A gray dreary morning followed the dark rainy night. Endless masses of vapor, now and then piled into thick clouds, rolled in from the sea,--masses so deep that they almost covered the lofty tops of the poplars, which now bent before the rude wind over the drenched straw roofs of the barns, and then rebounded defiantly, shaking their branches indignantly.
Gotthold stood at the window of the sitting room, gazing gloomily at the dreary scene. He had slept an hour towards morning, almost against his will; but anxiety for what might be coming weighed upon his soul more heavily than physical exhaustion upon his body. Terrible as the night had been, stars of hope ever and anon had sparkled cheeringly through the darkness; now it seemed as if this dreary day had only dawned to say: This solitary, hideous drifting is life, reality; what have I to do with your dreams? As he came down the staircase, he had seen almost with an emotion of horror that preparations for the reception of guests were being made in the large hall looking out upon the garden, which was generally unused; the clattering of pots and pans, and the loud voices of maid-servants came from the kitchen at the end of the long hall; and a groom was just pushing from the stable the carriage which was to bring the guests from Prora. Everything was going on as usual, as if to-day would be like yesterday, and to-morrow like to day; as if nothing could happen which would make the old world young again as it was on the first day that dawned on Paradise. And yet, and yet, it surely was no dream; it had certainly happened. It could not blow away like formless mist! It must assume some shape, emerge from the chaos, perhaps be worked out by a hot conflict; it was all the same! Only it could not be lost!
But this dreary inactive waiting was terrible! She must know that he had been standing here half an hour already, waiting for her, for one word from her lips, even one look, to say to him: I am yours, as you are mine; trust me as I trust you. Why did she not come? The moment was more favorable than any which might occur again all day. Brandow had just crossed the courtyard to the stables, as he did every morning; the breakfast was on the table; they had always spent half an hour together at this time undisturbed--and to-day, to-day she must needs leave him alone!
A boundless impatience took possession of him; he paced up and down the room, glancing every moment towards the door through which that other had come and gone last night, and which was closed upon him, listening with straining ears that he might distinguish some sound, but heard nothing except the sleepy buzzing of a fly; even the house clock in the tall old-fashioned wooden case did not tick to-day; the hands had stopped during the night.
He pressed his hands to his beating temples; it seemed as if he should go mad if this torture did not cease, and then a thought occurred to him more terrible than all the rest. Was she afraid of him? Did shame withhold her from appearing before the eyes of him against whose heart her own had throbbed yesterday, whose kiss she had received and answered? No, no, a thousand times no! Whatever kept her from him, it was not that, not that! It was a crime against her proud nature even to think it! She might die, but not live to be dishonorable. Perhaps she was ill, very ill, helpless, alone--ah! that was Gretchen's voice: "Mamma, I want to go with you; I want to go with you to Uncle Gotthold. I want to bid Uncle Gotthold 'good morning!'" and then low soothing tones, then the door opened and she entered.
Gotthold rushed toward her, but only a few steps. She had raised both hands with a gesture of the most imploring entreaty, and the most imploring entreaty looked forth from the large tearful eyes, and pure pale face. So she approached, so she stood before him, and then almost inaudible words fell from her quivering lips.
"Will you forgive me, Gotthold!"
He could not answer; gesture, expression, words--all told him that his haunting fear had become reality; that in one way or another all was lost.
A fierce anguish overpowered him, and then anger arose in his heart; he laughed aloud!
"So this is all the courage you have!"
Her arms fell, her lips closed, her features quivered convulsively, and her whole frame trembled.
"No, Gotthold, not all. But I thank you for being angry; or it might have been impossible for me to perform my task. No, don't look at me so; don't look at me so. Laugh as you laughed just now! What can a man do but laugh, when a woman by whom he believes himself beloved comes and says--"
"You need not," cried Gotthold; "you need not; a man does not comprehend such things, but he feels them without words."
He turned towards the door.
"Gotthold!"
There was despair in the tone; the young man's hand fell from the latch.
"Can it be, Cecilia? I have frightened you by my vehemence; but it shall not happen again. Only say one word--tell me you love me, and I will bear all; everything else is a matter of indifference to me; we must and shall see some way of escape; but you cannot let me go so, not so, I implore you!"
But he searched her face for some token of assent in vain. Her features seemed set in a horrible smile.
"No," she said, "not so: not before you have promised that you will save my husband, whom I love and honor; from whom I cannot, will not part."
She uttered the words slowly, in a monotonous tone, like something learned by rote, and now paused like a scholar who has forgotten her lesson.
"What does this farce mean?" said Gotthold.
The door of the sleeping-room opened, Gretchen put her curly head in, and then came bounding towards her mother. Cecilia clasped the child passionately in her arms, and hastily continued, while a feverish flush replaced her former death-like pallor: "Save him from the bankruptcy into which he will fall, if you do not help him. The matter concerns--concerns--"
She released Gretchen, and pressed both hands upon her brow.
"Mamma, mamma," screamed the little one, beginning to cry aloud, as Gotthold supported the tottering figure to the nearest chair.
"What is the matter with my wife?" asked Brandow.
Gotthold had not heard him enter. At the first sound of his voice Cecilia raised herself from his arms, and stood erect between the two men, without support, clasping the child to her heart, pale as death, but with an expression of sorrowful resolution; and there was a strange, unvarying firmness in the tone of her voice, as, fixing her eyes upon her husband, she said:
"He knows, and will do it."
And then turning to Gotthold:
"You will do it for the sake of our old friendship, Gotthold, will you not? And farewell, Gotthold; we shall not see each other again."
She held out an icy hand to him, took Gretchen in her arms, and left the room without looking back, while the child stretched out its little hands over her shoulder, calling, "Bring me something pretty to-day, uncle Gotthold. Do you hear, uncle Gotthold?"
"If women only wouldn't take everything tragically," said Brandow; "it's really a pity. First she proposed it herself, and now--but we mustn't expect the dear creatures to be consistent."
"And what do you require of me?" asked Gotthold.
He had seated himself at the table, while Brandow strode restlessly up and down the room, pretending to busy himself in doing first one thing and then another.
"Require! How you talk! Require! If I had had anything to require of you I shouldn't have been silent so long; but I think my wife has told you all, or did she--"
"She has told me everything except the amount."
"Except the amount? Capital! capital!--so exactly like a woman! Except the amount! Of course there's no occasion to lay any stress upon such secondary considerations."
And Brandow essayed a laugh which sounded rather hoarse.
"Short and good."
"Short, for aught I care, and good. Well, I hope you'll take it so. I want twenty-five thousand thalers."
"When?"
"That's the devil of it. Ten thousand, which I owe the trustees of the convent for arrears of rent, are to be paid to-morrow to the convent treasurer at Sundin; but Sellien, if he comes to-day, would take the money back with him; of course, however, that is only a favor on his part, and would be a convenience on mine--there's no obligation; so to-morrow morning will be time enough for that. The rest--I mean the fifteen thousand--is a debt of honor, which must be paid this evening, if I don't wish to lose Brownlock and my wheat harvest, which I pledged. Between ourselves, they really had designs only upon Brownlock. They, that is, the two Plüggens and Redebas, who fairly pressed me for the money, and then fixed to-day as the last limit of time for payment, because they knew what a strait I am in about my arrears of rent, and hoped, under any circumstances, I should be unable to pay, and then they would have Brownlock. The sneaks, the swindlers! Brownlock, that is worth twice as much as the whole amount--Brownlock, a horse on which I already have fifteen thousand in my betting-book, and which will bring me in thirty thousand as sure as my name is Carl Brandow."
He acted as if he had talked himself into a rage, and lashed the air and the tops of his boots with his riding-whip, while his crafty eyes rested steadily upon Gotthold, who still sat motionless at the table, resting his head on his hand.
"And I am to procure the money for you? How did you arrange that?"
"My plan was something of this kind: my wife told me you wished to leave us to-day; of course I am prodigiously sorry; but you have your reasons, which I respect, although I don't know them; and you will perhaps make use of the carriage I am just going to send to Prora for the Selliens. I'll let Hinrich Scheel, on whom I can depend implicitly, go with you; and Hinrich could then bring back the fifteen thousand with which I must feed my dear guests. You need not pay the money at all; that blameless usurer, your worthy Wollnow, might not count it out. The ten thousand for Sellien can remain there: he can take it himself to-morrow morning, when he will be obliged to pass through Prora again. Just write me a line, or even tell Hinrich that the money will be ready for him at Wollnow's on receipt of my order. Then he could leave the acquittance here, or give it to Wollnow, from whom I can get it whenever I have an opportunity, and the affair is settled."
"And suppose Wollnow won't give me the money?"
"Won't give it to you? Why, you have fifty thousand in his business."
"Not a groschen more than ten."
"But Semmel assured me--"
"Semmel is mistaken."
Brandow had paused, with his riding-whip uplifted. Was the man trying to drive a bargain? A paltry ten thousand? Did he expect to get off with that?
A scornful smile flitted over his sharp face, which was unusually pale to-day, and the riding-whip whizzed through the air.
"Oh, pshaw, you have credit for fifty thousand. Credit is money, as nobody knows better than I, who have lived on it so long. But do as you choose! I don't plead for myself--I'm made of hard wood, and shall survive the storm. I am sorry for poor Cecilia, though. She reckoned so confidently upon your friendship; persuaded me so urgently to confide in you."
Gotthold had been compelled to exert all his strength in order to control himself during this horrible scene, and not show his antagonist how terribly he was suffering. Suddenly a mist crept over his eyes, a roaring sound was in his ears, it seemed as if he was lying on the ground, and Brandow, who stood over him, was just raising his arm for a second blow. Then, with a violent effort, he shook off the faintness that threatened to overpower him, and said, rising:
"That is right. Cecilia shall not have reckoned upon my friendship in vain; take care that you don't make a mistake yourself."
Brandow had involuntarily recoiled a few paces, startled by Gotthold's ghastly face. He tried to answer with a jest to the effect that he was not in the habit of being mistaken where his debts were concerned; but Gotthold cut short the sentence with a contemptuous "Enough!" and left the room to pack his clothes.
Fifteen minutes after, the carriage driven by Hinrich Scheel rolled away through the misty morning across the moor, on the way to Prora.
Coffee had just been served in Frau Wollnow's pleasant little balcony room in the second story. The gentlemen had gone down-stairs to smoke a cigar in the office, but the ladies were still sitting at the table, from which the pretty young servant-girl was removing the dishes. The three children, who could not become accustomed to the altered arrangements of the household--coffee was generally served in the sitting-room below--romped noisily around, to Frau Wollnow's great amusement, while Alma Sellien smoothed a frown of displeasure from her white forehead with her soft dainty hand.
"Couldn't you send the children away now?"
"The children!" said Frau Wollnow, casting an astonished glance from her round brown eyes at her brown-eyed darlings.
"I'm always a little nervous in the morning; and to-day must be doubly cautious, as I have a country excursion in prospect."
"Pardon me, dear Alma; I forgot you were not accustomed to the noise. It is not always so bad; but since Stine left me day before yesterday--dear me, I can't blame her; the good old thing wants to get married, and to a young man who might almost be her son, so she certainly has no time to lose. She has gone back to her parents. The wedding will take place in a fortnight. It was hard enough for her to leave the children--"
"You were going to send the children away, dear!"
The children were sent away. Alma Sellien leaned back in the corner of the sofa exhausted, and said, closing her soft blue eyes as it half asleep: "I am sure this will be another disappointment."
"What, dear Alma?" asked Frau Wollnow, whose thoughts were still with her children.
"My husband is so terribly enthusiastic about him; he's always enthusiastic about men I afterwards think horrible."
"You will be mistaken this time," cried Frau Wollnow, who, engrossed in this interesting subject, even failed to hear her youngest child crying upon the stairs; "your husband has said too little rather than too much. He is not only a handsome man--which, for my part, I consider of very little consequence--tall, and of an extremely elegant, graceful bearing, which harmonizes most admirably with the gentle, yet resolute expression of his features, the mild, yet steady gaze of his large deep-blue eyes, and even the soft, but sonorous tone of his voice."
"You are surely turning poetess," said Alma.
Ottilie Wollnow blushed to the roots of the curly bluish-black hair on her temples.
"I don't deny that I am very, very--"
"Much in love with him," said Alma, completing the sentence.
"Why yes, if you choose to say so; that is, as I love everything good and beautiful."
"An excellent theory, which I profess myself, only unfortunately in practice we must always be withheld by the opposition of our husbands. Yours did not seem to be quite so much delighted with your protégé."
"My good Emil!" said Frau Wollnow, "we don't agree in a great many things, and, dear me, it is certainly no wonder; he has been obliged to work so hard all his life, that it has made him a little grave and pedantic; but he is a thoroughly good man, and in this case you are entirely mistaken; at heart he is even more interested in Gotthold than I, or, if that is saying too much, quite as much so."
"It did not seem so."
"But it was only seeming. He is afraid of compromising his dignity if he talks as he really feels. I have found that all people who have had a sorrowful youth are so. Even the heart, so to speak, needs to have had its dancing lessons, and when it has had none, when it has always been compelled to beat under the pressure of straitened, gloomy surroundings, as in my poor Emil's case, people never overcome it all their lives. But what I was going to say is, that this time there is a special reason for it. My good Emil certainly never told even me--dear, kind man, as if I would have taken it amiss--that thirty or thirty-five years ago he was once very deeply in love with Gotthold's mother, when they lived in the same house in Stettin--it is a long and very romantic story."
"Oh! oh!" said Alma, "who would ever have given your husband credit for that?"
"Why," cried Ottilie, "you are entirely mistaken in Emil; his nature has a freshness, a power, a youthful fire--"
"How happy you are!" said Alma with a faint sigh.
"I hope you are no less so; but I wanted to explain why Emil always becomes so quiet when the conversation turns upon Gotthold. That is the reason of it, and then he has taken it into his head that this visit to the Brandows must turn out unlucky for him--Gotthold. You know Gotthold used to be in love with Cecilia; nay, between ourselves, I am sure he loves her still. But now, tell me yourself: can you see any great misfortune in that?"
"Not at all; I only think it rather improbable; you know I have never been able to share your enthusiasm about Cecilia, and don't see why all the men are to be in love with her. Her husband evidently isn't; at least I know a lady to whom he devotes himself whenever he meets her, in a way that proves his heart is not very strongly engaged in any other quarter."
"If he has one. Forgive me, dear Alma, you are a prudent woman, and I am sure you love your husband; but Brandow is really an extremely dangerous man. Possessed of the most attractive manners, when he chooses to adopt them; always lively and humorous, even witty, yet sensible when the occasion requires him to be so; and moreover bold, fearless, an acknowledged master of all chivalrous arts--and such things always impose upon us women--in a word, a dangerous man. Good Heavens, would it have been possible, under any other circumstances, to understand how the aristocratic, poetic Cecilia could have fallen in love with him! But what does all this avail without true love, and I do not believe Carl Brandow is capable of the feeling. Now let a man such as I have described Gotthold to be, enter the home of such a couple,--a man, moreover, who has scarcely conquered a boyish love for the wife,--indeed, if one reflects upon it, one can hardly blame my husband: such passionate natures, and in the loneliness of country life,--it really seems as if scales had fallen from my eyes. And Gotthold has not written a word all this week! Still waters run deep, but may not deep waters perhaps be still? And I have actually been the cause of it by my unlucky mania for pictures!"
"I think I can set your mind at rest, so far as that goes," said Alma. "I have found that men always have some reason for doing what they wish; if it isn't one thing, it's another. And then this evening, or to-morrow morning at latest, if we spend the night at Dollan, I can bring you the very latest and most exact news about all these interesting complications. I only fear they will prove less interesting than you expect."
"Lucky Alma!" said Ottilie sighing; "how much I should like to go with you. But my husband would never allow it."
"'Allow' is a word a husband should never be permitted to use to his wife," said Alma, as she slipped her wedding-ring up and down her slender finger.
The conversation between the two ladies was interrupted by Assessor Sellien, who hastily entered the room.
"Why," said his wife, "have you come back already? Is the carriage here? I haven't put on my travelling-dress yet."
"The carriage is not here," said the Assessor as he seated himself between the two ladies, and raised his wife's hand, which hung loosely over the back of the sofa, to his lips; "I only came to ask whether you would not prefer to stay here."
"Stay here!" said Alma, hastily starting from her lounging attitude in the sofa corner. "What has got into your head, Hugo?"
"You have one of your headaches, dear child, and a very bad one; I noticed it some time ago."
"You are entirely mistaken, dear Hugo; I feel unusually well this morning."
"And this terrible weather," said the Assessor, looking thoughtfully through the open door that led to the balcony; "there, it is raining again; I don't understand how ladies can expose themselves so."
He rose and shut the door.
"Brandow will send a close carriage in any case," said Alma.
"So much the worse," cried the Assessor. "You could not endure an hour in a close carriage, poor child. And then those terrible roads--I know them! To cross Dollan moor after it has rained all night--it's actually dangerous."
"I will not expose you to the danger all alone," said Alma smiling.
"That is very different, dear child. Men must follow wherever duty calls."
"And the prospect of a good dinner--"
"In a word, dear Alma, you would do me a favor if you would stay here."
"I have not the least inclination to do you this favor, dear Hugo, and now what else is there, if I may ask?"
The Assessor had risen and walked up and down the room.
"Well, then," he said pausing, "you know how unwilling I am to deny you anything; but this time I really cannot allow you to go."
Alma looked at her husband in astonishment; Ottilie, who could no longer control herself, burst into a merry laugh, exclaiming:
"'Allow' is a word a husband should never be permitted to use to his wife."
"Perhaps the word is not exactly suitable," said the Assessor; "but it does not alter the fact. And the fact is, that your husband has just given me certain information, which makes Alma's accompanying me this time appear not only undesirable, but even impossible. And your husband, my dear lady, is entirely of my opinion."
"But Emil's solicitude carries him entirely too far," cried Frau Wollnow angrily; "poor Cecilia has not deserved this. That is attacking a woman's reputation, not only unnecessarily, but without the slightest reason. If people are so excessively strict, they will be obliged to give up all society."
"I don't understand you, dear madam," said the Assessor, "at least I do not know what connection Frau Brandow's reputation could have with this very disagreeable affair."
"Then I don't understand you," replied Ottilie.
"It will be best," answered Sellien, "in order to avoid further misunderstandings, to tell the ladies plainly what the point in question really is. True, Herr Wollnow charged me to be cautious; but the flattering obstinacy with which my wife rejects my timid attempts to induce her to stay here, compels me to withdraw from my diplomatic position. Herr Wollnow has just informed me that my confident expectation that Brandow would have the ten thousand thalers ready, which I was to receive from him to-day, is all an illusion. To be sure, Brandow wrote me about a fortnight ago, and made no secret of his embarrassments; but he's such a clever fellow, and has always helped himself out of his scrapes when the pinch came; at any rate, he made no answer to my encouraging letter, and as I said before, I supposed he would not let me come for nothing, but on the contrary have everything ready. Now, however, I hear from your husband that matters are very different, in fact quite desperate. Brandow's credit is entirely exhausted. Herr Wollnow says that nobody could be found on the whole island who would lend him a thaler, since the two Plüggens and Redebas, who have kept his head above water so long, declared yesterday in Wollnow's counting-room that their patience was exhausted, and he would not get another shilling from them. Instead of that, they were to get something from him, that is, they were to receive a very large sum within a few days. They mentioned fifteen thousand thalers; but Herr Wollnow thinks there was probably a little exaggeration about it. But even if this was the whole amount of Brandow's indebtedness--which is undoubtedly not the case--he is still a lost man. The convent confidently expects that Brandow will pay his two years' rent to-morrow. If he does not, it will certainly make use of its right, and proceed to expel him from Dollan, and then Brandow will be as thoroughly and completely ruined as a man can be."
"Poor Cecilia! Poor, poor Cecilia!" cried Frau Wollnow, bursting into tears.
"I am sorry for her," said the Assessor, playing with his long nails. "But what can be done?"
"Emil must help them!" exclaimed Frau Wollnow, removing her handkerchief from her face a moment.
"He will beware of that, as he said just now; it is pouring water into the Danaïdes seive."
"But you, dear Herr Sellien, you are his friend; you cannot see your friend go to ruin."
The Assessor shrugged his shoulders. "Friend! Dear me, whom don't we call by that name? And my relations with Brandow are very superficial, mere business connections, if you choose to call them so; are they not, my dear wife?"
"Certainly, certainly," murmured Alma.
"And I should be giving up this very business relation if I allowed Alma to accompany me, when the situation was so critical. In the presence of ladies it is very difficult not to touch the chords of tender feeling, and it seems to me extremely desirable to avoid the possibility of doing so. Are you not of my opinion, dear Alma?"
"It is a very disagreeable affair," said Alma.
"Is it not? And why should you expose yourself to it unnecessarily? I knew my wise little wife would yield the point at last."
And the Assessor tenderly kissed Alma's hand.
"But in that case it seems to me you must stay here too, my dear Herr Assessor," said Frau Wollnow.
"I? Why? On the contrary, it is only prudent for me to appear as natural as possible. I know nothing; I suspect nothing. Of course I shall be extremely sorry when Brandow takes me aside and tells me he can't pay; but I'll wager the dinner will be none the worse for that, and taste none the worse to me. His red wine and champagne were always superb."
Frau Wollnow rose and went out upon the balcony. She must breathe the fresh air, even at the risk of having her new silk morning-dress spoiled by the rain, which was now falling quite heavily from the gray sky. "Poor, poor Cecilia!" she repeated sighing, "and there is no one who can and will save you."
She remembered that she had brought her husband a dowry of fifty thousand thalers, but she could not touch them without Emil's permission, and Emil would not allow it. Should she try to move him by throwing herself prostrate at his feet? She could almost have laughed outright at the extravagant idea, especially when she imagined the astonished expression her husband's face would wear; but the tears again sprang to her eyes and mingled with the rain-drops that beat upon her burning face. Suddenly the husband and wife within were roused from their low-toned, eager conversation by a loud exclamation from the balcony. "Gotthold, good heavens, Gotthold!"
"Where, where?" cried the Assessor and his wife with one voice, as they hurried out upon the balcony.
"There he comes," said Ottilie, pointing towards the square, across which a man with a broad-brimmed hat, pulled low over his eyes, was walking directly towards the house.
"He isn't so tall as Brandow," said Alma, who was critically inspecting the new-comer through an opera-glass.
"What can he want?" asked her husband.
"We shall soon know," said Frau Wollnow, as with a vague feeling of anxiety she pressed her two companions back into the room.
But Gotthold had only asked for Herr Wollnow, the maid-servant informed them, and she had been ordered to show him into Herr Wollnow's counting-room. The interview, whatever its purport might be, lasted much longer than was at all agreeable to the impatient waiters, and after an hour, during which the Assessor had rather increased than lessened the ladies' impatience by a detailed account of his adventures with Gotthold in Sicily, Herr Wollnow appeared alone. They were astonished, amazed, and scarcely satisfied when Wollnow said that Gotthold had only gone to the Fürstenhof to change his clothes, and would come back if his business gave him time. They wanted to know what business could be so pressing that Gotthold had selected Sunday morning for its transaction.
"The ladies must ask that of himself," said Herr Wollnow; "he has not taken me into his confidence. All I know is, that he is going to drive back to Dollan with our friends here, return to-night or to-morrow morning in the same excellent company, from which he anticipates a great deal of pleasure, and then continue his journey without further delay. It seems that the point in question concerns the hasty purchase of a few gifts, with which he wants to surprise his host and hostess at Dollan at parting; at least he wanted me to give him a sum of money which is rather large for mere travelling expenses, but I can say no more."
And Herr Wollnow, apparently with the utmost unconcern, hummed an air from "Figaro" as he left the room to avoid further questioning.
"I don't think it at all polite for him not to present himself a moment, at least," said Alma; "I've a great mind to punish him for it by not appearing at breakfast."
"Oh! pray don't," said the Assessor.
Ottilie Wollnow made no answer. She knew her husband too well to have the gloomy expression of his eyes and the cloud on his brow escape her notice, in spite of his apparent unconcern. Besides, she had a foreboding that Gotthold's interview with her husband had not been quite so innocent as it seemed, that there was something disagreeable, perhaps some misfortune impending, and above all, she was convinced that the Selliens were getting into a passion in vain, and Gotthold would not appear at breakfast.
The little company at Dollan had already been wandering for half an hour up and down the rain-soaked paths in the garden, between the dripping hedges, waiting for the arrival of Assessor Sellien and dinner.
"You're a pretty fellow," cried Hans Redebas, who was walking with Otto von Plüggen, as Brandow with Gustav von Plüggen and Pastor Semmel met him on the same spot for the third time: "first you invite us to meet some one who vanishes in the dew and mist; then it occurs to your lovely wife, on whose account we all come here, to have a headache and not appear; and finally, we're kept waiting for the Assessor, and wandering around your old wet garden like horses in a tread-mill! I'll give you ten minutes, and if we don't sit down to the table by that time I'll have my horses harnessed, and we'll dine in Dahlitz, and not badly either. What do you say to that, Pastor?"
And Herr Redebas laughed and clapped the Pastor, who had come with him in his carriage, rudely on the shoulder. Brandow laughed too, and said they must have patience; it was not his fault that the Assessor had not arrived, and things had gone contrary that day; the dinner had been ready a long time.
"Then in the name of three devils, let's go to the table, or I shall faint away," cried Herr Redebas.
It was by no means probable that this man, with the frame and strength of a giant, would be overcome by such a sudden attack of weakness; but Brandow had every reason not to increase the ill-humor of his guests. Already, to shorten the time before dinner, they had played a game of cards, in which the Pastor took no share except by his intense interest, and lost a few hundred thalers. To be sure, the amount was very little in comparison to the sum he owed his visitors; but they had been irritated by the loss, and took the less care to conceal their annoyance as Brandow still uttered no word in allusion to the business for whose settlement they had really assembled. Undoubtedly he was unable to pay. To be sure, they had expected it, nay, in point of fact, the whole transaction which Hans Redebas and the two Plüggens had jointly undertaken was based upon this supposition; but now each was not sorry to consider himself in the light of a man of honor, whose confidence had been most shamefully betrayed.
Herr Redebas, especially, was in a very irritable mood. The conditions to which, at the conclusion of the mutual bargain, he had agreed, pleased him less and less every moment. Why had he not required the whole sum to be paid, or else claimed for his share the second stake Brandow had offered in addition to Brownlock, his wheat-harvest? The wheat, as he had just convinced himself, was an exceptionably, unexpectedly fine crop; it would have brought in a very large profit; while the horse, after all, was a doubtful bargain. Since the committee had included a large tract of marsh land in the course laid out for the race between the gentlemen riders, the chances in favor of Brownlock, which was universally considered too heavy a horse, were very considerably lessened. And, moreover, what had such a sedate, man as Hans Redebas to do with such things, which, after all, were only fit for the nobility? It would be better for the two Plüggens to see what they could make of the horse! It was their trade; they understood it, and so in God's name let them take the beast for their ten thousand, and leave him the wheat crop! But this time, in spite of the proverbial want of harmony that prevailed between them, the two brothers made common cause. The bargain had been settled, and every one must rest satisfied with it; if Hans Redebas fancied he was the only one who could see into a thing, he'd find himself greatly mistaken. Therefore, as Herr Redebas could not vent his anger upon his two companions, he thought himself entitled to treat Brandow with all the more rudeness and want of consideration. Even before dinner he had shown this disposition to an extravagant degree, and the wine, of which he drank immense quantities at the table, in spite of its many other excellent qualities, did not possess that of improving the giant's temper.
At any other time it would have been an easy matter for Brandow to parry his antagonist's coarse jests and turn the laugh against him; nay, he was usually considered among his associates to be a man whom one could not offend, with impunity; but to-day his dreaded powers of sarcasm, as well as his often tested courage, seemed to have deserted him. He did not hear what could not have been inaudible, did not understand what no one could fail to comprehend, laughed when he would usually have started up in fury, and with pale trembling lips tried as well as he could to give the conversation a jesting turn, for which purpose he grasped at more and more questionable expedients, and at last related anecdotes, which even to the long-suffering Pastor, seemed altogether too scandalous.
In spite of the noise and laughter, in spite of the row of empty bottles which grew longer and longer under the side-board, it was a dreary, uncomfortable meal, and to no one more so than to the master of the house. Brandow knew from long experience that he could require his nerves to bear a great deal, but it now seemed as if he should not be able to accomplish what he had undertaken to-day. While laughing heartily over a story he had just related, his fingers fairly trembled with the longing he felt to snatch the champagne bottle from the cooler and shatter it upon Redebas' huge black head. He was aware that his strength was almost exhausted; he should break down if Hinrich Scheel did not return soon and release him from this horrible torture of uncertainty. And then it seemed as if this torment was nothing to the other, the torment of the certainty that his wife loved that man, and despised him too much even to hate him, and that he fully deserved her scorn. Again and again--with the speed of lightning--in the few seconds it required to raise a glass of wine to his lips and swallow the contents--he lived over the scene of the night before in her sleeping-room, when he stood before her with clenched fists, and not a muscle in her pale face quivered until he struck her to the heart with the fatal blow which he had cruelly withheld so long. To her heart! Her heart! It had been a master-stroke! A thrust which crushed the proud haughty woman like a stag overtaken by a bullet, rendered her his weak, obedient tool, and made him master of the situation. An enviable situation, to sit here and endure Redebas' coarse taunts, laugh at his own silly wit, look at the stupid faces of the two Plüggens, be cordial to the canting Parson, be forced to see that no one's glass was empty, and amid all the noisy tumult listen continually for the rolling of the carriage which would bring Hinrich, and with Hinrich the money for which he had done what he had done, suffered what he had suffered, and without which he was a ruined man. At last, at last! There was the clatter of horses' hoofs, and the rattle of a carriage, which stopped before the house. No one had heard it except himself! So much the better, he could speak to Hinrich undisturbed!
He left his guests under the pretext that he wanted to get another brand of champagne, and hurried across the hall to the open door, before which the carriage was still standing, and he perceived the Assessor engaged in conversation with Hinrich Scheel, when he suddenly heard his own name called from his room, the door of which also stood open, and turning at the sound, saw the man he hated standing before him. A thrill of mingled rage and alarm shot through his frame like a two-edged sword. What brought this man back? How could he dare to return? To say that he had no money, would not pay.
"We have a few moments to ourselves," said Gotthold, bolting the door behind Brandow; "the Assessor is still outside; he knows nothing; no one knows anything except, of course, Wollnow, without whom I could not procure the money you wanted. Even now I have been unable to get it as you wished, and therefore was obliged to come here again. You wanted fifteen thousand thalers in cash. Wollnow, who is obliged to make very large payments for the purchase of grain this morning, could give me only ten thousand; the remainder I bring you in these drafts of five thousand thalers each, accepted by Wollnow, and payable at sight to-morrow, in Sundin, by Philip Nathanson, the wealthiest banker there. These drafts, in consequence of Wollnow's credit with your friends in the neighborhood, are as good as ready money. I think you will be able to settle your affairs with them yourself; but in any case I am here to come to your assistance with my personal credit, though I confidently believe that it will not be needed."
Gotthold laid a large sealed packet on the table, and drew from his pocket-book the three drafts, which he handed Brandow, and the latter glanced over with a practised eye to convince himself that these papers were really as good as ready money.
A sensation of wonderful relief overpowered the half-intoxicated man. Freedom from the agony of expectation, the certainty of deliverance from his desperate situation, and, moreover, the prospect of soon coming out as winner of the Sundin races, and gainer of an immense sum of money by the aid of his now restored Brownlock--all this overwhelmed him like a delirium of joy, and he felt a sort of longing to clasp in his arms the man who had aided in procuring all this, as his preserver and only true friend; and at the same moment he said to himself that it was impossible that this man, dreamer and enthusiast though he was, would entrust to him a sum, which in itself was a little fortune, unless the worst that his jealous fancy had imagined had already happened--and the expression of the staring eyes he now fixed upon Gotthold seemed to say: "I could crush you like a serpent which has crossed my path!"
"I do not think you will ever be in a situation to return this money," said Gotthold; "perhaps it will not be disagreeable to you to hear that from this time I renounce all expectation of repayment, and therefore a receipt, which would really remain only a bit of paper."
He left the room; Brandow burst into a hoarse laugh.
"That, too," he muttered, "as if another proof were needed! But you shall pay for it, both of you, so dearly, that this in comparison will be only a drop of water on a hot stone."
The Assessor looked in through the door, which Gotthold had left half open. He had heard from the latter that Brandow was here, and hastened to take advantage of the favorable opportunity to greet his friend alone, and express his regret that Gotthold's business had detained them so long in Prora, that he was unable to bring his wife, who was suffering from a severe headache, to Dollan. Brandow declared it to be a proof of the sympathy between two beautiful natures that his wife was also attacked by the same sickness to-day; and the sarcastic, even sneering tone in which he said it, caused the Assessor to secretly congratulate himself upon his caution in coming to this falling house alone. His astonishment was all the greater when Brandow continued with the most perfect composure:--
"And as we are now alone, my dear Sellien, we will take advantage of the opportunity to settle our little business matter. Here are the ten thousand thalers due. I have them from Wollnow. The package is just as I received it, stamped with his seal. If you wish to take the, I presume superfluous, but perhaps necessary trouble, of counting them, don't have the least hesitation about it. When you have finished, follow me. I'll make out a receipt, which you will please sign and put in this drawer."
The Assessor was so astonished that he really hardly knew what to answer; at any rate he was determined to subject the contents of the package to a rigid scrutiny, in spite of Wollnow's seals. Brandow hastily dashed off a receipt, and then left the room with a sarcastic: "Don't make any mistakes, my dear Assessor!"
He had discharged this business hastily in order to be able to speak to his confidant. Hinrich Scheel was still waiting before the door with the carriage; but he had very little to tell, and didn't know why the departure from Prora had been so long delayed. He thought there had been some trouble about the money, and they were obliged to wait for Loitz, who had gone out to drive. The Assessor's wife was not sick; on the contrary, she was standing on the balcony beside Frau Wollnow, kissing her hand to the gentlemen as they drove away. Neither did he know what the gentlemen were talking about on the road; they had jabbered in some foreign language most of the time. So he drove into every hole on the way--and there were plenty to-day after the rain--and made the ride so uncomfortable for the Herr Assessor that he finally swore aloud in good German, and declared he would not go over that road again to-day if he was paid a ton of gold. Then the other answered: "In that case he must go back alone, for he wouldn't stay all night at Dollan under any circumstances."
"It's a bad road at night," said Brandow.
"Especially when it's as dark as it will be this evening," answered Hinrich Scheel.
The eyes of the master and servant met and were instantly averted again.
"There are many things which might make an accident befall a person who was positively determined to go over it at night," said Brandow slowly.
"Unless the driver was very careful," added Hinrich Scheel.
Again their eyes met. No doubt Hinrich had understood him--this time as usual, no doubt this time as usual, Hinrich knew what he wanted. Brandow drew a long breath. He would fain have seen whether Hinrich would not have said another, a final word; but the latter had turned towards his horses. A loud tumult of voices, shouting at each other in tones of the most violent rage, echoed from the dining-room, and at the same moment Rieke came running out. The pretty maid-servant's round cheeks were deeply flushed, her gray eyes sparkled, and her luxuriant fair hair was not so smooth as it had been at the commencement of the dinner.
"What is the matter?" asked Brandow.
"They've been quarreling for the last fifteen minutes. I think they will soon come to blows," said Rieke, showing her white teeth in a merry laugh.
"We will speak of it again," Brandow called to Hinrich, who was just driving the carriage away, and then drew Rieke into the dark hall.
"He has come back again," said he; "see where he goes, and as soon as you notice anything, tell me."
"I don't want to be everlastingly running after those two," said Rieke sulkily.
"Oh, of course you like it much better to have the gentlemen yonder pinch your cheeks and hug you."
"Why not?" said the girl.
"You know what I promised last night," whispered Brandow, now throwing his own arm around her slender waist, and putting his lips to her ear.
"Promising is one thing, and keeping your word is another," said Rieke, but without making any very strenuous effort to release herself.
The noise in the dining-room grew louder.
"There, you will be a good child," said Brandow; "and now off with you; I must see what those fellows are doing."
Hans Redebas had thought he would take advantage of their host's momentary absence to again urge upon the two brothers his proposal that they should give up Brandow's wheat-crop to him for his share, and in exchange take entire possession of Brownlock; and as a witness of the honesty of his intentions, quoted the Pastor, with whom he had repeatedly talked the matter over on the way to Dollan. The Pastor, who wished to make himself agreeable to his patron in every way, had endeavored to depict the advantages the arrangement would have for all concerned, but in his drunkenness laid on the colors so vividly that the two brothers were startled, and recalled a partial concession which they had already made. Upon this Hans Redebas called the Pastor a stupid dunce, who was always meddling with everything, though he knew nothing at all, except a little theological trash, and therefore ought to keep his mouth shut everywhere except in his pulpit. Then the reverend gentleman had started up exclaiming that "dunce" was a word which, as an old graduate of Halle, he would not endure from any one, even his patron, upon which Herr Redebas burst into a roar of laughter, which roused the drunken man to actual fury.
Meantime the two Plüggens had also commenced a violent dispute. Gustav had whispered to his brother that he should like to accept the offer, if Redebas would add two thousand thalers to it; Otto, as the elder, warned the younger brother against entering into any bargain with Redebas, who had more sense in his little finger than he in his whole body. Gustav considered himself insulted by this doubt of his shrewdness, and muttered something about the "straw" which might be found in the other's head, an allusion to the well-known nickname of the elder brother, which of course produced a response in which "hay" was given a prominent place. So all four shouted at each other, to the great amazement of the groom, Fritz, who listened with open mouth till he suddenly felt some one touch him on the shoulder, and looking up saw his master's face.
"Be off, and don't come in here again till I call you."
The lad left the room; Brandow again surveyed the brawlers at the table with hasty glances. "This is just the right moment," he muttered through his clenched teeth.
He approached the table, but instead of sitting down, remained standing with his arms resting on the back of his chair, and said, rejoicing in the sight of the confused faces of the four men, who had suddenly become silent: "Pardon me for interrupting your interesting conversation, gentlemen, especially with a mere business matter, but it must be settled. Hinrich Scheel has just returned from Prora--with the Assessor and another gentleman whose name shall be kept secret for the present. I had requested Wollnow to send me fifteen thousand thalers in cash from my balance in his hands. He begged me to allow him to send drafts to the same amount instead. Drafts, gentlemen, given by the house of Louis Loitz & Co., in Prora, accepted by Wollnow himself, and payable by Philip Nathanson in Sundin. Perhaps the gentlemen will be kind enough to hand me in exchange for these drafts--of five thousand thalers each--the three notes you lately received from me, in case you happen to have them with you."
Bowing ironically, Brandow held out the three drafts which he had arranged in his hand in the shape of a fan.
The confederates looked at each other suspiciously. The matter was not perfectly regular; the notes were payable in cash; they were not obliged to take drafts; but they had just been quarrelling too much among themselves to be capable of forming a united resolution at once, and at heart each was glad that the other was cheated out of the prey he had deemed secure.
"Well, gentlemen," exclaimed Brandow, "I hope none of you will take exception to the manner of my payment. It would be an insult to the worthy Wollnow, to whose complaisance we have all at times been indebted. Or would you like to have the Assessor, who may come in at any moment, be a witness of the way in which the Herren von Plüggen and Herr Hans Redebas are in the habit of treating an old friend who has become involved in a little embarrassment?"
In fact the Assessor's voice was now heard in the hall.
"Hand it over," said Hans Redebas.
"I'll raise no objections," said Otto von Plüggen.
"I'm no spoil-sport," said Gustav.
The drafts were put into the pocket-books of the three gentlemen, in exchange for the notes, which Brandow, with a sarcastic smile, crushed like pieces of waste paper, and thrust into his pocket just as the Assessor entered.
His appearance afforded Brandow a welcome pretext for breaking up the dinner-party, which had already in his opinion lasted too long. It had stopped raining; would they not prefer to drink their coffee in the cool garden, instead of that close room? He expected to find Gotthold in the garden, and was not mistaken. They met him walking up and down in one of the most out-of-the-way paths. He said nothing when Brandow spoke of his return as a surprise he had prepared for his guests, and apologized for his non-appearance on plea of a violent headache, which often attacked him suddenly, and he had hoped to shake off before presenting himself to the company. The two Plüggens were delighted to see their old school-fellow, whom they had always cordially hated, and Herr Redebas esteemed it an honor to make the acquaintance of such a famous man, although it was very evident that he had not the least idea in what particular branch of human activity Gotthold had won his renown. The Pastor, upon whom he was accustomed to depend at such times, unfortunately could give him no information, because he had just thrust his arm into the Assessor's, whom he met that day for the first time, and was assuring him of his eternal friendship. The Assessor laughed and was good-natured enough to laugh again, when Hans Redebas, to display his much-admired strength, raised the pair in his arms and carried them around the open space, thereby inciting Otto von Plüggen to take out his silk pocket-handkerchief, and holding it by the two corners, jump over it forward and backward, while Gustav, in laudable emulation of his ingenious brother, balanced a garden chair on his lower teeth.
"Now I should like to show you my trick," cried Brandow, "and therefore will beg you to follow me a few steps."
He went forward and opened a little door in the hedge, which led directly into the open space where he trained his racers. It was a tolerably large piece of ground, selected with great discrimination, and prepared with much skill for the purpose for which it was intended. There were wide and narrow ditches, low and high fences, broad stretches of smooth, closely-shaven turf to permit the horse to display his full speed, and heavy fallow ground for a hunting gallop. Brandow had inclosed three sides of this space, the fourth of which was occupied by the stables, with a board fence the height of a man, and kept it jealously secluded from every one. Now he rejoiced in the glances of envious admiration the three landed proprietors cast around them. But he had a still greater annoyance in store. As the little party moved towards the stables, Hinrich Scheel came forward to meet them, leading Brownlock. The beautiful animal champed his bit impatiently, rubbed his delicate head against the shoulder of his groom, and then once more gazed at the by-standers with his large black eyes, as if to ask each who would have courage to cope with him.
"Well, gentlemen," cried Brandow, "you had a great desire to ride Brownlock; there he is. I'll bet ten louis-d'or to one, that none of you can even mount him."
"I shouldn't like to break the beast's back," muttered Hans Redebas.
Otto Plüggen had sprained his foot in leaping, but Gustav thought he could easily win the ten louis-d'or.
Gustav von Plüggen was universally acknowledged to be a good rider, and had gained the prize more than once in the Sundin races. He did not doubt for an instant that he should win the bet, but nevertheless thought it advisable to go to work with all possible caution. So he walked around the horse to render it familiar with the sight of him, patted the slender neck, scratched its smooth forehead, and then, still talking to the animal, gently took the reins and told Hinrich Sheel to stand aside. But the moment he touched the stirrup with his foot, Brownlock sprang aside so violently, that Gustav was glad even to retain his hold upon the bridle. Again and again he made the attempt, always with the same want of success.
"I could have told you so before," cried Herr Redebas.
"You're making a fool of yourself again unnecessarily," snarled his brother.
Gotthold had noticed that Hinrich Scheel always stood directly before the horse with his squinting eyes fixed steadily upon it, and whenever Gustav tried to mount, made an almost imperceptible motion with his head, upon which the animal, whose black eyes were fixed intently upon its trainer, either sprang aside or reared.
"I think you would do better if you told Hinrich Scheel to go away from the horse, Herr von Plüggen," said he.
"Oh! Gustav will give it up," cried Brandow hastily; "I only made the bet in jest; the fact is, that Hinrich Scheel has trained Brownlock not to allow any one to mount except himself or me; and I could not get into the saddle against Hinrich's will. This was the very trick I wanted to show you."
Every one, with the exception of Gotthold, took the whole thing as a joke, until Brandow proved the contrary before their own eyes. Brownlock would not allow him to mount, until Hinrich Scheel gave the sign. Now came the second part of the exhibition Brandow had in store for his guests. He rode Brownlock over the whole course, taking the most difficult obstacles with an ease which displayed in the clearest light his perfect horsemanship, as well as the almost wonderful strength and endurance of the noble animal, and filled the hearts of his three rivals with the bitterest envy.
"It's a shame for a fellow like that to have such a horse," said Gustav Plüggen, who had joined Gotthold, while the rest of the party went to visit the stables; "a downright shame. That is: he certainly rides splendidly--for a plebeian, I mean; but a plebeian never ought to be allowed to keep race-horses. I talked about it enough in the committee, when we were arranging the races at Sundin eight years ago; but I couldn't get my way. Now we have the consequences. For the last four years Brandow has taken all the best prizes; it's enough to drive one mad. The fellow would have been ruined long ago if it hadn't been for the races, the races--and his wife."
"His wife?" asked Gotthold.
"Why, of course. We wouldn't have lent him another penny long ago; but for the sake of his wife, who is really a lovely woman; we can't let him go to ruin entirely. Of course he knows that better than any one else, and so she is always obliged to be of the party when any new credit is to be obtained. A week ago to-day, when we were in Plüggenhof, Otto paid his attentions to her at the table in the wildest way--in the presence of his own wife, née Baroness von Grieben-Keffen--and half an hour after dinner Brandow had his five thousand thalers in his pocket. It was a piece of madness on Otto's part; we had agreed that we would not give more than five thousand together. It would have proved a capital thing for us, but that damned Jew has spoiled it again. The devil knows why he helped him. And the Assessor told me he had been paid too. Twenty-five thousand thalers at one slap! I don't understand it at all--and that's saying something, for I generally know all his tricks and turns. The Pastor thinks you, and nobody else, have given him the money; and in return Brandow will overlook it if you and his wife--there, you needn't fly into a rage. Parson's gossip, that's all. You would take care of yourself--twenty-five thousand--ridiculous! But he has it--that's a fact, as they say in England--ever been in England? I was there--eight years ago when we were arranging about the Sundin races--famous country! horses, women, sheep--famous!-what was I going to say? He has the twenty-five thousand, and Dollan's safe for five years, the Assessor says; and now Brownlock too! Damn! that is a horse! On my honor, I haven't seen his equal even in England. What action! What a hock! And how he went over everything! Magnificent! But too heavy! too heavy, 'pon honor--he won't cross the piece of marsh-land we have now taken into the race-course. They say Prince Prora declared it wasn't fair! It's all very well for him to talk, he has no interest in the racing! Won't you come in with us? I hear there is to be a little card-party made up."
"I have never gambled, and--my headache is coming on again."
"Strange, I've no more idea what a headache is than if I had no head--you artists probably get it from the oil paints; they smell abominably."