The lights round Olga's coffin had burnt down.
The guests, who for so long had surrounded the bier in solemn silence, began to move to and fro, and to look round for refreshments.
Mrs. Hellinger, who was receiving condolences, and at the same time, with a great profusion of tears and pocket handkerchiefs, extolling the virtues of the deceased, suddenly, in the midst of her grief, proved herself an attentive and liberal hostess. The guests gave a sigh of relief when the doors of the dining-room were thrown open, and from the resplendent table a sweet odour of roast meats,compôtesand herring salad greeted them.
Mr. Hellinger, senior, praised the Lord, and with a few privileged friends, drank the specially fine claret which he set before them in honour of the occasion. They were not yet agreed whether an innocent game of cards would be disparaging to the general mourning, and decided to send delegates to the hostess to obtain her permission.
There was plenty of life and bustle in the Hellingers' house--one might have imagined one were at a wedding.
The physician, who dropped in late upon this merry company, looked about anxiously for Robert. He was nowhere to be seen.
Thereupon he took one of the guests aside and inquired after him. Yes, he had been there, had looked about him with startled eyes, and had silently moved aside when any one wanted to shake hands with him. But after a very few minutes his disappearance had been noticed.
The physician went into the entrance-hall, and hunted among the guests' wraps for Robert's cloak. It was lying there yet.
With the freedom of an old friend of the family, he then commenced his search through the back rooms of the house, which were quiet and deserted; for the servants were busy waiting at table.
In a narrow, dark chamber, where disused furniture was piled up, he found him sitting on an overturned wooden case, brooding with his head in his hands.
"Robert, my boy, what are you doing here?" he cried out to him.
He raised his head slowly and said, "I suppose there are merry goings-on in the other part of the house?"
The physician laid his hands on his shoulders:
"I am anxious about you, my boy. Since three days you grudge a word to any of us; you are on the road to madness, if you go on like this."
"What do you want?" answered Robert, with a sigh that broke from him like a cry of anguish. "I am calm, quite calm." Then he once more rested his bushy head upon his two hands, and fell again to brooding.
The old man sat down at his side and began to remonstrate with him. He forgot no single thing that one is won't to say in such cases, and added many a comforting, strengthening word of his own making. Robert sat there motionless, he hardly gave any sign of interest. But when the old man came to no stop, he interrupted him, and said:
"Leave that, uncle, that is sweet stuff for little children. To the one question on which for me depends life and death, you, too, can give me no answer."
"What question?"
"Uncle, see, I am calm now--wonderfully calm--no fever, no frenzy is upon me as I speak, and so you will believe me when I tell you that I do not know--how I shall live through this night!"
"For God's sake, what are you about to do?"
Robert shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not know," he said, "whatever suggests itself at the moment will do for me. I am only sorry for the poor little mite that will have to go on living without a father--perhaps I shall take it with me on my journey--I do not know. I only know the one thing, that I cannot go on like this any longer!"
The old man, trembling with fear in every limb, heaped reproaches upon him. That would be cowardly, that would be unmanly, and only worthy of a miserable weakling.
Robert listened to him calmly, then he said:
"You would be right, uncle, if it were her death which made me despair of myself and of my happiness! But, good heavens!"--he laughed harshly and bitterly--"I have long since accustomed myself to lay no claim to happiness. As for me, I would quietly bear my affliction,--(I have experience in that, as you know, for I have already lowered one loved being into the grave),--and go on raking and scraping money together, as I have been doing for so long, and doing in the midst of the deepest sorrow; for the interests, you know, they take little notice of the state of one's feelings, and even if one's hand grows numb with pain and despair--they have to be paid! But that is not what makes my brain so disorganised--for I am disorganised, you may believe me; before my eyes sparks are constantly dancing, my body is convulsed, and my blood rushes like fire through my veins. And yet I am quite calm with it all, and see everything all around as clearly as if I could look right through it. Only the one thing I cannot comprehend--it haunts me like a terrible phantom by day and by night, and when I seek to grasp it, it escapes me--this one thing:Whereforedid she die?"
The old man started. He thought of the letter and the promise that the dead girl had therein required of him.
Robert continued: "There is a voice which constantly screams into my ears, 'It isyourfault!'Howso I do not know; for however much I probe the depths of my soul, I find no wrong there that I did her; and yet the voice will not be silenced. I tell myself,--'This is a fixed idea.' I tell myself, 'You are tormenting yourself; you are a fool and wicked--wicked towards yourself and your child;' but it is no good, uncle!--it will not be silenced. And, after all, there may be something in it, uncle? Would Olga not be alive yet, if it were not for me? If, on the preceding evening, things had not happened----"
He stopped, shuddering, and covered his face with his hands. Tearless sobs shook his mighty frame. Then he said: "Uncle, I cannot--I dare not think of it; it drives me out of my senses. I feel--as if I must break and dash to pieces everything with these fists."
"And yet you must pull yourself together, my boy," said the old man, "and tell me everything successively; for that is the only way to throw light upon the mystery."
There ensued a silence in the dark room. The old man trembled in every limb. He saw the outlines of the massive figure that stood out darkly against the light window of the chamber; he saw the heaving of the chest which rose and sank and panted and groaned like the crater of a volcano; he felt on his skin the hot waves of breath from Robert's mouth.
"Pull yourself together, my boy," he repeated softly.
Robert waged a conflict within himself Then he stretched himself as if with newly awakening energy and said:
"All right, uncle; you shall know all....
"Since the day on which she so proudly and coldly refused my offer I had not met her again. It is true she came as before to the manor to look after the child and the household. I know now that it was for Martha's and not for my sake; but there was a silent understanding between us, so that we avoided meeting each other. She chose the hours when she knew I was busy out in the sheds and stables, and I did not return to the house until I had seen her disappear through the gate.
"On Tuesday, as it happened, I was obliged to go out to the manor farm; but half a mile outside the town, on that bad road, my axle broke. As I had taken no driver with me, and far and wide there was no one in sight, I myself mounted the harnessed horse and rode back to fetch help. At the manor the overseer told me that the young lady had gone home some time before. It was, in fact, already beginning to grow very dark. 'Well, then there's no danger,' I think to myself, and walk into the house.
"When I open the door of the sitting-room, I see in the dusk a dark shadow that flits hurriedly out of the room.
"'Who may that be?' I think, and follow in pursuit.
"In the child's room I find--her--just as she is trying hard to unbolt the door leading to the corridor, which, as you know, is always kept locked on account of the draught.
"Then, uncle, it comes over me as if I must rush towards her; but just in time I recollect who she is--and who I am.
"I see how her hands are trembling. 'Do not be angry with me, Olga,' I said, stammering; 'I did not wish to do you any harm. I am only here by chance. I will henceforth arrange so that you may never meet me.'
"Then she lets her hands drop, and gives me a look that makes me feel hot and cold all over. 'Martha never looked at me like that,' I think to myself. I want to speak, but the words will not come, for I am so confused and embarrassed. She stands pressing her tall figure close up to the door, as if to take refuge there from me. I hear her heavy, feverish breathing. 'Olga,' I say, 'it was presumption on my part that I ever dared to think of gaining your hand; I know very well that I am not worthy of you. I beg of you, forget all about it; I will never remind you of it.'
"And at this moment, uncle--how shall I describe it to you?--leave me for a second the memory--yet what boots it?--I will be strong, uncle--I will pull myself together--at this moment she rushes towards me, clasps me round, covers my face with kisses, and then suddenly she sinks down with a sigh and lies there at my feet as if felled by a stroke. I gaze down upon her like one in a dream.
"'It is not true,' I cry to myself; 'it is madness. You were ready to look up to her as to a goddess, and now she throws herself away on one who is not worthy of her.'
"I hardly dared to touch her; but I had to raise her up; and when I held her in my arms she began to sob bitterly, as if she would cry her very soul out. 'Olga, why are you crying?' say I. 'All is well now.' But even I, giant of a fellow as I am, start crying like a little child.
"'Forgive, me, Robert!' I hear her voice at my ear; 'I have grieved you sorely, but I will never--never do so again.'
"'And will you always love me now?' I ask; for even now I cannot realise it yet.
"'Oh, you--you,' she says, 'I love you more than anything else in the world,' and hides her face upon my neck.
"But now, uncle, hear what followed! When I see her dark head of curls lying so submissively upon my shoulder the question arises within me: 'Is this the same Olga who, a few days ago, turned from you so calmly and proudly when you modestly and humbly asked her consent?'
"So I said to her: 'Olga,' said I, 'how could you torture me so? Have I become a different man in this short space of time?' Then I see her grow as white as the chalk on the walls, and hear her voice in my ear: 'Do not question me; for God's sake do not question me!'
"A feeling of terror awakens within me lest I may perhaps lose her to-morrow--as I have won her to-day.
"'Olga,' say I, 'if you are so changeable in your decisions, who will give me surety----?'
"I stop short, for in her face lies something which commands silence. She tears herself away from me and flings herself into a chair.
"'As you wish to know,' she says, and the while with darkening brows stares upon the ground--'I was afraid--I doubted your love, and thought you might let me feel that I came to you without a penny----'
"And with that the lie makes her face all aflame.
"'Olga,' I cry out, 'could you think that of me? Do you remember 'What I reminded her of was one night on her father's estate when I came wooing Martha and thought to return sadly with a refusal; for Martha was ready to sacrifice herself and her happiness, so that I might marry another. Then she--Olga--had come to me in the middle of the night, and had opened my eyes for me, blind fool that I was, and spoken words to me, words full of contempt for mammon, which sounded like Love's song of triumph in my ears.Thosewords I spoke to her now; for each one was indelibly stamped on my memory.
"'At that time, then--you had such brave and generous thoughts--when you spoke on Martha's behalf,' I cried out to her, 'and now--when they apply to yourself----' I look into her face, which is trying to smile and ever smiling; but this smile grew rigid, and in the midst of it she closed her eyes and fell down fainting, like a log of wood.
"It was trouble enough to bring her back to life; for I did not care to call in any help. Quite a quarter of an hour she lay there--not much otherwise than she is lying now--then she opened her eyes, and for a long time gazed silently into my face--so sorrowfully, so wearily and hopelessly, that I quite trembled for her. And thereupon she folded her hands and spoke up to me softly and imploringly:
"'Give me time, Robert; I have overtaxed my strength. I must first grow accustomed to it----'
"I, however, was so filled with the exuberance of my new happiness that I believed I could by force compel her too to be happy. 'If we love each other, Olga,' I cried, 'and the deceased says "Yes" and "Amen" to our union, I should like to see who could object! Therefore be brave and cheerful, my child!' But she was anything but brave or cheerful. And not till now--when she is dead--have I realised how utterly miserable and broken down she was as she lay there on the cushions--she who as a rule was so proud and severe in her behaviour to herself and others. It was as if some intense sorrow had cut the innermost nerve of her life in twain. That is all clear to me now, but then I did not see it--I would not see it; and I went on remonstrating with her, comforting her as I thought. She listened to me, but said nothing; only now and then she nodded her head, and a smile of unutterable sadness and weariness played about her lips.
"I put it all down to the excitement of the moment and to the sadness of the last few years, which must rise up once more all the mightier within her, now that, for her too, a new happiness was dawning to supplant it.
"'And the first thing we do,' said I, 'Olga, shall be to visit the churchyard. When we have stood at Martha's grave, my mother's resistance and the ill-will of the whole world need no longer affect us.'
"Then she let her hands drop from her face, looked at me with great terror-stricken eyes, and asked in a perfectly toneless voice: 'You want to go to the churchyard with me?'
"'Yes, with you,' I answered; 'and now, at once, if you are willing.'
"'Then a shudder ran through her frame, and in a strangely hoarse tone she said: 'Have patience till to-morrow; to-morrow I will do what you wish.'
"'Yes, my dear, good child,' I then said; 'put all foolish fancies out of your head by tomorrow, and think to yourself thatsheis not angry with us. We shall certainly not forget her! And must not our mutual grief for her bind us all the more closely together for the whole of our lives? Her memory will always be with us; and do you not also believe that from her whole heart she would bless our union if she could look down upon us from heaven? Has she not left us her child as a legacy, that we might watch over it together, and not surrender it to any stranger?'
"Then she threw herself down in front of the little cot, in which the little creature lay blissfully dozing, and pressed her face against its little head.
"Thus she lay for a long time, and I let her lie.
"When she rose up, the rigid calm once more rested upon her face that we were wont to see there. She gave me her hand, and said: 'Go, my friend; leave me alone.' And I went, for I was ready in all things to do her bidding; I did not even embrace her.
"A quarter of an hour later I saw her cross the courtyard. I waited at the window; but she did not look back any more.
"Next morning--well, you know, uncle, how I found her then. And at that moment I was as if struck by lightning. Uncle, I may grow old and grey--that moment will destroy every pleasure, and every laugh will die away from my lips as its consequence. But at least I might live. I might drag on this miserable existence, so that my child should not be deprived of its modest share of happiness. Only that one thing I must know--I must be freed from that one horrible idea, else I cannot go on--I cannot, however hard I try. Else I shall rot away alive.... Some one must arise, even if it be from the other side of the grave, and must tell me wherefore she died!"
Once more there was silence in the dark room. Nothing was audible but the heavy breathing of the two men and the rustling of a rat, which had accompanied Robert's story with the monotonous, hollow music of its gnawing.
The old man struggled hard within himself. Should he treacherously disclose the secret of her life as he had already betrayed the secret of her death? But was there not, in this case, a good deed to be done? Did it not mean freeing him whom she had loved above all things, from the torments to which--either a mistaken idea or a secret consciousness of guilt--condemned him? It seemed like a miracle, like special heavenly grace, that the mouth which seemed closed for ever, should once more be permitted to open, to bring peace to the loved one.
The old man gave a deep sigh. He had taken his resolution. "And supposing she should have taken thought, Robert," he said, "to give an account to you from beyond the grave?"
Robert uttered a cry, and clutched his wrists.
"What do you mean by that, uncle?"
"If you had not burrowed in your grief like a mole, and taken flight before every human face, you would have known long ago what is in every one's mouth, namely, that on the morning of her death I received a letter from her----"
"You--uncle--from her----?"
"Goodness, my boy, you are breaking the bones in my body. Do first listen to me patiently"--and he told him the contents of the letter.
Robert had started to his feet and was nervously running his fingers through his hair. His eyes, which were staring down upon the old man, gleamed through the darkness.
"And the book--give it to me--where is it?"
The old man informed him how great was the danger in which Olga's secret was hovering, and what anxiety he had himself passed through on its account.
"Wait, I will fetch it," cried Robert, and hurried towards the door.
The old man held him back. "Your mother has the key--take care that her suspicion is not aroused."
"The door is half broken, I will smash it entirely."
"They will hear you downstairs."
"They are enjoying themselves much too well!" answered Robert, and laughed grimly. "Come, we will go together."
And through a back door, along the dark corridor, up the creaking stairs, the two men crept like two thieves who have come to take advantage of some festive occasion.
Opening the door proved even easier than they had hoped. The loosened hinge of the lock moved out of its joints almost without pressure.
At the door both stopped, overcome with emotion, as the dark room, faintly illumined by the starry clearness of the night, lay before their eyes. All traces of death had been removed: the empty bedstead--whose supports stood out darkly against the grey wall--alone indicated that its occupant had sought another resting-place. The odour of her dresses, the faint scent of her soap, still filled the room with their fragrance. Even the towels on which she had dried herself were still hanging, in fantastic whiteness, near the black Dutch stove.
Robert, unable to keep himself upright, dropped down upon a chair, and in long, eager breaths, which resembled a sobbing, he drank in the fragrance of the room. It was as if he were trying to absorb into his being the very last trace of her life.
A short, dazzling gleam of light darted through the room, danced along the walls, strayed with a yellow flicker across the writing-desk, and made the white-draped dressing-table stand out from the darkness like some crouching phantom.
The old man had struck a match and was groping by its aid for the little green-shaded lamp which had lighted Olga's sleepless nights. It stood on the pedestal, in the same place where Olga had extinguished it when about to plunge into eternal night. Its glass bowl was yet nearly full of petroleum. She had been in a hurry to get to rest.
Carefully he lifted down the globe and lighted the wick. With a peaceful twilight glow the veiled flame cast its light across the silent chamber. Then he stepped up to the bookshelf, where the gilded volumes were ranged in rows and gleamed in the light. His hand for a little while groped along the wall and then pulled out to the light some blue, rolled-up object.
"We have it, Robert," he cried, triumphantly; "come away!"
The latter shook his head in silence. The old man urged him again; then he said: "We will read here, uncle--here--where she wrote it."
"What if any one should surprise us?" cried the old man, fearfully.
Robert shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the floor.
The old man was satisfied; they softly drew up their chairs within light of the lamp. After this nothing was audible but the rushing of the winter wind as it swept through the leafless lime-tops, and the monotonously hoarse voice of the reader, accompanied from time to time by the chorus of the funeral party--now swelling up loudly, now dying away to a whisper.
"Forgive me, sister, for invoking from the grave your transfigured shade. In remembrance of the deep love you bore me, of the warmth with which my heart beat for you, suffer it, if I attempt to expiate the guilt that weighs so heavily upon me, and whose yoke I must drag along with me to the end of my days! Let me once more live through all the love and kindness you bestowed upon me, and in the memory thereof forget the horrors of loneliness that, like the breath of your tomb, chill my very bones.
"What a fool, what a wicked creature I was, to feel lonely while you yet dwelt on earth! Your love was the very air that I breathed! Your smile was the sunshine that animated me, your comforting, exhorting words were like the voice of God within us, to which we hearken reverently without understanding. And how did I thank you, sister? I grew a stranger to you--in sorrow and misery I have to think of you, and the consciousness of guilt appals me when the soughing wind whispers your name in my ear. Between us there stands a wild phantom with flaming eyes--terrible and distorted, its hair encircled by snakes--stretching out its claw-like hands towards me, and separating me from you for ever. If it were no phantom, but flesh and blood, if what I committed were a sin, a crime, I would wrestle with it, I would overcome it with the last strength of my failing energy, or allow myself to be strangled in its bloody grip. But it is intangible, it melts away into empty air--a spectre that mocks me, a mist that clouds my reason, and by its poison is slowly destroying me. A wish!
"A wish--it is nothing more!
"I wonder if you recognised it? I wonder if it was reflected in your dying gaze? I wonder if at your bedside, when you, good, noble soul, gave up the last breath of a life that was all love, you saw this spectre--a spectre born of envy and ingratitude, which I--miserable creature--dragged into your pure habitation?
"If I had still my lisping childish beliefs, I would pour out the wretchedness of my soul before God, the Great and Merciful; but there is no one on earth or in heaven to take pity on me, none but your glorified image.
"Woe is me!--that, too, turns away from me. Weeping, it veils itself, when yonder demon approaches my soul! And yet, was it not human to feel as I did? Why are we not heavenly bodies, void of desire, pure and ethereal? Why are we born of dust, why do we cleave to dust, eat dust and return to dust when we have thrown off this great fraud of life? The great fraud of my life I will write down here--the fraud towards myself--towards you, and towards a third as well, who was pure and good--and who yet was the cause of it all.
* * * * *
"I was a quiet, lonely child.
"He who is always surrounded by love, and who has never known anything but love, often learns most easily to suffice to himself. And yet in my heart, too, there lay an inexhaustible store of love. I squandered it on dumb creatures, petted the dogs, kissed the cats, and hugged the geese. One of my passions was to play in the stable: there I lolled about on the soft, warm straw, under the very hoofs of my special pets, that never did me any harm; or I climbed into the manger, where I could sit for hours and gaze lovingly into my friends' great brown eyes. But my favourite place was in the dog-kennel. There they often found me asleep at midday, and it was no easy matter to get me out again: for Nero, who was as a rule so quiet and good, showed his teeth to any one, even to his master, who came within reach of his chain on such occasions. My tender affection extended also to the vegetable kingdom. The rose-trees appeared to me like enchanted princesses, whose fate I bitterly bewailed; the sunflowers were Catholic priests in full canonicals, and the dahlias Polish maidservants with red head-dresses. Thus I succeeded in assembling around me in the garden the whole human world, and found the counterfeit presentment preferable to the original, for it submitted in silence when I ordained its fate.
* * * * *
"The estate that my father had rented was the old feudal possession of a Polish magnate, which lay close to the Prussian frontier, on a hill whose one side sloped down gradually in a weed-grown park towards barren fields, while the other dropped down precipitately towards a rivulet, on whose opposite bank lay a dirty little Polish frontier village.
"When one stood on the brink of the precipice one looked down upon the tumble-down shingle roofs, through the crevices of which smoke issued forth, and could see right into the midst of the wretched traffic of the miry street, where half-naked children wallowed in the gutter, women crouched idly on the doorsteps, and the men in ragged fustian coats trooped, with their spades on their shoulders, towards the alehouse.
"Verily there was little that was attractive about this small town, and the rabble of frontier Cossacks, that trotted to and fro sleepily on their cat-like nags, did not enhance its charms. But yet, to my childish eyes, it was enveloped in inexpressible glamour, the sensation of which creeps over me even to-day, when I picture to myself how, bewitched by all these wonderful visions, I sat for hours motionless on the grass, and stared down upon the throng in which the figures were no larger than the wooden dolls in my box of toys.
"I had been forbidden to go down, nor had I any desire to do so, since I had once been almost crushed to death between two wheels in the crowd of the weekly market to which my father had taken me.
"It was only delightful when from up there, raised high above the dirt and screaming, one could gaze down upon this world of ants, which seemed so tiny that, like the Creator Himself, one could command it with a look, but which grew larger and larger, and assumed weird, giant proportions the more one attempted to penetrate into it.
* * * * *
"It is remarkable that just of those persons who were most closely connected with me throughout my life, I have preserved but a vague recollection as they were at that time. Possibly because later impressions effaced these earliest ones.
"My father was a small, sturdy man, of thick-set stature, with close-cut black beard and hair, clad in high, brightly blacked boots, and a greyish-green shaggy jacket, who laughed at me when he saw me, gave me a friendly slap on the back, or pinched my arm, and then was gone again. He was always busy, poor papa; as long as he lived I never saw him give himself a moment's rest.
"Mama was then already very stout, was constantly eating sweet-stuff, and loved her afternoon nap; but she, too, was at work from morning till night, though she only reluctantly betook herself from place to place, and did not like one to hang on to her, or to bother her with questions.
"At that time another member of the family was Cousin Robert, who had been sent over by our Prussian relations to learn farming from papa; a big fellow, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, with fair tufts of beard, which I was wont to pull when he took me on his knee to instil the A B C into me by means of bent liquorice sticks. I think we were always good friends, though he probably was no more to me than the other articled pupils; for his picture, as he was then, has become hazy, exactly like all the others.
"Only one scene do I remember distinctly, when on a summer evening he had caught hold of Martha by her fair plaits and was racing after her, laughing and screaming, through the yard, and the house, and the garden.
"'What are you up to with Martha, you rascal?' cried papa to him.
"'She has been vexing me,' he answered, without letting go of her, while she kept on screaming.
"'When I was your age I knew better how to revenge myself on a girl,' laughingly said papa, who always liked to have his little joke.
"'Well, how?' he asked.
"'Oh, if you don't know that yourself!' replied papa.
"'One just gives her a kiss. Master Robert,' said an old gardener, who happened to be passing with a watering-can.
"Then I can see him yet, how he suddenly let the plaits drop from his hands, stood there suffused with blushes and did not know where to look. Papa shook with laughter and Martha ran off as fast as she could. When I tried her door, she had locked herself in. Not till supper-time did she put in an appearance again. Her hair hung in disorder over her forehead, and beneath it she looked out dreamily and scared.
"When, to-day, I compare the pale, thin, little suffering face that fills my whole soul, with yonder rosy, chubby, roguish countenance as it gleams upon me sometimes from my earliest childhood, I can hardly realise that both can have belonged to one and the same being.
"How her long fair plaits fluttered in the wind! With what precocious, housewifely care her eyes scanned the long table where we all sat together, with apprentices and inspectors, waiting to be filled--a whole collection of hungry mouths. And how lustily each one helped himself, when, with her merry smile, she offered the dishes.
"Now only do I begin to understand what a pilgrimage of suffering she had to make, now that I am myself preparing for the long, sad journey, at the end of which a lonely grave awaits me, more lonesome even than hers.
"In those days I was a child and looked up unsuspectingly to her, who became my teacher when she herself had hardly put off childish ways.
"It was at that time that our affairs began to take a downward course. Papa had to struggle against debts; failure of crops, and floods--for three years in succession--destroyed any hope of improvement, and monetary cares gathered thicker and thicker around our home.
"In the household everything not absolutely necessary was dispensed with, our intercourse with the neighbouring estate owners was restricted, and even the old governess who had educated Martha and was now to have fulfilled her mission upon me, had to leave the estate.
"Martha, who was seven years older than I and just preparing to grow into her first long dress, stepped into her place. In this way, purely sisterly relations could not grow into existence between us. She was the protectress and I was the ward, until after we exchanged ourrôles.
"I may have been about fourteen years old, when it struck me for the first time that Martha had strangely altered in manner and appearance. I ought, indeed, to have noticed it before, for I was accustomed to look about me with open eyes, but in the slow monotony of everyday life one easily overlooks the destruction that sorrow and time are working around us.
"Now I took heed, and saw her face grow thinner and thinner, saw that the colour faded more and more from her cheeks, and that her eyes sank deeper and deeper into dark hollows. Nor did she any longer sing, and her laugh had a peculiar tired, hoarse sound that hurt my ears so, that I was sometimes on the point of calling out to her 'Do not laugh!'
"At the same time she began to sicken; she complained of headache and spasms, and only with difficulty dragged herself about the house. Then, of course, papa and mama were bound to notice her condition too; they packed her up in warm wraps, and, in spite of her remonstrance, drove with her to Prussia to consult a doctor. He shrugged his shoulders, prescribed steel pills and advised a change of air.
"Something else, too, he must have advised, which greatly disturbed my parents, at least papa; for mama, since a long time already, was not to be roused from her phlegmatic composure. When she dreamily gazed out into the distance, he often looked at her askance, shook his head, sighed, and slammed the door after him.
"But however much she might be suffering, she would not give up her work. As long as I can remember, I have never seen her idle even for a moment. As a child already she stood with her lesson-book at the cooking-stove, or had an eye on the wash-kitchen, while she wrote her German composition. Since she was grown up, she combined the duties of my instruction with all the cares which a large household imposes upon its manager. Mama had quite retired in virtue of her age, and allowed her to do and dispose as she pleased, if only thecompôtesand other dainties won her approval.
"I, who was spoilt beyond measure by everyone in the house, was ashamed of my inactivity, and endeavoured to take a part of the responsibility off Martha's shoulders; but with gentle remonstrance she dissuaded me.
"'Leave that, child,' she said, stroking my cheeks; 'you happen to be the princess of the house, you had better remain so.'
"That hurt me. I could bear anything rather than to be repulsed, when I came with my heart full to overflowing of generous resolves.
"One evening I saw her crying. I slunk out into the garden and fought a hard battle. I almost choked with my longing to help, but I could not so far conquer myself as to go up to her and put my arms consolingly about her neck. When I lay in bed, my desire to comfort her came upon me with renewed force; I got up, and in my nightdress, just as I was, I slipped out into the dark corridor.
"For a long time I stood outside her door, trembling with cold and with fear, and with my hand on the door-knob. At last I took heart and crept in softly.
"She knelt before her bed with her head pressed into the pillows. She seemed to be praying.
"I stopped at the door, for I did not venture to disturb her.
"At last she turned round, and at sight of me started up abruptly.
"'What do you want?' she stammered.
"I clung to her, and sobbed fit to soften the heart of a stone.
"'Child--for Heaven's sake--what is the matter with you?' she cried.
"I was incapable of uttering a word. She, in her motherly way, took a large woollen shawl, wrapped me in it, and drew me down upon her knee, though I was then already bigger than she.
"'Now confess, my darling, what ails you?' she asked, stroking my face.
"I gathered up all my strength, and hiding my face upon her neck, I sobbed, 'Martha--I want--to help--you.'
"A long silence ensued, and when I raised up my face I saw an unutterably bitter, sorrowful smile playing about her lips. And then she took my head between her hands, kissed my brow and said:
"'Come, I will put you to bed, child; there is nothing the matter with me--but you--you seem to be in a perfect fever.'
"I jumped up: 'For shame, that is horrid of you, Martha,' I cried; 'I will not be sent away like this. I am not ill, nor am I so stupid that I cannot see how you are pining away, and how each day you gulp down some new sorrow. If you have no confidence in me, I shall conclude that you do not wish to have anything to do with me, and all will be over between us.'
"She folded her hands in astonishment, and looked at me.
"'What has possessed you, child?' she said, 'I do not know you thus.'
"I turned away and bit my lips defiantly.
"'Come, come, I will put you to bed,' she urged again.
"'I don't want--I can go alone,' I said. Then she seemed to feel that a word of explanation must be vouchsafed to the child.
"'See, Olga,' she said, drawing me down to her, 'you are quite right, I have many a sorrow, and if you were older and could understand, you would certainly be the first in whom I should confide. But first you too must learn to know life----.'
"'What more do you know of life than I?' I cried, still defiantly.
"She only smiled. It cut me to the heart, this half-painful, half-ecstatic smile. A dull dawning presentiment awoke within me, such as one might experience in face of closed temple gates or distant palm-wafted islands. And Martha continued:
"'Till then, however--and that will be long!--I must bear what oppresses me alone. Hearty thanks, sister, for your good intention; I would love you twice as much for it, if that were possible; and now go, have your sleep out, we have much to learn to-morrow.'
"With that she pushed me out of the door.
"Like an exile I stood outside on the landing and stared at the door which had closed behind me so cruelly. Then I leant my head against the wall and wept silently and bitterly.
"Martha was henceforth doubly kind and affectionate towards me, but I would not see it. I grew reserved towards her, as she had been towards me, and deeper and deeper the bitter feeling became graven on my soul that the world did not require my love. Of course it was not this one occurrence alone which acted decisively upon my disposition. Such a young creature as I was, is too easily carried away by the tide of new impressions to be lastingly influenced by a few such moments; and, as a matter of fact, it was not long: before I had forgotten that evening. But what I did not forget was the idea that no one dwelt on earth who was willing to share his sorrows with me, and that I was thrown back upon myself and my books until such day as I should be declared ripe to take part in the life of the living.
"Deeper and deeper I dived down into the treasures of the poets, of whom none drove me from his holy of holies. I learnt to feel wretched and exalted with Tasso; I knew what Manfred sought on icy Alpine snowfields; with Thekla I mourned the loss of the earthly happiness I had enjoyed, of the life and love that I had out-lived and out-loved. But, above all, Iphigenia was my heroine and my ideal.
"Through her my young, lonely soul was filled with all the charm of being unintelligible; it seemed to be the mission of my life to go forth like her upon earth as a blessed priestess, sublimely void of earthly desire; and if to this end I might have donned yon white Grecian robes whose noble draperies would so splendidly have suited my early-developed figure, my bliss would have been complete.
"Outwardly I was in those years an obstinate, supercilious creature, who was lavish with rude answers, and fond of getting up from table in the middle of a meal if anything did not suit her taste.
"In spite of all this--or perhaps just for this reason--I was petted by all, and my will, in so far as a child's will can be taken into account, was considered authoritative by the whole house. At fifteen I was as tall and as big as to-day, and already there was found here and there some gallant squire's son who would say that I was much, much better looking than all the others, especially than Martha. That made me indignant, for my vanity was not yet fully developed.
"'About that time, I dreamt one night that Martha had died. When I woke, my pillows were wet through with tears. Like a criminal on that day I crept round my sister. I felt as if I had some heavy offence against her on my conscience.
"After dinner she had gone to lie down for a little on the sofa, for she was suffering again from her headache; and when I entered the room and saw her waxen-pale face with closed eyes, hanging across the sofa-ledge, I started as if struck.
"I felt as if I really saw her already as a corpse before me.
"I dropped down in front of the sofa and covered her lips and brow with kisses. Quite radiantly she opened her eyes and stared at me, as if she saw a vision; only as consciousness returned did her face grow serious and sad, as before.
"'Well, well, my girl, what is the matter with you?' she said. 'This is not your usual behaviour!'
"And gently she pushed me away, so that once more I stood alone with my overflowing heart; but as I was slinking away she came after me, and whispered---
"'I love you very much, my darling sister!'
"On the evening of the same day I noticed that she constantly kept smiling to herself. Papa was struck by it too, for as a rule it never occurred. He took her head between his two hands, and said--
"'What has come over you, Margell? Why you are blooming like a flower to-day.'
"Then she blushed a deep red, while I secretly clasped her hand under the table, and thought to myself, 'We know very well what makes us so happy.'
"Next morning papa came to the breakfast-table with an open letter in his hand.
"'A strange bird is about to fly into our nest,' he said, laughing; 'now guess what his name is!' And with that he looked quite peculiarly across at Martha. She appeared to me to have grown even a shade paler, and the coffee-cup which she held in her hand shook audibly.
"'Has the bird been in our nest before?' she asked slowly and softly, and did not raise her eyes.
"'I should think so indeed!' laughed papa.
"'Then it is--Robert Hellinger,' she said, and sighed deeply, as if after a hard effort.
"'Upon my word, girl, youareone to guess.' said papa, and shook his finger at her.
"But she was silent, and walked from the room with slow, dragging steps--nor did she appear again that morning. For my part I kept pretty cool over our cousin's approaching visit. His image of former days, as it dimly hovered in my memory, was not such as to inspire a romantic imagination of fifteen years with ardent dreams for its sake.
"But Martha's behaviour had struck me. Next day, in the early morning, I heard her walking up and down with long strides in the guest-rooms.
"I followed her, for I was anxious to know what she was busying herself about in these usually closed apartments.
"She had opened all the windows, uncovered the beds, let down the curtains, and now in her wooden shoes was running amidst all this confusion from one room to the other. Her hands she held pressed to her face, and kept laughing to herself; but the laugh sounded more like crying.
"When I asked her, 'What are you doing here, Martha?' she gave a start, looked at me quite confused, and seemed as if she must first think where she was.
"'Don't you see--I am covering the beds.' she stammered after a while.
"'For whom, pray?' I asked.
"'Don't you know we are going to have a visitor?' she answered.
"'I suppose you are awfully pleased at the prospect?' I said, and slightly shrugged my shoulders.
"'Why should I not be pleased?' she replied, 'It is our cousin.'
"'And nothing more?' I asked, shaking my finger at her as I had seen papa do the day before.
"Then she suddenly grew very grave, and looked at me with her big, sad eyes so strangely and reproachfully that I felt how all the blood rushed to my face. I turned away, and as I could no longer keep up my superiority, I slunk out of the door.
"From this moment Cousin Robert caused me many a thought. It seemed clear to me that the two loved each other, and seized by the mysterious awe with which the idea of the great Unknown fills half-grown children of my age, I began to picture to myself how such a love might have taken shape. I ran through the wild-growing shrubs of the park, and said to myself, 'Here they enjoyed their secret walks.' I slipped inside the dusky arbours, and said to myself, 'Here in the moonlight was their trysting-place.' I sank down upon the mossy turf-bank, and said to myself, 'Here they held sweet converse together.' The whole garden, the house, the yard, everything that I had known since the beginning of my life suddenly appeared resplendent in a new light. A purple sheen was spread over all. Wondrous life seemed to have awakened therein. I had so completely absorbed myself in these phantasies, that finally I believed that I myself had lived through this love. When I saw Martha again I did not dare to raise my eyes to her, as if I cherished the secret in my bosom and she were the one who must not guess it.
"But next morning when I reflected that Martha had positively experienced everything that I after all had only dreamt about, I felt quite awed by the thought, and from out of a dark corner I contemplated her fixedly with shy, inquiring looks, as if she were a being from some strange world.
"I was well aware that every five minutes she found something to busy herself about on the verandah, from whence one could look across towards the courtyard-gate; but to-day I took good care not to put any pert questions to her. Now I felt like a confidante--like an accomplice. It was a beautiful clear September day. Over woodland and meadow was spread a rosy veil, silver threads floated softly through the air, the river carried a cover of vapour, and far and wide it was as silent as in a church. I went into the wood, for I could never have excess of solitude to satiate myself with dreams. In the birch-trees faded leaves already rustled; the bracken drooped like a wounded human being that can barely keep upright.
"I grew very sad. 'Now there will be a great dying,' I said: 'ah, that one might die too!'
"And then I remembered what I had heard and read in derision of sentimental autumn thoughts. 'For shame, how wicked!' I thought. 'They shall not deride me, for I shall know how to conceal myself and my feelings. It is no one's business what I do feel. And for all I care they may think me cold and heartless, if only I have the consciousness that my heart beats warmly and full of love for mankind.'
"Yes, that was a delightful, foolish day, and blissfully would I sacrifice what yet remains to me of life, if it might once more be granted to me. In the evening--I can see it all as if it were to-day the windows stood open, the tendrils of the wild vine swayed in the breeze, and from the distance a stamping of hoofs, a clashing of lances and swords greeted my ears. I could see nothing, for the darkness devoured it all, but I knew that it was a band of Cossacks patrolling along the frontier ditch. And then I closed my eyes and dreamt that a troop of knights were coming riding along at full speed--led by a fair, handsome prince, mounted on a milk-white charger. But I was the chatelaine sitting in the turret-room of the old castle, and the fame of my beauty had penetrated to every land, so that the prince had set forth surrounded by a company of picked horsemen, to seek me out and ask my hand in marriage of the old nobleman my father.
"And then I remembered Martha; and whether, as the elder, she would not be preferred. But she loves her Robert, I comforted myself, she wants no prince. And then I pictured to myself what I would give to each member of my family when I had mounted the throne: to Martha wonderful jewellery, to papa an iron chest full of gold, and to mama a box of pine-apple sweets.
"The clashing of lances died away in the distance--and my dream was at an end.