowhere find any trace of her. The peacock screamed so discontentedly as I passed him that I knew he had not received his usual Sunday dainty. But in other respects the garden was very pleasant, the beds were full of spring flowers, and the first light-green foliage was waving on all the branches in the delightful May air. At last I met my old friend Liborius.
He was sitting in his clean white sleeves on one of the farthest benches, with a tattered book in his hand, and a cigar, a luxury he allowed himself only on Sunday, between his teeth.
I sat down beside him, took the volume, which was nothing worse than a novel by Van der Velde, now forgotten, and ere ten minutes had passed I knew everything I desired to learn. For, as the castle afforded no other entertainment, so thorough a system of watching and listening had been established that the family might as well have discussed their most private affairs before the assembled servants as behind closed doors.
The long and short of the matter was that Cousin Kasimir had sued for the hand of the Canoness; but the latter, on being informed by her uncle of the flattering and advantageous offer, had curtly replied that she felt neither love nor esteem for the suitor, and begged once for all that she might hear no more about him.
A terrible scene had followed, the baron had flown into an inconceivable fury, upbraided her for her poverty, her impiety, her defiance of his kindness and wisdom as her guardian, and who could tell where it might have ended had not the young lady turned away with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders and left the room.
Now even her pleasant coffee-drinking with Uncle Joachim was spoiled. She had locked herself up in her chamber, and would not see any human being.
I heard all this--part of which I had already conjectured--with secret triumph, bade my informant good-evening, and strolled through the park into the open country.
Never had I been so happy on any day I had spent in the castle. A small quiet flame was burning in my breast, as if it were some pure hearthstone, and must have shone from my eyes. At least all who met me looked at me as if they saw me for the first time, or, rather, were wondering what change had taken place in me. The peasants in that neighborhood are not loquacious, but more than one stopped of his own accord and said something about the crops, the weather, and the need of a good harvest, in which I thought I heard the assurance that they no longer considered me a stranger, but would confidently confess their spiritual wants as well as their external ones.
And the young grain was so beautifully green, the little fleecy clouds in the bright sky drifted along so gayly, the countless nightingales were already beginning their evening songs, scarcely a patch of green was visible in the meadows among the spring flowers, the dogs lay yawning and stretching in front of the little houses, which extended from the village to the fir-wood, and the only person who had been like the Satan of this beautiful spot of earth, Cousin Kasimir, had departed, gnashing his teeth, leaving the good people to enjoy the bright Sunday repose.
When I at last approached the little wood, whose narrow border of young birch-trees bounded the last inhabited tract, I saw a low hut whose straw roof looked as awry and dilapidated as a moth-eaten fur cap that has fallen over one of its wearer's ears. I knew that Mother Lieschen lived here, but had always passed by it on my strolls. To-day some impulse prompted me to go there.
It was a miserable shelter for a human being, having but one window by the side of the low door, and only a single room, which had not been whitewashed for many years. A patch of ground behind it, inclosed by a low, ruinous fence, contained a few potato-plants and two tiny flower-beds, both still empty. A lean goat, tethered to the fence, was grazing on a bit of turf; two pairs of stockings and a much-darned shirt were hanging on the old palings to dry. Yet this scene of the deepest poverty seemed to me more beautiful than Gessner's trimmest idyl, for, on the bench before the house, by the side of the old woman, whose thin gray hair fluttered unconfined, sat the object of my secret worship.
The Canoness held on her lap a woman's old blue waist, which she was so busily engaged in darning that she did not notice my approach until I stood close before her. Mother Lieschen was half blind, and could not see anything at a distance of more than two paces.
I was greatly astonished, when Fräulein Luise looked up at me, to see in her beautiful, calm face no trace of the emotions which had embittered the afternoon.
She greeted me in her usual simple way, but I felt that I was no longer a disagreeable object. With a slight blush, she told me that she was helping the old woman--whose stiff fingers could scarcely hold the needle--with her sewing. I asked if I might join them, and took my seat on the bottom of a wash-tub turned upside down. The kitten came out of the hut, rubbed purring against me, and at last jumped confidingly into my lap. Then a short conversation began, which seemed to me far more interesting than the most profound debates at our college.
I do not know what we talked about, but I can still remember that the old dame, who spoke the purest Low German, sometimes made brief, droll remarks, which greatly amused all three of us. She had asked Fräulein Luise to tell her about Berlin, where, though nearly seventy, she had never been. But the Canoness did not relate all the marvels as if she were talking to a child, but as though she expected from Mother Lieschen's wisdom a decisive verdict upon people and things. I rarely mingled in the conversation between the two friends, but gazed intently at the Canoness's beautiful bowed face and amber hair, and then at the slender fingers that used the needle and thread so nimbly. Sometimes the goat bleated, and the kitten arched her soft back to rub it against my hand.
At last the difficult task was finished, and Fräulein Luise rose, pressed the old dame's shriveled fingers, pushed back from her face a few gray hairs that had fallen over her eyes, and prepared to return home.
I asked if I might accompany her, and she silently nodded assent. Yet at first we said nothing. I cast stolen side-glances at her. She wore a dark summer dress, very simple in style, which, like all her clothes--as I knew through friend Liborius--she had made herself. But it fitted her so well. Her figure, which afterward became somewhat too stout, was then in its most perfect symmetry.
At last I said, "You are becoming a deaconess, Fräulein, after all. At least, I am constantly meeting you engaged in some work of charity."
She looked calmly at me. "I hope you don't say that in mockery, because you do not believe in works, and think salvation is gained only by faith. But I have never understood that. Whoever regards neighborly love as not merely a command, but a necessity of the heart, can be happy on earth only when he helps his fellow-man wherever he can. And do you really believe any one can be happy in heaven who was not so on earth?"
I now launched into a long discourse upon salvation by faith, till I perceived that she was listening absently.
Suddenly she interrupted me.
"No, I would not do for a deaconess. If I were to wear a special uniform of Christian charity, I should begin to be ashamed of what is best and dearest within me. A thing that is a matter of course ought not to be made a profession whose sign we wear. Others, I know, think differently. But neither could I put on the pastor's robe, if I were a man. Yet perhaps it is necessary; people cling to appearances, and clothes make people."
She said all this interruptedly, stooping frequently to gather flowers--which she arranged in a bouquet--from the meadows through which we were walking.
Somewhat embarrassed to defend my position, I tried to help myself with a jest.
"I would give much if I could see you stand in the pulpit in a black robe and bands, and hear you preach. But tell me, if you had been a man, what profession would you have chosen?"
The Canoness stood still a moment, apparently gazing at a wide, radiant prospect with a rapt expression I had never seen on her face before.
"I would have been an artist, an actor, or a singer," she said, softly.
"An actor?" I replied, scarcely concealing my horror.
"What do you discover so terrible in that?" she asked, with a slight, sarcastic smile. "Is it not a magnificent thing to embody the characters of a great author, to cast noble, beautiful thoughts among the throng of breathless listeners? But perhaps you know nothing about it. You believe the theatre to be a sink of iniquity, like so many of your class. I can only pity you. I have neither the desire nor the power to convert you to a better view."
"And where were you yourself converted?"
"Oh, I--I, like you, was reared to loathe this so-called jugglery. But, three years ago, I spent several months in Berlin. An old aunt, who was very fond of me, sent for me because she was entirely alone. Uncle Joachim took me to her. There I spent the happiest period of my life, and there the scales fell from my eyes."
"If those are your views, have you never felt tempted to become a singer?" I inquired. "With your beautiful voice and love for music--"
"No," she answered, firmly, "as a girl I should never have ventured into that career. For the very reason that music lies so near my heart, I should feel it a desecration to be compelled to come forward and reveal my inmost soul to strangers, who had paid for tickets. Perhaps, if I had true genius, it would bear me above all such scruples. And yet the greatest singer I ever heard, Milder--have you heard Milder?"
I was forced to confess I had never entered an opera-house.
"Well, then, we will say no more about the matter," she replied. "You could not understand me. But I pity you."
Yet she did tell me more of her experiences in Berlin. She had heard Milder in some of Gluck's operas and in "The Vestal," and described her appearance, her figure, her execution; then, assuming a majestic attitude, she herself sang several passages which had specially touched her. Her fair face flushed crimson, and her eyes sparkled.
I believe it was on that evening that she enthralled my heart forever. Not a word was exchanged between us concerning the events of the afternoon or of my sermon. But I was too happy to find that she gave me her confidence so far, not to forget myself and my petty vanity.
We rambled over the fields for an hour, until it grew perfectly dark, and returned to the castle just at tea-time. The Canoness had arranged her bouquet very gracefully and laid it beside her aunt's cup, who patted her arm with a grateful glance. She looked past her uncle into vacancy, without moving a muscle. The latter was in the worst possible humor, which he even vented on Mademoiselle Suzon during the game of chess.
Soon after I went to my tower-room, Fräulein Luise began to sing below. I listened at my open window in a perfect rapture of every sense. Outside, the nightingales were trilling, beneath me this magnificent voice, in which so strong, so pure, so noble a woman's soul appealed to me--I felt as if my whole being had been encompassed with iron bands, and in this "moonlit, magic night" one after another burst asunder, and I could breathe freely for the first time.
Much might be said of the days that followed. They were the happiest of my young life. But memorable as they are still, distinctly as I can recall all the trivial events and rapturous joys of many, I shall avoid relating them in detail.
Though a man should speak of his first and only love with the tongue of an angel, he would find no patient listeners.
Yet, for truth's sake, I must here remark that I did not deceive myself for an instant in regard to the hopelessness of my passion. But, strangely enough, this clear perception of the heights and depths which separated me from the woman I worshiped did not make me unhappy. Nay, it would only have crippled the lofty flight of my feelings had I flattered myself that this peerless, unattainable being might some day prosaically descend from her height and become the wife of a commonplace village pastor. True, I can not assert that this state of mere spiritual aspiration would always have continued. If she gave me her hand, if her dress brushed me, or my foot even touched the shoes she had put outside her chamber-door in the evening to be cleaned, an electric shock thrilled me, which doubtless had some other origin than mere devotion and the worship we pay to saints.
Still, it never entered my mind to imagine that I could put my arm around her and press her lips. I believe I should have actually fallen lifeless from ecstasy if such a thing had occurred.
Externally everything remained precisely as before--our lesson-hours, which she always attended as a duenna, our Sunday conversations in the kitchen-garden, now and then a meeting at Mother Lieschen's. Yet I felt more and more plainly that she trusted me and had forgiven my former follies. My hair was now parted wholly on the left side, and no longer combed behind my ears.
Whitsuntide came in the middle of June, and Whitsuntide Tuesday was her birthday, on which she attained her majority. The evening before, I had composed a long poem addressed to her, no declaration of love, merely a simple expression of gratitude for all she had done to aid my secret regeneration. I had carefully erased every exaggerated word that had flowed from my pen in the first fervor of writing, and substituted a simpler and more genuine one. I was no great poet, though I had been considered one at the college. While following the style in which church hymns are composed, I had been able to deceive myself on this point. Now that I desired to express my deepest personal feelings, I perceived that God had not granted me the power "to tell what I suffered." Yet on the whole I did not succeed badly, and it afforded me special pleasure to accost her in my lyric flight with the "Du" (thou).
Then I made a fair copy of my poem, and at midnight stole softly down-stairs and pushed it under her door, that she might find it the next morning.
I waited with many an inward tremor and quickened throbbing of the heart to learn how she would receive it, and was much relieved when, at dinner, she showed me by an unusually cordial pressure of the hand that she had not been displeased. No notice was taken in the household, save surreptitiously, of the high holiday, for which no celebration, either of music, illuminations, or fireworks, would have seemed to me brilliant enough. The old baroness had crocheted a large silver-gray shawl, which, spite of the heat, the Canoness did not lay aside all day; Uncle Joachim wore a little bouquet in the button-hole of his gray coat; my pupil Achatz, who had grown very well behaved, gave her a horse which he had sketched very carefully from nature; and Fräulein Leopoldine had placed in her room a rose-bush in full bloom. The master of the house appeared to see no reason for making any special ado over the day, though it must have been a marked one to him, since it relieved him from the duties of his guardianship.
"Come and drink coffee with me this afternoon," Uncle Joachim had whispered to me as he rose from the table. I bowed silently, feeling as if I had received a patent of nobility.
When, an hour later, I went to the little summerhouse, I found the Canoness already there. Diana, Uncle Joachim's pointer, sprang toward me growling, as soon as I crossed the threshold of the sanctuary; but, seeing that her master welcomed me kindly, lay down again, whining and wagging her tail, at the feet of the young lady who, from time to time, rubbed her smooth back with the tip of her foot.
Uncle Joachim wore a short summer coat made of unbleached linen, with yellow bone buttons, and a white cravat, and had brushed the hair over his high forehead in a curve that gave him a holiday air. On the neatly covered table, which had been cleared and pushed into the middle of the room, stood a large pound-cake adorned with a wreath of roses.
"You ought to brighten up Herr Weissbrod's black coat a little, Luise," he said, with his dry, good-natured smile. "A poet likes flowers."
I blushed at finding the secret of my rhymed congratulations betrayed, and the flush grew deeper when the young lady took several beautiful buds from the garland and fastened them in my button-hole with her own hands. Then we three sat in the most delightful friendliness around the table; Fräulein Luise poured the coffee from the big Bunzlau[1]pot, and cut the cake. I was amazed to see with what persistent dexterity Uncle Joachim made the largest pieces vanish behind his sound teeth, while I myself had lost all appetite in the delight of being near her. Meantime a merry little conversation went on, spiced by my host's droll remarks and Luise's musical laughter. I myself served as a target for the old gentleman, who indulged in jests about my inward and outward transformation, but so kindly that I could not help joining in the laugh, without the least feeling of offense.
I was ashamed of having at first set so low a value upon this man. No one could desire a more genial companion; without the least effort he gave an interesting turn to everything he said.
When only a small portion of the cake was left, our host filled a short, smoke-blackened pipe with French tobacco, stretched his long limbs comfortably under the table, and began for the first time to really thaw out. He amused himself by recalling how and where, during the past years, he had spent his niece's birthdays. The year she was born, he had been in France, and related all sorts of adventures he had had there, often breaking off, however, as he approached the point, because they were not exactly fit for a woman's ears. Then he spoke of his other journeys, his travels in Spain, often with a heavy sigh, because such delightful days were over. He also questioned me about my so-called past, and, shaking his head, said, "You have missed a great deal, Herr Weissbrod. Whoever doesn't sow his wild oats in youth, must commit his follies later, when they are less easily forgiven. Nature will not be mocked."
Luise rose, saying that she was going to take a walk. Then she asked for a piece of paper, in which she carefully wrapped the remains of the cake, pressed Uncle Joachim's hand, and nodded pleasantly to me. "Wait a bit," cried the old gentleman, in Platt Deutsch--he was very fond of speaking it when in a good humor--"the old witch shall have a birthday present from me too." While speaking, he took from the chest of drawers a small snuffbox, which he had made himself out of birch-bark, and filled it with tobacco. "Here's something for her eyes. She need only try it. When she has used it all up, I'll give her more."
I understood that these holiday presents were intended for Mother Lieschen, and would have been only too glad to accompany the young lady. But I did not venture to make the offer, and, after she had gone, remained a few minutes with the old gentleman.
I call him so because, at that time, when I was only twenty-three, he really seemed to me very elderly and venerable, but he would have been not a little offended, or else laughed heartily, had he suspected that, while only forty-eight, I had already placed him on the catalogue of ancients.
When we were alone, he laid his large hairy hand on my shoulder.
"You are still a young man, Herr Weissbrod," he said. "But when you have half a century more on your back, even though you have used your eyes industriously meanwhile, I doubt whether you will have met any human being more pleasing to God than the girl whose birth we celebrate to-day. I am glad that, judging from your poem, some idea of this is beginning to dawn upon you. Only heed this well-meant advice--don't scorch your wings. That's nonsense."
I stammered something that sounded like an assurance that I was far from intending such presumption.
"That's right, my son," he said, kindly. "Follies, as I declared, are good things in their way. But we mustn't lose hide and hair in committing them, like the bear who put his head into the honey-tree and couldn't pull it out again. Good-evening, Herr Weissbrod. Don't take offense because I don't go to hear your sermons. My old heathen, the rheumatism, can't bear the air of the church."
How often I afterward recalled the worthy man's words, and could not help sighing mournfully and saying, with a shake of the head, "Good advice is cheap. You were her uncle, dear friend, and, besides, had had your due share of 'follies' in the past, while I, poor student of theology, had yet to learn the first rudiments of passion.
"Then you did not consider the unreasonable number of nightingales in the park, which were fairly in league against me; and, what was still more, the voice below, Gluck's 'Armida,' Spontini's 'Vestal,' and all the divine spells of golden hair and brown eyes."
But I am lapsing into Wertherism again. At least, I will commit no more follies now, but continue my narrative like an honest chronicler.
We are writing of August 26th. It was a fruitful year, and the harvest had almost all been garnered. But the heat daily increased, and we obtained no relief until after sunset. I had gone in the sweat of my brow to the next village, which belonged to our parish, on an errand of duty: to aid a sick tailor who desired spiritual consolation--no easy task. The old sinner, in his terror and despair, had been reading certain tracts and taken specially to heart the doctrine of the endless punishments of hell, probably because he was aware that he had made a sinful use of his tailor's hell[2]here below.
I did my best to calm him, and, as I had the reputation among my parishioners of being an enlightened and not fanatical preacher, succeeded in partially soothing him and inspiring his soul with some degree of trust in God's mercy.
As I returned through our own village in the gathering dusk of twilight, I saw a little group of children standing in front of the tavern, staring at two dusty, shabby carriages. The first was an ordinary, four-seated calash, with a torn leather covering, and a broken spring under the box, temporarily mended with ropes. The second vehicle was a large, windowless box on a rough platform, such as is commonly used for a furniture-van. Of the people traveling in this extraordinary equipage I saw only two persons, who were sitting on the little bench beside the tavern-door, a bold-eyed, pale-faced young fellow, not more than twenty, who, with his straw hat trimmed with a dirty blue ribbon, pushed far back on his head, and his hands thrust into his pockets, was saying to his companion, amid frequent yawns, all sorts of things I could not understand. He had a bottle of beer beside him, from which he occasionally filled a glass, held it up to the light, and then emptied it at one draught.
The girl by his side was probably sixteen or eighteen years old. Her appearance was disagreeable to me at the first glance, though no one could have helped owning that her prettiness was more than the mere beauty of youth. But the bold way in which she turned up her little nose, the scornful looks she cast at the villagers, and especially the soulless laugh with which she greeted her companion's jests, were thoroughly repulsive to me.
Her dress was as shabby as the vehicle in which she had arrived. But she had fastened a huge red bow into her black hair, and fancied herself sufficiently adorned in comparison to the barefooted children. Her little dirty hand held a few flowers, which she continually bit with her sharp white teeth, and then spat the leaves out of her mouth again.
The landlady, who came forward when she saw me stop before the house, told me that they were actors. There was a married couple, too, but they were in their room. The manager had gone up to the castle to speak to the baron.
I don't know why the sight of the poor traveling players was so repulsive to me. One might almost believe in some prophetic gift of the soul, for I had long been cured of my aversion to actors by Fräulein Luise's opinion of them.
So I did not linger long, but briefly reported to my old pastor how I had found his parishioner in the village--we were now one in heart and soul, including the pastor's wife--and then walked rapidly to the castle. As I turned from the elm avenue into the court-yard, I instantly perceived that something unusual was occurring. A groom was leading up and down a saddled horse, which I recognized from the silver-mounted bridle as Cousin Kasimir's. During the months that had passed since the latter's rejection, he had only come to the castle when he had some business matter to settle with the baron, and never remained to dine or to spend the evening. Yet this surely could not be the cause of the general excitement. Almost all the servants were standing, whispering together, near the staircase, on whose upper step the baron's valet and the cook--the two most zealous gatherers and diffusers of everything that happened in the household--had stationed themselves like two sentinels. They were so thoroughly absorbed in their office of listening, that they did not even move as I passed. True, this task was certainly made very easy for them.
Voices were ringing through the spacious entrance-hall in tones so loud and excited that every word could be distinctly heard outside of the lofty doors. Within I saw the master of the house, his face deeply flushed, and beside him Cousin Kasimir, with his hat on one side of his head and in his hand a riding-whip with which he beat time to his uncle's words; behind the glass door appeared the faces of the two children and Mademoiselle Suzon, pressed closely against one another, while opposite to the baron stood a handsome, finely formed man, the cause and center of the whole scene, whom I had no difficulty in recognizing as the manager of the company of actors.
He was showily dressed in a blue coat with gilt buttons, black trousers, red velvet vest, and light cravat. Yet, this somewhat variegated attire was by no means unbecoming to him, since it made his symmetrical and not over-corpulent figure more conspicuous. His head was gracefully poised on his broad shoulders; but at first I only saw the lustrous black locks that fell rather low on his neck, then, as he turned his face, the finely cut profile and light-gray eyes, whose expression was both honest and self-conscious. He held in his left hand a pair of yellow gloves and a black hat, while he gesticulated eagerly with his right, making a red stone in his large seal ring glitter.
"Only one night, only this one night, Herr Baron," I heard him say in a resonant, somewhat theatrical voice, which, however, had a certain cadence that touched the heart. "If I must give up proving to you and your honored family, by a recitation, that you are not dealing with an ordinary strolling company, but with an artist by the grace of God--"
"I forbid you to utter the name of God uselessly," the baron vehemently interrupted. "The calling you pursue has nothing in common with God or divine things. We know what spirit rules those who devote themselves to your profession. And, in short, I shall not change what I have said."
"I will not discuss the matter further, Herr Baron," replied the actor with quiet dignity. "But consider, there is a sick woman in my company, who has been made much worse by the journey here over the rough roads. If she is permitted to rest this one night, we shall continue our way to-morrow with lighter hearts. Therefore I most earnestly beseech--"
"You have nothing to beseech; I have expressed my will," cried the baron furiously, passing his hand through his beard, which with him was always a sign of extreme anger. "I have told you that the control of the police regulations in the district intrusted to my care is in my hands, and that I could not reconcile it to my conscience if to-morrow, on the Lord's day, a few paces from the house in which his word is preached, one might meet a company of strolling players, whose depravity is stamped upon their brows. You will therefore return to your people at once, and see that they are ordered outside the limits of the village within an hour."
These words were accompanied with such an unequivocal gesture toward the door that I believed the final decision had been uttered. But the actor stood motionless, save that he turned his head toward the side where the stairs led to the upper story, and, as my glance followed his, I saw what had silenced him, though I did not instantly perceive the true cause. In the dusk above us, on the central landing, stood the tall, slender figure of the Canoness.
All eyes were involuntarily fixed upon her where she leaned, as though turned to stone, against the railing. She had grown deadly pale; life seemed to linger only in her eyes.
"Fräulein," I heard the stranger exclaim in a tone of the most joyful surprise, "you appear before me like an angel of deliverance. Can you refuse to say a word in my behalf? Consider that the point in question is not so much my sorely insulted dignity as an artist, as a simple duty of benevolence. Through a mistake, in taking what I supposed to be a short cut, I came here. For two years I have had the privilege of giving performances in the cities of Pomerania and the Mark, and, after spending several weeks in L----, I intended to go to R----, where I meant to practice my art during the last months of summer. I should probably have reached the railway-station to-day, had not the lady who plays the old woman's parts in my company been taken violently ill. And now the Herr Baron, as you have heard, wants to turn us out of his territory as though we were a band of gypsies. You, who know me, Fräulein, will not hesitate to be my security; you will explain to the baron--"
The nobleman did not let him finish.
"Do you dare, sir!" he shrieked (his voice sounded like the creaking of a weathercock in a storm), "do you presume to appeal to my own niece for support? Do you wish to shake the foundations of the authority on which the life of every Christian family is founded? Such unprecedented insolence--"
His voice suddenly failed, he tore open his coat to get more air, and his hand groped around as though seeking some weapon to expel the intruder by force.
Just at that instant we heard from the staircase the firm voice of the Canoness, only it sounded somewhat deeper than usual.
"Consider what you are doing, uncle. It would ill beseem the honor of this house to turn from its threshold a suppliant who asks of you nothing save what Christian love and God's command alike enjoin upon you as a duty. I know this gentleman. I know him to be an admirable artist, and a man of unsullied honor. To refuse him admittance to your house is your own affair, but to deny him permission to rest for a night in the village below, especially when a human life is perhaps at stake, is an act you can not justify before God or man."
A deathlike silence followed these words. No sound was heard in the spacious hall save the gasping breath of the baron, who was vainly striving to speak. Then the actor's fine baritone, in which there now seemed to me a slight tone of affectation, echoed on the stillness.
"I thank you, most honored lady, thank you from my heart, for bestowing your sympathy upon a misunderstood disciple of Thalia. True, I expected nothing else from your noble soul. Will you now fill up the measure of your goodness by explaining to your uncle--"
A sharp cracking sound interrupted him. Cousin Kasimir, who during the whole scene had been casting furious glances around him and only waiting for a moment when he might interfere, struck his riding-whip violently against the top of his high boot and advanced a step.
"Silence!" he shouted, his mustache quivering with excitement. "You have heard that you have nothing more to ask or expect here, and if you carry your insolence so far as to throw upon a member of this family the suspicion of standing in any relation whatever to the head of a band of jugglers, the baron, whose patience amazes me, will have you driven out of his grounds by the field-guard. Do you understand, sir? And, now, without further ceremony--"
He advanced another step toward him and, with a threatening gesture, raised the hand that held the whip. But the actor did not cease playing hisrôleof hero for an instant.
"Who are you, sir?" he exclaimed, without yielding an inch, "that you dare to assume a tone whose ill-breeding befits no cultured man. You seem to be abandoned by all the Muses and Graces, and I pity you. It can hardly surprise me that a country nobleman has never heard the name of Konstantin Spielberg. But in any other place I would call you to account for speaking of my company of artists, which has been honored by the concession of a distinguished government, as a band of jugglers. In this house, and out of respect for the ladies present, I can only say that I include you among the profanevulguswhose opinion I despise."
He raised his right arm with an impressive gesture, as though hurling an anathema against some worthless heretic or insulter of majesty, and at the same time, with expanded chest and locks tossed back, fearlessly confronted his foe. Then something happened which drew from me a low exclamation of terror. The riding-whip whizzed through the air and struck the uplifted hand of the artist, who staggered back, speechless with pain and rage.
"Scoundrel!" cried the nobleman's sharp voice, "dare--dare you tell me to my face--"
But he could say no more. The Canoness, whose approach had been unnoticed, suddenly stood between the furious men with her tall figure drawn up to its full height.
"Back!" she said imperiously to the young nobleman. It was only one word, but uttered in a tone that must have pierced to the very marrow of his bones, for I saw him turn as white as chalk, stammer a few unmeaning words, and draw his head between his shoulders. But, without vouchsafing him even a glance, she went up to the ill-treated stranger, seized the hand hanging loosely down, on which a deep-red mark was visible, and stooping, pressed a hasty kiss upon it.
Then in a loud voice, trembling with secret emotion, she said: "Forgive this poor creature, he does not know what he is doing. And now shake off the dust of this house from your shoes. You will hear from me again."
Once more a deathlike stillness pervaded the hall. But it lasted only a few minutes. Then we heard the actor say: "I shall be your debtor to my dying day, most gracious lady."
The next instant he turned toward the door, passed me with haughty, echoing strides, and went out upon the steps.
Spite of my terrible excitement, I retained sufficient deliberation to look keenly at him. For the first time I saw his full face, whose remarkable regularity of feature and a certain dreamy luster in the eye aroused my astonishment. Nevertheless, he did not attract me. I thought I detected in his expression, instead of manly indignation, a trace of satisfied vanity, Such as may be seen in an actor who has just made an effective exit and, while the curtain is falling, tells himself that he is an admirable fellow. I could not help thinking involuntarily how different would be my feelings if such a girl had donethatfor me, how humbly, enraptured by such divine favor, my heart would shine from my eyes. And he seemed to be merely reflecting how brilliantly he had retired from the stage, not at all how he had left his fellow actor upon it.
I gazed anxiously at the heroine of this improvised drama. She was standing motionless, her eyes fixed with a look full of earnestness and dignity upon the door through which the man whom she had protected had disappeared. Her face looked as though chiseled from marble, her hands hung by her side, and ever and anon a slight tremor ran through her frame.
The master of the house also stood as if he were turned to stone. Not until Cousin Kasimir went up and whispered something to him did any semblance of life return. He drew a long breath, then, without moving from the spot, said: "Go to your room, Luise, and wait there for what more I have to say. Until then I leave you to your own conscience."
He turned quickly away and walked, followed by Cousin Kasimir, through the glass door, which he banged noisily behind him, into the dining-room, whither the three watching faces had shrunk, startled, from the panes.
Luise still stood lost in thought, showing no sign that she had heard the imperious words. But, just as I was about to approach her and assert my modest claim of friendship, she seemed to suddenly awake, but without taking any notice of me. I heard her say to herself: "It is well! Now it is decided!" Then she quietly pressed her hand on her heart as if she felt a pang there, nodded thoughtfully twice, and walked slowly up the steps of the great staircase, while I looked after her in gloomy helplessness.
As soon as I found myself again alone and recalled all the events I had just witnessed, I felt, with a certain sense of shame for the pettiness of my nature, that fierce jealousy was consuming every other emotion. So she had known and honored this man in former days. She had even placed him on so high a pedestal in her thoughts that the proud woman--before whom, in my opinion, the best and noblest must bow and hold themselves richly compensated by one kind look for every annoyance they encountered--did not for an instant consider herself too good to kiss his hand.
And he had received this homage as if it were his due, and thanked her with a cold, high-sounding speech.
What was he that she should consider him so far above her. For, after all, the insult offered him here was not so atrocious that it could only be atoned by the humiliation of such an angel in woman's garb. Had he not been already dear to her, she would probably have left him to obtain satisfaction for himself.
She had made his acquaintance during her visit to Berlin, that was evident, on the stage, of course, and probably elsewhere also; or how could he have greeted her as an acquaintance? Yet she had never mentioned his name to me, as she had spoken of the worshiped songstress Milder. What had passed between them? And what kind of afterpiece might yet follow the scene of today?
I could not help thinking constantly of his handsome yet unpleasant face, and asking myself what attraction she could find in it. I felt a most unchristian hatred rising in my heart toward this man, who had certainly not done me the slightest harm--nay, with whose whole deportment I could find no fault save the somewhat theatrical air inseparable from his profession. Yet, had I possessed the power to make the earth by some magic spell suddenly swallow up the whole innocent "band of jugglers," like Korah and his company, I believe I should not have hesitated a moment.
Since this was impossible, I resolved to try to obtain some explanation of this disaster which, as the principal person shut herself up from me, I could only hope to do through Uncle Joachim. Unhappily I found his cell closed--he had ridden across the country on some business connected with the sale of a peat-digging. I wandered in the deepest ill-humor through the park. At last it occurred to me that Mother Lieschen, with whom the Canoness was in the habit of talking about so many things, might be familiar with this accursed Berlin story, and I turned into the path leading to her lonely hut.
But just as I caught a glimpse of the straw roof I perceived that I was too late. The old dame was just coming out of the door, and by her side walked Fräulein Luise herself, whom I had supposed imprisoned in her tower-room. They were talking eagerly together, Mother Lieschen had tied her kerchief over her head and seemed about to set out for a walk, for she took from the bench the staff with which she supported her steps, and held out her hand to the young lady. Then they parted, and, while the old dame hobbled along the edge of the wood, which was the shortest way to the village, Fräulein Luise came directly toward me to return to the castle.
She did not see me until within the distance of twenty paces, then she stopped a moment, but without the slightest change of expression. No one, who did not know what had happened an hour before, could have suspected it from her face.
"Good-evening, Herr Johannes," she said in her calmest voice (she had called me so for some time because the "Candidate" seemed too formal, and she thought the name of Weissbrod ugly), "I am glad to see you. I have a favor to ask."
I bowed silently. My heart was too full not to pour forth all its feelings if a single word overflowed, which I did not think seemly.
"Our old pastor will preach again to-morrow," she continued, walking quietly on by my side. "You might do me a real favor if, after the close of the service, you would give a beautiful long organ concert in your very best style, like the first one we heard from you. I have a reason for making the request, which I can not tell you to-day. Will you do me this service, dear Herr Johannes?"
Dear Herr Johannes! It was the first time she ever gave me that title. No matter how many unutterable things I had cherished in my heart against her, such an address would have won me to render the hardest service.
"How can you doubt it!" I answered quickly. "I understand only too well that you need the consoling power of music. Oh, Fräulein Luise, when I think how it affected me, a mere silent spectator, and how you must feel--"
"No," she interrupted, "it is not as you suppose, but no matter; it is important to me for you to play both very well and very long. I will thank you for it in advance--" she gave me her hand, but without pausing in her walk--"and also for every other kindness you have showed me in your earnest, faithful way. Promise that you will always remain the same, and never, even in thought, agree with other people's silly gossip about me."
I silently pressed her hand. A hundred questions were on my tongue, but I could not summon courage to ask even one. She, too, sank into a silence as unbroken as though she had forgotten that she had a companion.
So, when we reached the elm avenue, we parted with a brief good-evening. The Canoness turned toward the farm-buildings, and I went to my room.
Fräulein Luise did not appear in the dining-room at tea-time. Cousin Kasimir had ridden off long before, and a strange, oppressive atmosphere of irritation brooded over the rest of the party. I had already heard that the baron had had a long, violent conversation with the Canoness in her own room, but, contrary to the custom of the house, whose walls had a thousand ears, nothing was known of its purport. The baron's eyes were blood-shot and the lid of the left one twitched nervously. He had invited the steward to tea and talked to him with forced gayety about agricultural affairs. The old baroness gazed into her plate with an even more sorrowful and timid expression than usual, the children frolicked with each other, Fräulein Leopoldine endeavored to put on an arrogant air, while Achatz chattered to her with boyish impetuosity. Mademoiselle Suzon alone seemed to be in good humor, and ate a large quantity of bread and butter, while making tireless efforts to maintain a conversation with me, which I with equal persistency continually dropped.
When I at last went up to my tower-chamber and saw Fräulein Luise's well-shaped, though not unusually small, shoes standing outside of her room, I was obliged to put the strongest constraint upon myself to avoid knocking at the door and begging the alms of a few soothing words. It would have been very indecorous and worse--utterly useless. So, with a sigh, I renounced the wish, and resolved to speak to her so touchingly through my church-music on the morrow that the closed door must at last open of its own accord.
I had never passed so sleepless a night, and on the next morning felt so wearied that I feared the keys of the organ would refuse to obey me. But the old pastor's sermon strengthened me wonderfully, and his words fell like, soothing oil upon the burning wounds in my heart. Now, I thought, she is sitting beneath you with her old friend, the comfort of God's word is coming to her also, and the balm of music must do what more is needed to make her soul bright and joyous again.
I began to play the best melodies I knew, and I believe that never in my life have I had a higher and more sacred musical inspiration. So completely did I forget myself in it, that I started in alarm when the schoolmaster at last touched me lightly on the shoulder, and whispered that I had been playing a full hour, and, exquisite as was the performance, the dignitaries below were showing signs of impatience, and the congregation wanted to go home.
As if roused from some dream of Paradise, I broke off with a brief passage and hurried down the stairs. My eyes searched the ranks of church-goers thronging out of the edifice. I saw Mother Lieschen, but she was standing quite alone in her dark corner, and I could nowhere find the face I sought.
Perhaps she had shunned the gloomy church and preferred to remain outside in the graveyard, now fragrant with monthly roses and mignonette, hearing my music through the half-open door. At any rate I should see her at dinner.
When we assembled in the dining-room and she was even later than usual, I heard the baron say, turning to his wife: "She grows worse and worse every day; this irregularity must be stopped--" and my heart beat so violently that it seemed as though it would leap into my mouth. I asked Uncle Joachim, under my breath, how the young lady was, and whether she would not come to dinner. He shrugged his shoulders without moving a muscle, yet I saw that even his appetite had deserted him.
Just as the roast was served, and the baron was preparing to carve it, one of the footmen handed him a note on a silver salver. It had just been left by old Mother Lieschen.
The knife and fork dropped from his hands, he hastily seized the missive, glanced rapidly over it, and I saw him turn pale as he read. Then with an effort he controlled himself and rose.
"Harness the horses into the hunting-carriage," he shouted, "and saddle the chestnut instantly! Ha! This was all that was lacking! This caps the climax. But the lunatic shall learn with whom she has to deal! Dead or alive--even if Satan himself, to whom she has sold her soul, tried to protect her from me--she shall not drag the name she bears through the mire; she shall--"
He could say no more--it seemed as if some convulsion in the chest choked his utterance, and, with a terrible groan, he sank back into his chair.
The children started up; Mademoiselle Suzon hastily dipped her handkerchief into a glass of water to sprinkle the nobleman's brow; the old baroness rose as fast as her feeble limbs would permit, and in mortal terror approached her husband to feel his hands and head. The servants hurried out to execute his orders.
Just at this moment a voice was heard which never before had spoken in loud tones in that hall.
Uncle Joachim had risen, but remained standing at his place. His face wore a sorrowful, yet bold and threatening expression.
"Brother Achatz," he said, "I must beg you to moderate your words and undertake nothing that will make the matter worse, and which you would perhaps afterward repent. Do not forget that Luise is of age and mistress of her own actions. I regret what she has done as much as you do. But what has happened can not be altered."
The baron started up as if he had been stung by a serpent, angrily shaking off all the hands outstretched to help him. Wrath at the interference of his brother, who had hitherto had only a seat and no voice at this table, seemed to have suddenly restored all his haughty strength.
"You have the effrontery to still plead for her?" he shouted with flashing eyes. "You even knew her intention, and not only concealed it but helped her forget all modesty and honor and go out into the wide world like a wanton?"
"I forbid any imputations upon my honor, Achatz!" replied the other, meeting his brother's wrathful glance with cold contempt. "I have not seen Luise since yesterday noon. Just before dinner to-day I received a farewell letter from her, in which she informs me that she can no longer endure to live in this house, and will seek her happiness at her own peril. The other reasons she adds in justification of her step concern no one save myself."
"Then she did not tell you that she has determined to follow a certain Herr Spielberg, a strolling actor, and, if he will graciously consent, to become his wife? The wife of an adventurer who pursues a godless calling, and whom I ought to have had hunted out of the court-yard by the dogs, instead of giving him any hearing at all!"
"She told me that also, Brother Achatz, and it sincerely grieves me; for, though I believe this gentleman to be a reputable artist, I doubt whether she will ever become at home and happy in this sphere. But from what we know of her she will carry out her purpose, and if you should now institute a pursuit it will only cause a tremendous scandal and gain nothing; the family honor will be far more sullied than if we keep quiet and let the grass grow over the affair. That matters have gone so far, Brother Achatz, some one else will have to answer for at the Day of Judgment."
The two men measured each other with a look of most unfraternal hatred. The old baroness gazed up at her husband with a pleading quiver of her withered lips, whose words were not audible to me. But he hastily shook himself free, as she laid a hand on his arm, and advanced a step toward his brother.
"Do you mean to say," he asked, grinding his teeth, "that I am to blame because this mangy sheep has strayed from our fold and is devoured by the wolf? True, she has always rebelled against the strict rule of obedience, against both human and divine law. But, if any one in this house has helped to strengthen her in her obstinacy and arrogance, it is you, you, and no one else. Can you deny it?"
"I am not disposed to allow myself to be examined like a criminal," replied Joachim with sarcastic coolness. "If I were malicious, I would let you say the most senseless things in your helpless rage. But, as we bear the same name and I pity your blindness, Brother Achatz, and moreover we are not alone, so that I might tell you my whole opinion to your face, I will simply warn you. If you use violence and drag the matter before the courts, you may hear things far more damaging to the honor of our family than the news that the Canoness Luise has followed a strolling actor and made an unequal marriage by wedding him. I have nothing more to say. May the meal do you all good!"
He bowed to his sister-in-law, walked quietly to the antlers on which he had hung his hat, and left the room.
His last words had a magical effect upon the baron, who bowed his head on his breast and stood for a time as if lost in thought. Not until the servant entered and announced that the carriage was ready and the horse saddled did he rouse himself, and, with an imperious gesture that indicated they were no longer wanted, he walked without a glance at any one, with slow, heavy steps, to his room.
The roast meat, which meantime had grown cold, was left untouched on the table. The mistress of the house, after remaining for a time lost in sorrowful thought, followed her husband; the children, completely puzzled, had withdrawn into a window-niche. When the Frenchwoman, with a disagreeable smile intended to be amiable, addressed a remark to me containing the wordshorreuranddéplorable, I made a very uncourteous gesture, as though brushing off a buzzing hornet, and hurried into the park after Uncle Joachim.
I found him where I sought him, but his surroundings looked very different from usual on the cozy Sunday afternoons.
Nothing was in order in the room, which had never seemed to me so shabby and unhomelike; the fly-specks had not been washed from the glass over the engravings, and the coffee-service was not on the table. Diana was lying in the middle of the unmade bed, and only lifted her head from her fore-paws to yawn at me. Her master, who usually dressed himself very carefully for this coffee-hour, was pacing up and down with folded arms, in his shirtsleeves, and slippers down at the heel, smoking his short pipe as fiercely as if he meant, in defiance of the sunshine streaming through the little window, to intrench himself behind an impenetrable cloud.
"Pardon me if I disturb you," I said, as he stopped and glared angrily at me as though I were a total stranger; "but I can not bear to stay alone with my own thoughts among people who either make scornful comments on the misfortune in private or openly exult over it. And altogether--I can't yet believe it. Tell me honestly, Herr Baron; doyoubelieve it? Doyouunderstand it?"
"Nonsense!" he growled. "Believe what? 'Long hair and short wits'--that's all we need know to marvel at nothing one ofthatsex does, even if she were the best of them all. Have you come, too, to fill my ears with lamentations? I have enough to do to swallow my own bile."
He began to puff out the smoke again, and resumed his walk as if he had said enough to induce me to beat a discreet retreat.
But I did not stir.
"Oh, Herr Baron, don't send me away without any comfort, any explanation. You know more about the matter than any other person; you said you had known this--this Herr Spielberg. Do you really believe that she has followed him, that--that she has not merely suggested the horrible idea of becoming his wife as a threat, an alarm-shot, but will seriously persist in it?"
Again he stopped, then with grim earnestness said: "Do you not yet know her well enough to be aware that she never jests about serious matters, and that, when she has once made up her mind, a legion of angels or fiends could not divert her from her purpose. I've seen it coming a long time, not exactly this, for no sensible person could imagine such a folly, but some dangerous escapade, merely to escape from this oppressive, poisonous atmosphere into the free air, and, had it not been for her aunt, the martyr, who must now endure to the end, she would have gone away as soon as she became of age, at least to her chapter, where, it is true, she would have found all sorts of hypocrisy that did not suit her, but at any rate she could have planned her life according to her own inclination. She only remained for the sake of her aunt, and to be able to occasionally lay a bunch of flowers beside the old baroness's plate. Now that scoundrel Kasimir has severed with his riding-whip the tie that bound her here, as if it were a cobweb, she has dropped everything as if she were called upon to answer for the honor of the whole family, and questioned only the bewildered heart and obstinate conscience which persuaded her that this folly was a noble sacrifice. I could tear my hair out by the roots because I was not present, and heard nothing about the matter until early this morning, when Liborius told me that so and so had occurred yesterday, and that he saw the young lady set off gayly on her walk at dawn this morning but thought nothing of it. She appeared just the same as she usually did when walking, and he would never have dreamed of her committing so extraordinary an act. ButIshould have noticed something and opposed it with might and main.Nom d'un nom!"--this was the French oath he used when excessively angry--"I believe, if I could not have conquered her obstinacy, I would have gone with her and twisted the neck of the man into whose arms she wanted to throw herself, ere I would have allowed him to rob me of my darling and drag her into misery."
He again smoked furiously. Diana sprang howling from the bed and ran up to him, but was banished into a corner by a kick.
"But how can you explain her taking refuge with this stranger, confiding to him her person, her honor, her whole life, merely because he was treated here in her presence as a vagabond? So proud as she always was, so pure, and so well aware of what she ought and must do in order not to blush for herself?"
Uncle Joachim gave me a side-glance from his half-shut eyes. "Herr Weissbrod," he said, "you are an honest fellow, and you revered my niece as if she were a saint. I can tell you how all this agrees. As a future pastor, you must know what is to be expected of women, the best of whom are often the most perplexing. You see, three years ago, this Spiegelberg, or Spielberg, as he now calls himself, had the insolence to write her a letter, which she did not answer. But a girl like her does not willingly remain in debt for anything. What she has done now is the reply to that old letter."
I stared at him with dilated eyes.
"Yes," he continued, "whatisto be,willbe. I thought then the matter was ended once for all, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating! That devil of a fellow, with his dove-like eyes, was more cunning than I. At that time he was living in Berlin, at the same hotel where I had gone with Luise, a respectable second-rate house in Mohrenstrasse, for our means did not allow us to go to the Hôtel du Nord or Meinhardt's. She noticed the black-haired gentleman who sat opposite to us at the table, and talked so well, and he did not seem a bad fellow to me either. I inquired who he was. An actor, I was told, who played at the Royal Theatre. 'We must go there once, uncle,' she said, 'as a matter of courtesy,' and I was weak enough not to say no. What could I ever refuse her? Especially with her love for the stage. So we saw him act, and he did not play his part badly; and, as the women were crazy over him, he had a great success. I have forgotten the play, I never had much fancy for the theatre; everything always seemed to me bombastic and exaggerated, and the most touching passages moved me less than when my Diana gets a thorn into her paw and whines. But he seemed to please Luise greatly. So I was obliged to go with her three or four times, when Herr Constantin Spielberg's name was on the bills. Well, no great misfortune could have come from that. The worst of it was that Luise caught fire from the flashing sparks he scattered around him when he stood on the stage in his romantic costumes and assumed the most melting tones of love. 'Luise,' I said, jestingly, 'you must not forget that Herr Spielberg did not compose the works of Schiller or Goethe, but simply acts them. Still, he did not need to declame; when he was merely sitting at the hotel table, talking about the weather, she listened as though he was expounding the gospel. And there was something in his voice that might well turn a young girl's head--she was twenty-one, but she had never been in love--and even when he was not behind the footlights he could look as honest and innocent as a pastor's son or you yourself, Sir Tutor.
"Besides, everybody in the hotel liked him, and no one had anything to say against him. It was reported that he supported an old blind mother, etc. But, knowing Luise as I did, the longer this state of things lasted the less I was pleased, and I gently began to speak of departure, of course without making any allusion to my own private reason. Well, to cut the story short, one morning my niece came to me with a letter in her hand: 'Just think, uncle, what I have received'--and gave it to me to read. We had no secrets from each other. It was a declaration of love from our opposite neighbor in due form--that is, in the Schiller and Goethe style, only not in verse, closing with a simple honorable offer of marriage.Nom d'un nom!This was too much for me. I allowed her the choice whether I should give the bold fellow a verbal answer, such as his insolence deserved, or we should set offstante pede, without bidding him farewell.
"After some consideration she decided in favor of the latter. But when we were on our way she said, 'Uncle, I was too hasty. He will always think me an arrogant fool. I ought to have answered him myself.' 'And what would you have said?' 'That I felt honored by his proposal, but was under the guardianship of my uncle, who would never consent to this alliance.' 'The deuce!' I cried; 'that would have been almost the same thing as a declaration of love.' 'What then?' she asked, quietly. 'Is there anything degrading in loving a noble man, merely because he belongs to a class against which people in our circle are unjustly prejudiced?' 'Well, this beats the Old Nick!' I thought, but did not say one word, for I knew that fire is only fanned by blowing upon it, and thought, 'It will die away into ashes when it has no food.' Now you see what a confoundedly clever prophet I was."
During Uncle Joachim's story, I had sat in the chair Fräulein Luise usually occupied, and patiently endured everything like a person who is crossing the fields in a pouring rain without an umbrella, and feels that he is drenched to the skin and can be no worse off. Every spark of hope had vanished; I knew that she would never turn back from the path she had entered; and, even if it were possible, she would be too proud to desire to do so. But man is so constituted that, though I foresaw all the misery of the future, for I did not trust the handsome face of the man to whom she had fled, and I knew by this step she had forfeited her right to be received into her chapter in case of need, in short, though I saw nothing in prospect for her save trouble and grief--the bitterest thing of all to me was to find my own dreams and wishes, which hitherto I had never acknowledged to myself, shattered at one blow. The most frantic jealousy of the happy man, who had won the bride forever unattainable to me, burned in my miserable soul, now suddenly bankrupt; and, when it flashed upon my mind that I had even been her accomplice by deferring the discovery of her flight as long as possible through my organ-music, I felt so utterly wretched that I suddenly burst into Boyish sobbing, in which offended vanity, wounded love, and grief for the uncertain fate of the woman so dear to me, bore an equal share.
Just at that moment I felt Uncle Joachim's hand press heavily on my shoulder.
"Hold up your head and don't flinch, my friend," he said, in a voice that was by no means firm. "We can't change the matter now, so we must let it go. But we must always repeat to ourselves one thing: whatever folly a woman like her may commit, she will not allow herself to succumb to it. She may lose the right scent once, like Diana, but she'll find it again--I feel no anxiety on that score. The only people who will surfer and can get no amends are ourselves--or rather, I mean, my own insignificant self. You are a young man, still have life before you, and--which I can't say of myself--are a devout Christian. But an old fellow like me, who is robbed of his only plaything--deuce take it! It will be a dog's life!"
He had put on his coat and now whistled to Diana. "Excuse me, Herr Candidate, I have some business to attend to. Stay quietly here till your eyes are dry. I'm disgusted with the old barrack, since we can expect no more pound-cake here."
He went out, carrying his gun upside down and followed by Diana, whose ears drooped mournfully, as if she shared her master's mood.