CHAPTER XXIXFRANKA DECIDES HER FATE
The next morning, Helmer had arranged to be at Franka’s at half-past eleven. After the American’s address, she had retired, and in bidding him goodnight, she had asked Helmer to come to see her the following morning. It was to be the last day of the Rose-Week, and she desired to consult with him about the journey and other plans for the immediate future. She had long been accustomed to ask Brother Chlodwig’s advice at the crucial moments of her life.
About nine o’clock in the morning, Helmer left the house to take his last walk to his favorite spot. He looked forward not without anxiety to the promised call upon Franka. The self-control which it cost him in repressing the ebullition of his feelings would be put to a severe test once more. For the moment, it impelled him to seek that forest quietude where he had already spent so many dreamy hours with Franka’s image before his eyes.... But then she was, if not his Franka, at least not as yet another’s.
It was a clear summer day; but in the forest, shady and cool; especially in that place where Helmer was accustomed to retire, the impression of freshness was intensified by the murmuring brook and by a spring which burst forth from a mossy rock andran foaming and bubbling down in a series of little waterfalls. Through the lofty, thick tree-tops the sun’s rays could scarcely make their way, but here and there gleams of light fell golden along the tree-boles, making circlets on the ground and kindling sparks in the pellucid waters of the brook and the spring. Helmer selected a spot at the edge of a little wood-encircled meadow, abounding in flowers and tall grasses, and sat down at the foot of a lofty oak tree. For a time he let his thoughts run on and drank in the sweetness of the peaceful forest. Then he took out his notebook. He felt the impulse to write a few verses which might perpetuate the mood which this modest idyl had produced in his mind—a mood of calm enjoyment of nature, commingled with the sorrow of love’s renunciation.
But before he had written a line, he looked down the path by which he had come and saw a figure, clad in white, approaching. Was it possible? He sprang up and hastened to meet her.
“Franka!”
Yes, it was she. Chance had not brought her to that spot. She also had felt the call of the forest, and she had seen Helmer a hundred paces ahead of her slowly strolling along. “Let him be my guide,” she had said to herself, and followed him, not diminishing the distance between them. Now he reached his goal; she saw him sit down in the grass and prepare to write; by this time, however, she had caught up with him, and now they were face to face. She stretched out her hand in greeting.
“How fine that we should meet here! We canhave our little consultation now. It is far more lovely than in the house.”
Chlodwig controlled his inward emotion and offered her his arm: “Shall we not walk a little farther? I will take you to a place where we can get a wonderfully fine view.”
“No, no; let us stay here; you have chosen a perfectly beautiful spot. You sit down where you were, under that tree, and I will find a place near.... I just love to sit in the grass.”
He required no second bidding and led her to the oak. There he installed her where he had been, so that she could lean her back against the tree, and he threw himself down at full length at her feet. Supporting himself on his elbow he leaned his chin on his hand and gazed up at her.
She was dressed wholly in white: also the shoes on her little feet peeping out from under her skirt were white. She took off her hat. As she had become somewhat heated by the walk her cheeks and lips glowed and she looked remarkably young. Her eyes rested on Chlodwig’s face. How could she have ever regarded him as ugly? An expression of sorrow trembling about his lips gave his features a noble pathos; and a gentle affectionateness was expressed in his eyes—certainly the reflection of his chief characteristic—goodness. He also had taken off his hat: she now noticed, for the first time, how very thick and wavy was the short-cropped hair on his head.
He was the first to speak: “Well, what now? Is this to be our parting hour? Are our ways to separate now, forever?”
“Separate!... for always?... Certainly not.... Helmer, answer me one question. Until now, you have always talked with me about myself, never about your own life, about your endeavors and wishes. If I did not know you from your ‘Schwingen,’ I should scarcely have had a glimpse into your soul.”
“What do you want to ask, Franka?”
“It is not a very discreet question, but I want to know one thing.... Are you ... have you a ... have you any ties, that bind you?”
“You mean a betrothed, a sweetheart? No, I am free from such ties.”
“Then you are heart-free?”
“Did I say that? For God’s sake, let us talk about you again—not about me. The question now concerns your fate, your future—”
Franka nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that is the question.”
“Then let us talk about it. Shall you remain in Lucerne? Shall you wait here for the return of the prince, or shall you go back to Austria, and is he to come and find you there? That would seem more fitting.”
“Would seem more fitting....” repeated Franka in a low tone, abstractedly. It was as if she were thinking of something else and repeated mechanically what had been said, only in order to say something.
“Shall you go to one of your estates?” continued Helmer. “The château on your Moravian property, for example, would make a fine setting.”
“A setting for what scene? Would you like to come to my Moravian property, too, Helmer?”
He shook his head vigorously. Franka proceeded:—
“In the forest skirting the garden, you would find places similar to this: there also flows a brook; there also springs gush out of the moss-covered stones.”
She pulled off her glove and laid her slender white hand on Chlodwig’s shoulder: “Will you go with me to my Moravian château?”
He shrank under the touch. “I? I should not dare to; I could not.”
“Why not?” And she increased the pressure on his shoulder.
There was no help for it—the impulse was stronger than he. He seized the dear hand and kissed it passionately on the palm which he pressed to his face. Then he sprang to his feet and leaned against the tree under which Franka was sitting. He looked down upon her as she had just before looked down on him. Her features betrayed no sign of anger—on the contrary, they were brightened by a gentle smile.
“You ask why I cannot come, why I dare not—very well, I will tell you. I wanted to hide it from you forever, but now you must know it—I love you, Franka! I have always loved you from the first hour. But always you have been and are the unattainable, the unapproachable! Even if the high destiny to win you had fallen to no one else, I should never have dared raise my desires to your starrydistance.... I knew you would sometime be another’s, and when such a brilliant and worthy suitor drew near you, I almost made it easier for him. But now, when Fate has actually brought to you what I had dreamed might be yours, I am the prey of wild jealousy.... If you knew what I have suffered during the past days.... I shall fight it down, I shall certainly conquer it, but I must avoid your presence and I dare not be the witness of his happy love:—that would drive me mad! Since this adoration which I have kept for years like a religion, so to speak, has been goaded by jealousy, such a fire, such a fierce, agonizing craving has taken its place.... Oh, I am confessing too much.... Why do you let me speak so, Franka?—Why do you look at me with that strange smile?... Am I ridiculous?... That must not be! My love is not a funny thing.... It comes to me as too great, too sacred! When we shall be separated, and when years pass, it may change—and I hope it will—into warm friendship again. Then you can summon me ... to your royal court.... I shall keep my courage.... I am no sentimental boy who goes to destruction or commits suicide because of disappointment in love. I have my art and great tasks still beckon to it, and I still have a mission to fulfill.... But now, now, Franka, I am profoundly unhappy.... What self-control I have to exercise, not to seize you and for once, only once, hold you close in my arms, only once press my lips....”
Franka stood up. Chlodwig raised his hands imploringly:—
“No, do not hasten away; be assured.... I know what is due to you. Never must you think of Brother Chlodwig with regret or anger.”
But Franka had no thought of escaping. With the enigmatical smile still on her lips, she came quite close to him, flung both arms around his neck, and with a little cry hid her face on his heart. Something like an electric shock went through him. He pressed her to his heart:—
“Franka, thou only one, thou great-hearted, thou generous....” he stammered.
It seemed to him that this was a gift which she was offering him in token of farewell—the indelible remembrance of a blissful moment. As he held her there in his arms, a cuckoo’s note sounded in the distance. Franka raised her head as if to listen; then her lover’s lips found hers.
Twelve times the cuckoo called; when he ceased, Franka released herself. She sank down into her former place in the grass, and with a gesture invited Helmer to sit by her side.
“Now let us talk, Chlodwig,” she said; “now let us make plans for the future!” And she snuggled up close to his shoulder. “Now all doubts are solved: now the world belongs to us—this beautiful, splendid world!...”
He grew dizzy. “Franka, how am I to understand this?”
“How?” She laid her hand in his—“That I am thine forever.”
“Franka—is it possible? The Unattainable, the Unapproachable will be my own, my wife?”
“Aye, that she will.”
“And the prince?”
“I had not accepted his hand. I shall write him a line to-day:—‘My heart is not free’!”
“Because it belongs to me?”
“Yes, to you, Chlodwig!”
“I cannot realize the joy of it!”
He wanted to kiss her again, but she evaded it: “Only when the cuckoo calls,” she said, laughing. “Now we must make our plans.”
“Will you not regret it? Will not Victor Adolph be in despair?”
“I think not. It will more likely be a relief to him; for the sacrifice, the hindrances ... all that sort of thing has been a burden to him, and hurt my pride. I want the gift of myself to....”
“Insure absolute happiness, celestial bliss,” interrupted Helmer, completing her sentence; “to make the man who receives this gift feel like a king and be a Crœsus....”
“And do you feel all that, Chlodwig?”
“That and more besides than I can tell. You must know that speech has no satisfactory expression, for our highest emotions—poets do their best to compass it, and therefore they strive by means of rhyme and rhythm to give pinions to speech—but it is all in vain.”
“Still I am going to try,” said Franka, “to describe how I feel: without rhythm and without rhyme, perhaps not even very coherently; but you will certainly understand me. It belongs to my treasure of happiness, this knowledge, that youunderstand and always will understand what I feel in the deepest depths of my soul. And I understand thee, my poet, my teacher, my beloved. So then, listen, thou who art wont to speak in figures; with two little pictures I can give the whole enigma of my happiness: a haven and a chest. The haven is—”
The explanation was interrupted: for once more and this time much nearer the cuckoo began to call. At the same instant Helmer’s kiss was glowing on her mouth. After the third note, the cuckoo ceased. Franka released herself, but the complaisant bird began again, and when he ceased the second time, Helmer permitted his tremulous but willing prisoner to escape from his arms.
“You see, Love has far more intelligible means of expression than words; but now go on with what you were going to say: the haven is—”
Franka drew a tremulous sigh and passed her hand over her forehead. “Yes, I know—the haven is the sweet security of being protected.—Whatever may come—I am safe!”
“And the chest?”
“Oh, yes, the chest?—that is as yet firmly locked ... but I have got the key. Treasures are in it, that I am sure of—bills of exchange, letters of credit on the great bank of the future. We two united!... Just think of all that we can draw upon it for all the great and little joys of life even till old age! We who are so congenial, traveling together, working together, furnishing a home together....”
“A home which will perhaps embrace more than two!” suggested Helmer.
“... Living together—the joys and the sorrows that when transformed into recollections we can store away in the chest. But as yet I have not opened it. Further treasures are hidden there—I do not as yet know them ... glowing red rubies which I have never adorned myself with. Yet, quite lately, an inkling of it has been disclosed to me by one....”
“One? Who?” demanded Helmer, with new-awakened jealousy.
“Who?” She smiled. Then, deliberately and in a whisper: “The cuckoo.”
“Oh, thou—” And the answer was just as if the bird had again uttered his enticing call. Through the tree-tops sighed a gentle breeze which, laden with the perfume of spicy herbs and ripe strawberries, fanned and cooled the glowing cheeks of the lovers.
“Now, then,” exclaimed Franka, after she had again freed herself, “let us make our plans.”
“But first let me say something.... Also in figures—you know my weakness—and if at this moment the pictures did not rise up before me....”
“Then you would be no poet! But why invent at a moment when reality is so super-earthly?”
“Super-earthly certainly, but not super-cosmic. Whoever feels and makes any one feel so happy, so superhuman, works in the service of a cosmic factory. There a magnificent material is woven from star to star, from eternity to eternity out of fine glittering threads. These threads are called ecstasies, pleasures, joys, the very greatest and likewisethe very tiniest joys. Every living thing experiencing this serves as a shuttle for this loom.”
“And what becomes of the material, oh, my metaphorical poet?”
“God makes his royal mantle out of it.”
“Lovely!” exclaimed Franka. “Still,” she added, shaking her head gently; “you employ very old material for hewing your images: God as king—in that figure I do not recognize my bold modern thinker.”
“Solid material is required for hewing images. The new thoughts are for the most part as yet lacking in consistency, gaseous, so to speak; one cannot make any images out of them. But, dearest, let us not talk any more about generalities now, when we are breathing in the midst of such concrete beauty touching us both; at this moment when everything lying outside of ‘thee and me’ sinks into nothingness. For heaven’s sake, let us not indulge in subtleties and let us not be deep! We have the right to lose ourselves in the regions of the higher folly! We have the still higher right to be—silent!”
“I will not be silent,” cried Franka. “I must shout it out that I am happy, happy, happy!” And in saying this she flung her arms up into the air. “Oh how many times have I heard that word, read it, spoken it, and—to-day, for the first time, I know what it means.”
Approaching voices and steps were heard. Their moment of blessed solitude was past.
Franka hastily snatched up her hat from the ground. “Come, let us go before these odious persons find us here.”
“May the cuckoo fly off with them!” cried Helmer in vexation.
“But, Chlodwig,” exclaimed Franka reproachfully, “how can you put such a burden on our beloved bird?”
“You are right! Holy cuckoo, forgive me!”
“Now, you know, holiness is not the right term for him. I have heard many things to his prejudice ... he is said to have no family sentiment....”
“Oh, there, he does not need Philistine virtues. He is a kind of forest magician and consequently superior to civil morals.”
“Just as a poet laureate is superior to provincial rulers?”
Thus laughing and jesting, they walked for a while side by side; but once their eyes met, and a sudden earnestness spread over their features; on their silent lips trembled something akin to pain; they had simultaneously discovered that between them hovered something like the spirit of consecration, awe-inspiring, something like an emanation from the mystical source of being:—Love!—something under whose breath jests and laughter seem as inappropriate as under the breath of that other solemn mystery—Death. What they had seen in each other’s eyes permeated them with a thrill of devotion, and they walked for a long distance in silence; yet by their arms they still exchanged the pressure significant of affection.
Only when their path turned into a frequented place in Lucerne was this magic mood dispelled. They came to an aeroplane-hangar.
Franka paused:—
“Chlodwig, grant me one wish—let us take a little air-trip together. I have never been in an aeroplane and I should like to make my first ascent with you; and to-day especially ... this very moment.... I feel a great thirst for the heights, don’t you?”
“I? No. My most burning thirst you have—I mean the cuckoo has—quenched! But if it would give you a pleasure—I am ready for it. Let us fly!”
He made the arrangements with one of the pilots, and a few moments later the machine was speeding up with its passengers into the air. Franka at that moment experienced a powerful shock rather psychical then physical. Set free from the ground, hovering free, with reasonable velocity their aeroplane swept up at a height of about ten metres. It was a quite peculiar new sensation. Suddenly, however, the machine began to mount and mount; not perpendicularly, but still preserving its forward motion, until it had reached a height of some hundred metres. Franka could not repress a cry. She had the impression that the aeroplane remained still while everything else was sinking down. Into what depths fell the earth! Ever wider became the view of the country gliding away beneath them, and ever tinier little points—now trees, houses, like toys; men, like ants—juggled together on it.
Still higher went their flight. The mountains shrunk into flatness and finally everything seemed to be a plain with black streaks—the forests; a whitepool—the lake; and winding ribbons—the roads. And as Franka was not far-sighted, the whole picture swam in her vision into an empty gray plain. She recalled her dream and that terrifying feeling of being alone in space. But in sooth, she was not alone: her beloved was by her side.
“Put your arm around me,” she besought him. And as soon as that firm strong support went obliquely down from her shoulder embracing her waist, it seemed to her exactly as in that dream—the blessed sense of security that one is held and protected ... only this time with the difference, that she now knew who that one was, and she thanked Heaven that it was this one and not the other. She closed her eyes and bent her head back. She looked so pale that Chlodwig was alarmed, and bade the pilot to glide down and land them. Then Franka opened her eyes:—
“No, no, not yet—it is splendid!”
Her panic had vanished, and the peculiar fascinating intoxication of the flight through the upper air had seized her. “Do not land yet! Tell him to go in a wave-motion—up, down, up—down so that I may feel the sensation of flying, that I may know that we are flying.”
“Aren’t you frightened, my love,—you are so pale—”
“No, not afraid—only this new experience is so surprising, so overpowering—it is the fulfillment of a dream. Isn’t it delightful?”
“Oh, yes, the human race might, indeed, be proud of the heights which it has attained, if at the sametime it had not remained so abject! Yet have patience—our watchword still is—‘Excelsior!’”
After another quarter of an hour, in which they had their heart’s content of mounting and descending, of gliding and curving, the pilot directed his aerial car to the landing-place and the two happy passengers dismounted.
They proceeded to the Rose-Palace on foot. Frau Eleonore came to meet them, as they walked along the terrace.
“At last!” she exclaimed; “I was beginning to be concerned about you—lest something had happened, Franka.”
“I can’t deny that something has happened to me!”
“In Heaven’s name, what?”
“You will find out soon enough. Let us go up!”
She relinquished Helmer’s arm and took Frau Eleonore’s instead. “Good-bye for now, Chlodwig; we shall meet at luncheon. I am going to write Prince Victor Adolph now. Come, Eleonore!” And she pulled her companion toward the entrance.
Helmer bowed and went off in another direction.
As soon as she reached her salon, Franka threw her hat and parasol down and with a long, long breath sank into an easy-chair.
Frau Eleonore took her place facing her.
“Dear Franka, forgive me, but”—she was at a loss for the right words—“I know you do not like me to be preaching ... but don’t you think that such walks with Herr Helmer.... As far as I am concerned, it is nothing.... I know what an oldharmless friendship means ... but don’t you think that perhaps the prince....”
“Oh, thank you for reminding me of the prince—I must write to him. Has any telegram come for me?”
“No, but here is a letter from the Sielenburg.”
Franka took the letter and tore open the envelope. “From Tante Albertine.... I can’t make out the wriggly handwriting very well. Please read the letter for me, Eleonore, will you?”
“Willingly. But what I said just now ... you are not vexed with me, are you?”
“Really, I did not notice what you said....”
“You seem very much disturbed. You have not told me as yet what happened to you.”
“Later, later—please read the letter first. Let us see what the good auntie has to say.”
Frau Eleonore read:—
My dear Child!
My dear Child!
My dear Child!
My dear Child!
I have only just returned to the dear old Sielenburg, but I sit down to write you a few lines to tell you that we made the journey without mishap. Dear Adele is very much done up, to be sure, and quite cross; the trip did not gratify her at all. I, too, am much pleased to be at home again. Here we get so much of what we missed while away; for instance, respectful treatment by people. Here we are addressed with proper terms once again: “Kiss your hand,” or, “Saving your grace”—that to Adele—or, “at your command,” while the Swiss are so unmannerly; they called us “Madam,” and on the train one conductor spoke to me as “a woman”! It was, indeed, out of politeness; he pushed a passenger to one side, saying, “Let the woman pass.” I wanted to tell him thatI was nothing of the sort, but one can’t enter into conversation with such clowns.
We had to stay another day after our “P.P.C.” call on you—Coriolan got the wrong tickets, and so we heard Helmer after all. It was so strange to see Uncle Eduard’s former secretary up there among the celebrities. He was so quiet at the Sielenburg, as if he could not count up to five. I could not make out what he said—it was all such a medley—exaggerated. He was always eccentric. He even presumed to cast his eyes on you. Who knows how it would have ended if I had not—for your advantage, you must know—upset his calculations and informed Uncle Eduard in good time. I am proud of that even to-day. Take care that he does not try his little game again; it might injure you with the prince.
Frau Eleonore stopped her reading—“I agree with Fräulein Albertine about that.”
Franka shrugged her shoulders with annoyance:—“You must not be proud of that.”
Frau Eleonore went on with the letter:—
You ought to hear Cousin Coriolan’s opinion of Helmer—for he has a correct judgment and is a gentleman through and through. He was not at all enthusiastic over our stay at Lucerne; he declares he will never again be induced to take such an exotic journey. Really, I had a pretty good time; it was such a complete change; but I shall doubly enjoy the quiet here. What pleased me most in Lucerne was the conquest you made. Be very wise....
“Is there any more of that?” interrupted Franka.
“Four pages more.”
“Then we will leave it until by and by: Now I am going to write to the prince.... Eleonore, on the whole, I prefer to tell you now: I am betrothed.”
“Oh, you are?” exclaimed Frau Eleonore, her face radiant with joy. “And why did you delay telling me till now? What good fortune! Only it is a shame that he had to go away.”
“My dear friend! You are under a wrong impression. Victor Adolph is not my betrothed....”
“Not the prince!” Her eyes grew gloomy, “Who then?”
“It is not very hard to guess.”
It certainly was not difficult, and Frau Eleonore was well aware who the fortunate suitor was. In spite of the disappointment which it brought her, she was too clever, and also too well disposed to Franka to betray any dissatisfaction. To be sure, her dream of having the position of a lady-in-waiting at court was dispelled, but she concealed her disappointment:—“Chlodwig Helmer—is it, then?” she said. “Well, if you love him, Franka, I wish you joy with all my heart.”
“Yes, I love him.”
Half an hour later, the two ladies went down to the Toker luncheon. Franka had in the mean time written the letter to Victor Adolph:—a perfectly candid confession that she had already given her heart to another man, and, moreover, her assurance that she perfectly well realized what obstacles would have been put in the way of his life-work and his lofty position if she had accepted his impulsive and far too unpremeditated offer.
Helmer came forward to meet Franka as she entered the dining-room. The separation which hadlasted at the most about an hour seemed to them both frightfully long, and the joy of seeing each other again accelerated the beating of their hearts. They sat at table side by side as usual. After the last course, Helmer asked Franka whether they should keep their happiness to themselves for a while, or communicate the news to the Brotherhood of the Rose. “Oh, let them know about it! I should like to have it shouted over the housetops!”
Helmer stood up and tapped on his glass.
“Hear, hear!” cried Toker. “In spite of the regulation forbidding formal toasts at this table, our poet of the pinions seems desirous to offer some one’s health. Well, to-day is our last meeting—give your eloquence full rein, Mr. Helmer.”
“I do not intend to make a speech. What you are going to hear from me, Mr. Toker and Miss Toker, and all of you, brethren and sisters under the token of the Rose, is merely a bit of family news. I have the feeling that we all, during this delectable week, have become a sort of happy family, and therefore I hope for your interest when I tell you that this morning Franka Garlett and I were betrothed.”
Gwendoline rushed to Franka and gave her a tumultuous embrace. After the confusion of the universal congratulations had somewhat subsided, Toker tapped three times on the table with the handle of his knife in order to obtain a hearing:—
“Under such extraordinary circumstances it is not only permitted, but it is obligatory upon us to offer a toast. Let us greet it as a good omen that in our serious community, gathered to enlarge thegeneral realm of High Thinking and thence of human welfare, two such noble hearts have joined to win personal happiness by their love. Let us greet this as an omen for the development of the coming race: if the custom obtain that the champions of the most brilliant ideas, the possessors of the greatest talents, in a word, the most splendid specimens of the human race, come together as here, and fall in love, as our highly honored new couple have done, and if they, as we hope even for this same bridal pair, increase and multiply, then, after a few more generations, even more fortunate results of careful breeding will be seen than our friend Luther Burbank has obtained with his gigantic cabbages. Therefore, proceed, Chlodwig and Franka, and found a home. That is, after all, the most beautiful and most satisfying happiness to be found on earth—however far and high our thoughts may soar and our exploits may be carried, let us provide a warm, safe place of calmness and of love to which we are all entitled.
“We men have in these days imitated the most magnificent prerogative of the birds—the art of flight. But let us never forget that other example which these masters of heights and distances give us—the nest!”