Da. Reising's credit had done its duty, as was shown by the shining brass plate, upon which the skilful town engraver had etched the words, "Lori Baute's Boarding School," in large, legible characters.
There she sat, a small sovereign of a small state. The first object of her ambition was attained. Indignant as she was at the noise which the classes sometimes made, to her there was even a melodious echo in the tumult. All these noisy beings are your pupils, entrusted to you, given up to your authority, and this turbulence only proves how your school flourishes.
She had adopted a short, decided, dictatorial manner, and practised it before the mirror; she had also pondered over a necessary alteration in her dress, and arrived at the conclusion that her present position required a certain sacrifice, the sacrifice of youth. Fräulein Sohle, her predecessor, had none to make in that respect, she was totally different from her pupils, with the advantage of her maturer years, and with unartificial dignity, such as is united without effort to creases, wrinkles, and a figure which only appears as the physical residuum of an intellectually extinguished spirit.
But Lori was still young; her looking glass told her that she might compete in charms with the youngest teachers, yes, she even looked younger than she was.
School, and that life to which she might still lay claim, were opposed to one another, but she must make some concession. She made up her mind to it, and decided upon the loss of those curls, which the profane world designated "love-locks."
It was not easy for her to relinquish the glossy, youthful head-gear, but the gloomy framework of snake-like curls imparted an otherwise unattainable dignity to her features. To be sure her eyes flashed out all the more boldly, and her tiny person could not possibly transform itself into a Juno. Nevertheless she knew how to inspire respect; wherever she appeared, all noise was stilled, her omniscience was feared, because she knew how to find out by inquisition and torture everything that happened in any portion of her dominions. The governesses were afraid of her and her spies; they felt that every step was watched, without knowing in what tangible form those dark powers dogged their heels.
The older tutors also obeyed the young ruler's will with a certain gallantry; only the young master with the moustache opposed an unbending mind, and appeared to be determined to go his own way.
She was thought to be omniscient, poor Lori! How gladly would she have been so! because unnatural obscurity hovered over one of the most important questions which occupied her. Far away beyond the attained goal her ambition was again striving after new objects--how very different to be a proudchâtelaine, and the wife of a nobleman of position--and was this impossible for her?
She sat silently, and counted up all the tokens of attention which Blanden had vouchsafed to her. The sum was a considerable one, if only all the separate posts had been secure--!
Blanden had availed himself of her last invitation in the confectioner's shop to visit Reising, just before his departure to the province, and, indeed, on the same day. Was it merely his eagerness to fulfil a social duty while he had time, or was it liking for, and interest in her poor self?
Dr. Reising had received him very pleasantly. Euphrasia had been agreeable, yes, coquettish--Lori had no other name for it; even Emma had shed the light of her kitchen lantern upon the high politics of the reception-room; and actually Albertine made up her mind to speak.
But he had distinguished her above all the others, talked with her in preference, and she herself had been intellectual, particularly intellectual; she must say that for herself, there are days upon which the silver melts unaided from the mental ore, and becomes liquid, days of an intellectual silvery appearance. Could Blanden be unsusceptible to such silvery looks? For he had been in the province a long time. Dr. Reising had departed with her sisters; she had undertaken the school, it was a time of anxiety. He was far away, she could only preserve his image in her heart, and at rare moments take it out for devout contemplation.
But now he had returned again, she had seen him. Twice he had ridden past her house. Was it chance, or intentional? He had looked up at her windows; did he seek her, or did he only notice the wild noise issuing from one of the classes, the windows of which, in spite of the cold, had to be opened on account of a worn-out stove!
Much more weighty was the fact that for several days she had each morning found a bouquet of hot-house flowers in her vase.
A man-servant had delivered them to the housemaid without giving the name of the donor. In each bouquet was concealed an envelope, in which was a card containing a verse. Such forbidden goods in a girls' school, and to be sent to her, the mistress! But she resigned herself to the inevitable, did not burn the cards, nor did she forbid the reception of the bouquets.
Did they come from Blanden? A blissful suspicion told her so, she believed to find reminiscences of their conversations in some of the verses. Had he not spoken of the solitude of his woods, and did not the first verse begin with an allusion to it?--
"Without thee darling I am lonely,All the light of life doth die,All my heaven is in thee only,No star is in th' eternal skySave thou smile and bid me see,Save thou come and bide with me."
"Without thee darling I am lonely,
All the light of life doth die,
All my heaven is in thee only,
No star is in th' eternal sky
Save thou smile and bid me see,Save thou come and bide with me."
She imagined she heard Blanden's soft mellifluous voice in the melody of these lines; but why did he not come? She would gladly have let her eyes shine upon him.
Bolder was the last poem! It spoke of the lotus-flower. Blanden had been in India, the exotic colouring of the lines possessed a warmth such as only personal experience can impart:
"A god of Hindoo dreams,Cradled in the lotus-flower,Then enchanted it would seemBy a goddess' magic power;And wert thou my goddess trueI should be enchanted too."
"A god of Hindoo dreams,
Cradled in the lotus-flower,
Then enchanted it would seem
By a goddess' magic power;
And wert thou my goddess trueI should be enchanted too."
In spite of the oriental figurative language, the meaning of these lines was not incomprehensible; they were from Blanden. They must have originated from him, and mentally Lori composed the anti-strophe--
"Let the lotus shed its perfume,Tarry not in lover's pain,In the castle of KulmittenI will as your goddess reign."
"Let the lotus shed its perfume,
Tarry not in lover's pain,
In the castle of Kulmitten
I will as your goddess reign."
And if Blanden were the author, the sender of these exotic nosegays, nothing but delicate consideration could restrain him from seeking her! He indeed knew where the lotus-flower bloomed, but could he know how he should be received? He must show some regard for the mistress' character, upon which her existence depends. He had no pretext for such a visit; he had no little daughter to introduce. Oh, she understood him thoroughly, and she respected him the more, the more she understood him.
She considered long what pretext she could find for a meeting; she made plans, and rejected them again. At last she decided upon her favourite weapon, a pink note--an anonymous pink note! He was discreet, she might trust him, there was nothing remarkable about a chance meeting in the confectioner's shop; but the reason? This was of less importance; once she was seated before him, all doubts must vanish.
These lines, these flowers, and the look in his eyes, a single pregnant word--and the enigma would be solved with magic speed.
The pink note merely contained the words, "a lady begs for your advice and help," also the place and the hour of the assignation.
Blanden was on friendly terms with Reising; she, without male support since her brother-in-law's departure, had she not every right to turn to him, and her doing so would enlighten him.
There was the tutor with the moustache, handsome Dr. Sperner, he became bolder and more defiant each day, yes even at times he seemed to treat her like a little girl, and not as the principal of the school. Blanden should advise her how she was to behave to the doctor, a little interference in her favour would lower the young man's presumptuous tone; he must learn that she was sure of manly protection.
When in the act of taking her straw hat out of the drawer so as to make her toilette in keeping with her correspondence, Dr. Sperner was announced again. He entered so boldly, that one might have expected to see spurs on his boots.
"You wish to speak to me, dear Fräulein?"
"Later, a few hours later, I begged you to come to me."
"I know, but I shall not have time! This white slavery only extends over lectures and consultations, not the entire day, even if it be the most amiable lady planter's slavery."
"What do these insinuations mean, Herr Doctor?"
"I gladly look upon myself as your slave, my Fräulein! If capital be allowed to plunder our mental labour, it may be endured from an owner of capital, such as you, dear Fräulein, with whom a man could live. But what do you wish?"
"I can now only explain my views very briefly upon two points which I wish to see altered; yes, I expect, I command that they be altered!"
The Doctor bowed with a mocking smile.
"Even on my first visit to the establishment, I made these observations," continued Lori, while she assumed a stern tone, and shook back one spiral curl that fell over her face, "the themes which you give to the pupils are totally unsuitable, just so the theme for the last composition, 'Why did Egmont not marry Klärchen?' That does not appear to be the proper manner of introducing our classics."
"There our views differ, dear Fräulein! Upon reflection, you will find how improving such tasks are. They accustom the girls to grasp the most important questions in life in an independent manner, and, above all, to treat them with tact. Besides, I avoid themes which lead to commonplaces, and which have already been written upon hundreds of times. New questions which cause independent thought--that is my object. I should like to wager that hitherto even you have not thought over my questions."
"I must decline, Herr Doctor, to be placed on a par with my pupils."
"I am far from doing so, excepting on one point, namely, youth and loveliness."
"You forget to whom you are speaking. Such susceptibility, however, is a superfluous quality in the masters at my school."
"What would a teacher of youth be, who possessed no susceptibility for the beautiful?"
"Many pupils and their parents complain of your partiality. I find that they are right. I have examined the corrected copy-books very closely. You show such partiality to that fat Iduna; orthographical mistakes, which, for the others, you mark with thick red lines, in her case you treat as clerical errors, which you do not count, which you do not put down in the margin or add up. Thus Iduna always receives a good notice. And yet that girl brought forward the unutterable nonsense that Egmont did not marry Klärchen because it would have been inconvenient, and marriage, especially owing to ladies' dress, costs too much money; although lace was made in Brussels and Flanders, and was cheaper than with us. And this sentence you did not even cross out, while you accompany the poetical ideas of other girls with red notes of interrogation."
"Iduna possesses sound common sense, although she is of a prosaic nature. We must encourage it. On the other hand, it is a master's duty to eradicate betimes all that is too fantastic; life does not fulfil such foolish dreams."
"As well as Iduna, you favour Clara, who is not her inferior as to voluptuous form; it seems that you like full-blown roses."
"You are mistaken, Fräulein; besides, my private taste has nothing to do with my profession and your establishment. It is thoroughly feminine to recognise no principles, and to impute everything to the affections."
"Because," interposed Lori, "in a boarding school they are ill-weeds, which must be eradicated first of all."
"As you like to decide upon matters which do not belong to your duties as principal, although, as a girl, they may be interesting to you--"
"The distinctions which you make are unsuitable--"
"Then I must defend my taste against your accusations. I do not love such phlegmatic contented natures. I love what is fine and piquant--vivacious, intellectual eyes, dainty figures--"
"I thank you for your confessions, but I am not in a position to listen to them any longer; I must leave you. But yet, I must request better themes for German tasks, and greater impartiality--and you will obey my orders."
"Certainly; 'Thoughts on the awaking of Spring' shall be the next theme for our first-class, and Iduna shall receive the worst report. You had better take your fur instead of your cloak, Fräulein! It is bittterly cold, as the sentries say in 'Hamlet,' before they see the ghost. Can I assist you? That pink bonnet becomes you charmingly, dear Fräulein! You can wear the most youthful colours, but smooth bands of hair would suit you better than these corkscrews. Good-by!"
With a mocking smile, but a fiery glance at the young mistress, the audacious Doctor took leave. Lori was indignant at his daring, and at the superior tone which he assumed, but she was still more angry with herself that she had not been able to keep him within bounds; that she felt subdued before him, as was Mark Antony before Cæsar's genius. She must procure advice, it was high time.
Soon Lori was seated in the confectioner's shop, and waited eagerly for the result of her pink note.
Blanden entered: he went excitedly and hastily through the apartments; he had received the note, and connected its contents with Giulia, who occupied all his thoughts. For this reason he had acceded to its invitation, although the preparation for his meeting with the Lieutenant claimed all his time. He recognised Lori, and went towards her; she thought it advisable at once to acknowledge her authorship of the note. Blanden seated himself beside her, and listened absently to her communications. The less Lori really had to say, the longer she spun it out: she began with their meeting at the sea-side, with the friendship which Professor Reising had always entertained for Blanden; she painted pictures of the short time they had been together, in the most vivid colours. Blanden sat there so dreamily; was he revelling in the same recollections; did he smile in silent delight, or only out of politeness?
Now Lori began to talk about herself; she drew a touching sketch of her childhood and youth. Blanden's eyes became more and more concealed beneath their lids, imparting a dreamy appearance to him; was it fervour or abstraction?
In the midst of her recital Lori watched the play of her listener's countenance with nervous attention, and was miserable that she could not fathom the impression which her words made upon him, because this was the principal object of the meeting. She hardly dared confess to herself that she had perceived how forced was his attention, and that his pulses did not seem to beat any higher.
She sought to awaken a deep interest by representing how difficult it was for a girl to fight her way through the world; she had bought the school, but now stood there quite isolated, helpless in many respects. She complained of several governesses, especially of the rebellious master.
"Then I should dismiss him," said Blanden, with great composure.
"It is not so easy as you think. He has his faults, but it is difficult to find a substitute. Besides, he is thought something of in society. In such an establishment one has not only to think of the daughters, but also of the mothers. And, as far as the mothers are concerned, he is a veritable Faust; he possesses the keys to their hearts."
"But he would listen to serious remonstrance."
"He treats me, I hardly like to say it, as a loveable little person, who, by mere chance, has been wafted to the head of the school; as a cypher, to which some small capital has put a figure before it. If he knew that I am not quite unprotected, that my brother-in-law, that my brother-in-law's friends support me--"
"It is a knight's duty to protect ladies who implore protection," said Blanden. "I shall always fulfil that duty. If the young Doctor should be guilty of anything in the least degree unbecoming towards you, reckon upon me; I shall call him to account."
This sounded so delightful, so hopeful! Lori's heart exulted, her eyes rested with such confiding trust upon the knight, who vowed his services to her; words of gratitude flowed warmly and fervently from her lips.
Now she had gained courage to prosecute her research as to whether the knight had already borne any lady's colours.
"You surely lead a very solitary life in Kulmitten?" asked she, assuming a most significant air, and emphasising the word "solitary" very markedly.
"I shall spend the winter mostly in the town," replied Blanden.
The man with the iron mask, thought she, he denies his flowers, but has he, like many, only warm feelings in his verses?
The suspicion that those lines did not originate from him still appeared incredible to her.
"One who has lived so long in Hindustan, amongst the lotus-flowers, may, indeed, find it very desolate here with us."
She cast a sympathetic glance at Blanden, who was so impolite as to look at his watch at that very moment.
"Lotus-flowers, the cradle of the gods," continued Lori, raising her eyes like her sister Ophelia, for which, however, she had not the long silken lashes; she had no talent for moonlight of the soul.
"Nothing looks so poetical when seen quite closely," said Blanden, "as in the poet's verses, neither lotus flowers, nor gods, nor bayaderes. The lotus flowers are of as beautiful a pink as your bonnet, Fräulein, Nevertheless, the holy plant possesses a very prosaic side, too; bread can be made from its fruit."
Was this meant for a significant or, perhaps, even a malicious allusion? Lori had plenty of time for reflection, because immediately after Blanden politely took leave, while he repeated that he should always be ready to protect her.
A feeling of great uncertainty took possession of her. All that Blanden said was so cool, so distant. Had she been mistaken? Did the castles of Kulmitten and Rositten belong to those in the air? or was he only teasing her? Did the merry cupids take refuge in his flowers and lines of poetry, while he acted the part of grave invincibility?
As Lori left the confectioner's shop, she had to pass readers, who were deeply absorbed in their newspapers. One gigantic sheet was suddenly lowered, and behind it appeared the moustache of Dr. Sperner, who greeted the principal of the boarding school with a slight bow, and smiled familiarly, as she strolled past him.
After a sleepless night, in which the ardent desires of her heart were driven to flight by the implacable calculation of her understanding, and after mature consideration, she was obliged to acknowledge a defeat, which, happily, she had suffered in total secrecy. In the morning she again found a bouquet of flowers and a note:
"Ah, these runes, dear, pray decypher,Put an end to my love's pain;For 'tis not Iduna I love,No, I love but you alone!"
"Ah, these runes, dear, pray decypher,Put an end to my love's pain;For 'tis not Iduna I love,No, I love but you alone!"
This was the height of impudence. The moustachioed teacher cast his mask aside. In her own establishment had sprung up the ill-weeds of poetry and bouquets.
Should she give him notice?
Under existing circumstances she resolved not at once to speak about these love poems, so opposed to all rule, but to hold farther mental debates with herself.
Iduna's next exercise teemed with red corrections. Lori rewarded Dr. Sperner for them with a grateful smile.
Early in the morning the carriage stopped before the village inn. Blanden, Kuhl, and two other gentlemen sprang oat; the pistol cases were left in the carriage.
"We have come too early; there is still half an hour's time," said Kuhl, "a morsel to eat cannot hurt us."
"The morning is as hard as iron; the roads sparkle as if they were armour clad," said the Doctor.
Blanden drummed his fingers upon the table. Kuhl sat down beside him.
"I cannot, indeed, understand why you plunged yourself into this danger?"
"It is to revenge Giulia's honour upon a miscreant."
"Well, you know my opinion about duels; it is a special act of friendship that I second you. I have, it is true, several times, used a human body as a target, and marked it there when I intended to do, because I set to work conscientiously, and did not swerve an iota from my intentions. I wish you had my eye and hand to-day!"
"I prefer to leave it to chance," said Blanden, "then I shall have a clearer conscience."
"But now," continued Kuhl, "no one would easily inveigle me into such a duel. I do not hold Falstaff's views about honour, but I think that all which does but exist in the opinion of mankind, enjoys a very shadowy existence, and that it is not worth while, for the sake of such dissolving views, for such opinions which fade into mist, and from day to day assume a different form, to let a bullet be driven into one's body."
"But we are dependent upon the opinions of mankind, especially of those human beings with whom we must live."
"Those are the so-called class prejudices; for a citizen of the world like you they should not exist. You know best that in Honolulu upon such matters people think quite differently from what they do in the Fiji Islands, or even in Japan, where they simply rip up their own persons. It would be too cheap a mode of regaining one's lost honour if it were only necessary to burn powder in the pan."
"We often long to punish an enemy," said Blanden, "and there is no other suitable method than that of standing before him with sword or pistol in one's hand. Hatred and enmity cannot be eradicated, and such silently nourished ill-will, such Platonic hatred, as people might term it, gnaws at one's vitals, just as does Platonic love. Every passion must obtain satisfaction, therefore the world has produced swords and pistols."
"You are right," said Kuhl, "the world, once for all, belongs to cannibals, and the religion of love and peace, despite more than a thousand years' reign, has not been able to eradicate manslaughter. And so long as it is prosecuted on a large scale for the sake of a morsel of land, or questions of lofty etiquette and political politeness, one can really not object, when, on a small scale, people go to war with one another for considerations of honour; at least, it is a cheaper pleasure, and does not cost the blood of nations."
"In my duel, dear Kuhl," said Blanden, "in the first place a woman's honour is concerned, and it is much more easily injured. As some birds in Hindoostan, according to the opinions of the people, only live upon the drops of rain which fall from the clouds, so do women only live upon that heavenly refreshment which lies in the delicate sense of their honour."
"Nonsense," said Kuhl, "people scorn the world's opinion."
"Then one must live upon a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe."
"Every truly free man is a Robinson who does not require mankind. A robinsonade in society, it is that which is right, therein lies the guarantee of happiness."
"Women must not have that wish; through it they would fool away the happiness of their life."
"Who can deprive them of the happiness that they conquer boldly?"
"True! Listen to me; at such moments a man thinks more seriously upon many things. I am about to fight for a woman's honour, you make game of it."
"Blanden," cried Kuhl, jumping up. "My voice has more weight now, for that which I say to you may be my last testament. You deprive two girls of their good name, the sole guarantee which they possess for the peace of a later life. Now they may play and joke, some day earnestness and loneliness will come."
"Well, the one has already retired from me; Olga threatens to become untrue to me."
"Possibly, then, all the more grave is your duty to the other, who now defies the world's opinion; be it from folly, be it from passion, later, however, she will lament that she did so, when, after a short intoxication, she must lead a long, joyless, poverty-stricken life. You have no duties; one day you will forsake her entirely, and she will be left to gaze into long, lasting misery. She has rejected one honest wooer."
"You speak of your friend Wegen!"
"I speak of what my heart feels. I am, perhaps, about to sacrifice my life to one woman, therefore you can surely sacrifice your theories to another. A man may become a martyr to his faith, but he may not make others so."
Kuhl was silent, it was a disagreeable conversation on a disagreeable morning; he must allow that Blanden was right, it was the way of the world. He shivered; the narrowness of a subject's life seemed to oppress him.
"One thing more," said Blanden, "take care of Giulia if I fall. The world will condemn her as being the cause of my death. Perhaps her artistic career may be endangered. She has no support, no friend! Everything seems to be double-faced that moves around her. Be you her friend; will you promise it me?"
"With all my heart," said Kuhl.
"I have made my will; the legacy I leave to her is considerable enough to ensure her a life free from care, even if she retire from the stage. Help her with good advice, but do not forget that she is almost my widow, too sacred for frivolous games, and veiled for you by this my last solemn word."
Kuhl thought to himself, "Jealous beyond the grave," but he did not venture to smile, he only squeezed his friend's hand in silence.
Blanden looked at the clock--it was time. All entered the carriage again, which rolled along upon creaking wheels through the snow-laden forest.
On the edge of the pine wood another carriage was standing; the opponents had just arrived.
The scene of conflict was a little snow-covered glade; distances were measured, and the weapons examined. Blanden knew no fear, not even fear of death, but the full consciousness of the nonentity of existence overcame him. There was nothing appalling for him in death, but something almost humiliating. It was miserable, full of thoughts which grasp a world to be hurled to the ground by a piece of rattling metal, which pierces one in rapid flight, which even an old decayed tree stem can defy; it was too wretched to lie here bedded in the snow like any crow shot down from the grey wintry sky by the sportsman's gun, so that the wings of the mind hang down paralysed and dead for evermore, like the wings of the hideous bird which just now croaked so loudly for prey and food.
Lifeless lead--and instead of the agitated spirit's notes of exclamation and interrogation, that one great line which ends this chapter of life, and perhaps the whole book.
And, yet, it is easy to die on a frosty, winter's day, when all life cowers, when the trees stretch their bare summits into the misty grey atmosphere, and the shroud of snow lies upon all the forests and meadows. All nature shudders, as if renouncing every happiness.
But, no! One heart there is that beats anxiously for you; two eyes which already dedicate scalding tears to the dark possibility that menaces you; there, indeed, is life and happiness, and from these it is that you must part.
As is the case in all moments of most supreme tension, Blanden's mind saw such pictures and thoughts pass before him with a certain rigidity, and only awoke again as Kuhl pressed the pistols into his hand.
Attempts at reconciliation had not been made, the bitterness of the opponents was too great, those polite ceremonies, which had been made for form's sake, were dropped again immediately, as being perfectly futile.
As in a dream, Blanden saw the colossal officer step before him. He hated the man until that moment, then he was seized as with pity for such a sensual life, and then, again, with a change of thought, quick as lightning, his mind flew to recollections of his school days, and he thought of Homer and the Bible, which tell so accurately how many feet of earth such a mighty man covered in his fall.
Then in the midst of these dreamy thoughts, rang the call of the seconds, the fatal counting began, the shots fell, and behind the clouds of powder, each glance sought the falling opponent, but only Buschmann had the satisfaction of rejoicing in that spectacle.
Blanden sank to the ground, the officer's bullet had struck his breast.
Kuhl and the surgeon knelt beside him. Buschmann did not trouble himself about his victim, did not even vouchsafe a casual enquiry; with a hasty greeting, he left the scene of the conflict.
The surgeon gave hopes; the ball had penetrated the chest, but it appeared to him to be one of those rare cases in which no serious injury of a vital organ had taken place. Kuhl also shared that opinion.
After adjusting the bandages, Blanden was lifted into the carriage, and driven home. The drive was very exhausting, and as the carriage rattled over the stone pavement, Blanden lost consciousness.
When he awoke out of the dull web of a confused world of dreams, with its shadows melting into one another, he saw a pale form seated by his bed.
It was Giulia.
Her gaze rested anxiously upon him; she kissed his unclosing eyes, she kissed his hands amidst scalding tears.
He had fought for his betrothed, from henceforth she would be his.
Giulia nursed Blanden unweariedly; she let the performance of "Il Barbière di Sevilla" be postponed again and again, to the great annoyance of theimpressario, and only when Blanden began to recover did she attend the rehearsals.
Calm as she appeared by the bedside, a mighty struggle was disturbing her soul.
She often gazed with silent emotion upon his noble gentle features, as he lay there with closed eyes, when his wounded chest heaved with convulsive breathing. For her he had gone to meet death. Was he the victim of a lie? Her passionate love was indeed truth, although all else might be deception.
She had but one alternative, the fearful alternative of losing him for ever, or of conquering him by impious defiance of law and custom.
She was an Italian; she possessed fiery blood, and the language which passion spoke, even if it drove her out into the boundless, was to her almost irresistible.
Grown up in a stage world, in which adventures are represented before the footlights and experienced behind the scenes, she had no true comprehension of the limits of respectable life; she was inclined in it to perceive a restraint over which the laws of the heart had the right to triumph. Brigandage lives in the blood of Italians; there is also abrigantaggioof the heart, which breaks into the sanctuaries of the law with daring boldness, and deems the power of life higher than that which only seems to be a lifeless form, a written paragraph. What is unworthy, let it be authorised by earth or heaven, appears to be a fetter, to break which, is esteemed an act of heroism, even although it may be deemed a crime in the eyes of the world.
But she knew that Blanden thought differently; here in the North the law was a great power; he possessed a knightly mind, which never thinks of deception. She could only be really his if she took all the daring upon herself alone, converting a degrading secret into a new heavy load of guilt.
And had not the worst happened already, and from no fault of hers? Had he not suffered heavy pain for the sake of the impossible, which could only become possible by impudent deception, and unbroken silence? Should she not now, if she confessed all, prepare him a certain painful disappointment, which hereafter only hostile chance could bring upon him?
Who guarantees any long endurance to happiness? She would enjoy it, even if the chasm which yawns behind every bliss were nearer to her and deeper than it usually is. But she could only obtain and enjoy this felicity with heart-throbbings and anguish of conscience, condemned to everlasting anxiety, dependent upon the good-will, the whims of a despicable man; this roused her heart against fate, robbed her of sleep, and dreams full of wild pictures of horror drove her terrified mind hither and thither in alarm.
Ever again her conscience rebelled, and urged her to a confession that would free her; ever again she repressed it firmly, as the huntsman restrains the dog that will frighten away the game of which he is secure.
Beate was calmer, she had given an account of her visit to Baluzzi, she would decidedly not give up all hope, and thought he would still allow himself to be persuaded to become a subject of that country; but Giulia cried in supreme excitement--
"No, no, the disgrace of my life must remain in everlasting obscurity, how foolish to wish to drag it into court; it was a thought that could only come to me in utter helplessness. Then, too, Blanden would be lost to me; would there be anything more degrading for me, than to have to acknowledge that man before all the world? Only in deepest secrecy can my welfare lie."
When Blanden became better, he spoke to his nurse of their marriage. Giulia covered him with kisses, but she shuddered inwardly, both with joy and fear. Ever nearer drew the fatal moment which she awaited with equally ardent longing and nameless terror.
More agitated than ever, she returned home. Beate was all the more cheerful, and hummed an Italian popular air.
"I envy you your good humour, but it appears to me to be almost like mockery of me and my urgent need."
"When there is a wedding in prospect, one cannot be sad."
"A wedding, oh my God! Happiness which all the world would envy me, envy me with reason, which I would not reject, even if my soul's salvation were at stake--and side by side with the most supreme delight, stand the feelings of a criminal who is led to execution!"
"Vedremo--there may still be a means of escape."
"A means of escape--does not danger ever hover over my head, mortal danger?"
"Perhaps there are means of disarming it."
"Oh, speak! You are clever and cunning, Beate. I hunger for a word of hope, of comfort, for relief in my unbounded fear."
"It would be a risk--"
"What would I not risk in order to be free from this racking torture of my heart."
"You could not undertake this risk, only I, and the consequences if it fail, would fall heavily upon my head."
"I would implore you even to undertake the most daring act, if it can bring me rescue. And yet how could I plunge you too into destruction, require a sacrifice of you for which I can grant you no compensation?"
"That be my affair, inseparable friendship in life and death is compensation for all."
"Carissima, good Beate," said Giulia, as she cordially embraced her friend.
"And then--I like setting out upon adventures, even if I must traverse break-neck paths. Danger attracts me, and all secrecy, even if it be not exactly sweet, has a great charm for me. It makes my blood surge, then I feel that I live! And if such a bold plan have succeeded, ah, what a triumph! Then people will say, 'what does not lie in such a pretty little head,' then one imagines oneself like the mouse that, in the fable, gnawed the lion's bonds. But to play a trick upon such an overbearing villain and robber, secretly, in the dead of night, without him perceiving or knowing it; to remove the weapon out of his hand--that alone is worth risking this neck for; I hope the saints will not leave so pretty a little creature as Beate Romani quite in the lurch."
"And what do you think of doing?"
"Give me money, I will travel to Italy."
"To Italy?"
"To the lake of Orta, to the island of San Giulio!"
"You will--"
"I know what I will, but not yet how I will carry it out. That must be left to the impulse of the moment. The past is a fairy tale, a legend, if the proofs be wanting. I will destroy the proofs."
"Beate!"
"Where are they, but upon the little rocky island of Berengar? There they still display the skin of that snake, which Saint Giulo killed; well, I hope that the little viper into which Beate Romani is to be transformed, will succeed with the new saints who keep guard there."
"You are contemplating a crime?"
"I am contemplating the destruction of a great lie, which clings to your life as if with the arms of a polypus. A lie for your heart, but a truth for the world; a vile, shameful truth if I do not--but what matter is that to you? Do not question me too much! What I do, I shall do alone, and because it pleases me. I ask you for the money for my journey--let the rest be my care."
Giulia sat there with folded hands; should she give her consent to a deed which, as she suspected, was directed against law and church!
Yet could she hesitate? Her passion drove her still farther upon the fatal course, and shuddering inwardly, she was obliged to confess to herself that every act of Beate's was less of a sacrilege than that which she now so often firmly and steadily contemplated, and the worst consequences of which her friend sought to avert.
To that first meeting, to that short-lived felicity by which she first emancipated herself from her stern duty, this lawless deed was now, as if forcibly, and ever anew united to unholy consequences.
Giulia wrung her hands in despair.
"Let me consider it, weigh it--not too hastily accede to the transient idea! Too much is at stake for me--for you!"
"A leaf in the wind--and all is done!"
"A leaf in the wind?" said Giulia thoughtfully "is my life not one already? And if your plan miscarry, if they catch you--?"
"From my childhood I have been used to walk on narrow paths, often have wandered with my father across the steep boundary roads of the Italian Tyrol; with him have crouched under rocky boulders, or in concealment behind the lofty Arves, have slided down glaciers without being afraid of the yawningcrevassesin which death lurked! They shall not catch me, and if such an incredible thing were to happen, well it would only befall me! You may be calm and need have no fear."
Giulia still hesitated, and begged for a few more days for reflection.
Meanwhile theimpressariocould be appeased no longer, and Giulia was obliged to appear as Rosina!
While she had been nursing Blanden, excluded from the world, her enemies had been indefatigably active in destroying her character. Buschmann had kept his word, and in revenge had spoken everywhere with most ruthless exaggerations of her affair with Blanden. The duel, it is true, had not come to the official knowledge of the authorities, but it was spoken of in every circle. People pitied Blanden, but with the pity soon was mingled the condemning verdict, "he loves adventures!" The Signora herself, however, appeared as one of those intriguingprime donne, who know how to attract a number of lovers and admirers, and then set them one against another, so that some fatal scandal may show the power of their beauty in high relief.
In this troubled domain of public opinion, Spiegeler now cast his evil seed--notice after notice full of piquant stings, innuendoes, unmistakable hints. In his paper he had an article, "Behind the Scenes;" there Giulia was the heroine. In the most absurd paragraphs, she was not named, but none could fail to guess it was she. Side by side with them appeared criticising treatises upon the art of song, containing most violent attacks upon Signora Bollini, who was invariably held up as an appalling example of bad mannerisms and taste. Müller von Stallupöhnen, who with his ivorybâtonas yet had conducted none of his own operas, supported the journalist, so void of musical knowledge, in this labour. Had not the directors of the East Sea town already rejected four of his operas, and favoured Italian music in a marked manner by the Signora's long engagement?
And what were these Italian composers compared with him? His music was full of deep meaning, truly dramatic, besides which every character had its musical brief, and as Shakespeare's kings were ushered in by a flourish of trumpets, so were his heroes by a few bars of instrumental performance. He scorned all that was pleasantly unmeaning, all that was attractively melodious; when his heroes sang, it was but a musical mode of speaking, to which the orchestra imparted all sharper accents, and a few significant inter-punctuations. But when the tempest of his genius stirred up the depths of the orchestra, so that in almost every bar some old musical rule suffered shipwreck, and the most outrageous impossibilities, the most startling dissonances dashed into the air like spectral water spouts out of the foaming, splashing waves; then indeed must enthusiasm, ecstasy know no bounds, and even the public be transformed into a stormy, raging mass, out of which the thunder of applause should break loose as if with elementary power. This Müller had, it is true, never experienced, but he saw and heard it in imagination. If he could only once touch the conductors desk with that ebon magic wand, this unbounded exultation of delight must be set free. But it never came about; the directors were to blame. Instead of it the coquettish tone-muse of Italy, which is so undramatic that she represents Luciâ di Lammermoor's madness in the most lively dance music, flaunted upon the stage with all her tinsel of trills andfioriture. In such a frame of mind, Müller von Stallupöhnen helped the venomous reporters to lay traps for the directors and for the wicked representative of Italian monkey-like art.
On the evening of the performance of the "Barbière" the house was filled, but a peculiar disquiet prevailed, as if some unusual event were in the air. Kuhl sat in the stalls beside his Cäcilie, who now appeared to be inseparable from him, and near poet Schöner.
"Something is going on," said the Doctor to his younger friend, "people are not in a pleasant mood. Nothing can be so little counted upon as the public. And what is it really? It is only a shadow, a spectre, as little tangible as the old ocean god Proteus, and, if one would hold it fast, it assumes all colours and shapes. The public of to-day is no longer that of yesterday; the crowd which is afterwards dispersed through the streets, is no longer the same which is assembled here. Schiller's epigram, 'When it isin corpore, a blockhead springs up,' refers more to the bench, it is true, but such a theatrical audience is a many-headed monster, and as stupid as an old grass grown dragon of the early ages. What has not this public already applauded? Göethe as much as Aubery's dog, Schiller not less than a fiddler, who plays upon one string; the greatest poet and the most miserable clown! Often the rheumatism of idiotcy possesses its joints, which are paralysed, and do not move before what is sublime; then again it is electrified by the most foolish joke, and the unwieldy mass moves hands and feet like a marionette! As the wind rushes through an empty furnace, so does so-called public opinion rush through these empty heads. Thus it sometimes causes a mighty disturbance! The crowd has a certain instinct when it is gathered together, and a species of common feeling; it is like a huge body revolving upon the same pivot; it tastes with one tongue and spits flames out of one jaw; it lets itself be moved by one turn-screw, like a colossal engine. And by what crooked screws has it not already been moved! Upon the whole it is rude, and if its hat be not knocked from its head, it does not doff it to genius! Oh, ye poor geniuses! In what difficulties ye find yourselves! Ye struggle for fame, and yet fame, in the first instance, can only come from this crowd which possesses no sense of immortality; and again it is the pillar of immortality--what sad means by which to gain it! Really, only the idiotic flatterers of the crowd ought to be famous, and often have been so in their lifetime. The fame of the best is a marvel, and I am tired of pondering upon it."
"Well, everything beautiful, and art itself is a marvel," replied Schöner, "and even if many a genius has been shipwrecked, we rejoice for those who have gained the victory after a long conflict with the crowd's want of judgment and changeability."
Behind them the two speakers heard a lively somewhat sharp girl's voice.
"It is time that an end be put to this Italian opera, it spoils our taste; thisprima donnasits here as firmly as a fly in amber, and has also made it her especial task to spoil our morals; all varieties of reports are circulated which even penetrate into our establishment. There is no quarantine against it, however many proper means of fumigation may be employed, the infection is in the air. There is only one means, she must away, and I am delighted at the lynch-law by which she will be banished."
"You are right, quite right, uncommonly right," said the old governess, to whom Lori had addressed these words, as she, nodding approval, vibrated with intense excitement.
It was no secret that Blanden loved this singer; he had fought for her, he had been wounded for her sake.
She it was then of whom he had thought when he had listened barely, even absently, to Lori's eloquent words; this theatrical lady of doubtful origin had borne away undoubted victory from a daughter of the educated classes; she was the lotus-flower, the goddess who floated before his eyes, when Lori alluded so futilely to those verses, in which the handsome tutor had poured out his heart to her?
This demanded revenge!
Soon should her innermost indignation receive the desired satisfaction for being so shamefully set aside; with delight she imbibed Spiegeler's ill-nature with her breakfast, yes, she forgot her dignity as mistress of the school, so far as to initiate her pupils into this delicious piece of scandal. Her heart was too full, she must speak to Dr. Sperner also, who listened devoutly to the outpourings of her heart, while a significant smile played around the corners of his mouth, and he complacently stroked his splendid moustache.
"But why do you smile, Herr Doctor?" asked she at last, with annoyance.
"You speak of Herr von Blanden in a tone--"
"In a tone such as his conduct merits."
"Then I beg your pardon," said the tutor, as he bowed, "I was mistaken, I thought you were a friend of that gentleman, for I had the honour of witnessing a confidential meeting which you vouchsafed to him."
Lori thought of the large newspaper in the confectioner's shop, behind which the fatal moustache had appeared, and blushed before the importunate spy, who rejoiced maliciously at his little triumph. But then he placed himself completely at his principal's disposal, who was soon in a position to make use of his offer, for public opinion was supremely excited--the "effects of the reports behind the scenes," of which Spiegeler had spoken, had not failed in their result; the singer's next appearance must cause a great sensation and had already been foretold by Spiegeler, naturally not in the sense of an ovation, but with evil-minded, crooked, double meaning. Sperner was not the man to be a laggard on such an occasion; he offered his services to Lori.
"Do not deny it," said he, with wonted impudence, "you bear a grudge in your heart to this Blanden and the singer. Our French governess, whose accent may God improve, would term itdépit amoureux, but I am far from wishing to employ such outrageous French expressions in honest German."
Lori blushed again; her lips quivered, but the Doctor's fiery eyes rested so triumphantly and with such superiority upon her that the word died upon her lips.
"Good, neither Herr von Blanden nor the singer trouble me, but I will not allow our establishment, for which I have the warmest affection, to suffer from its principal's melancholy mood. You are so sad now, Fräulein Baute, that the entire first class has lost its smile, as people say--you make mountains out of mole-hills. The concern suffers from it, we might lose pupils, the consequences would be serious. There are sensitive girlish natures which close their calix-like delicate flowers when the sun ceases to shine. For these your smile, Fräulein Baute, is the sunshine of the establishment. We, we who are not so sensitive, are, at least, angry at the winter of your displeasure! All the same--if an execution of the Bollini shall take place, I am ready for any executioner's service; I have friends to whom the Italian sing-song is objectionable, and who prefer a German drinking song to anyaria. We will work for you, Fräulein Baute; a cavalier who makes so little of a rendezvous as this Herr von Blanden is rightly served when his night-light is blown out."
"What you say, dear Herr Doctor," said Lori, "is most objectionable in tone and manner, and really not calculated for a girl's ears. I will forget it. As to the rest, you have the right to think a singer as bad as you choose! You belong to the public, and the public is sovereign."
The result of this conversation was that on the fatal evening Dr. Sperner, with several young friends, sat in a very determined attitude in several rows in front of the mistress of the school. Lori's eyes rested upon him with satisfaction, when he turned round and nodded a confidential smiling greeting to her.
"There will be a disturbance to-day," Lori whispered to Cäcilie, sitting exactly before her.
"But why in the world?" asked the other.
"The affair with Blanden--"
"But Signora Bollini will not sing falsely on that account."
"Who knows?" said Lori, "those who are out of tune in life, are also out of tune in art; we must set ourselves against the importation of the equivocal doings of large towns; I should only approve if our public raise a decided demonstration."
"She is a splendid florid singer," replied Cäcilie. "After all, the audience in a theatre has only to judge of the singing and not to distribute the Monthyon prize of virtue; the most celebrated actresses would not have received it."
Lori shook her curls angrily at such an evasive opinion, and leaned back in her chair abruptly terminating the conversation.
There was indeed something menacing in the attitude of the audience; here and there small groups might be observed, sitting together, prepared for a common task.
The parties measured one another with hostile glances, with defiant countenances. Lieutenant Buschmann sat in a stage-box and examined his faithful adherents under the chandelier, gathered there like a dense dark cloud. Here and there appeared a noncommissioned officer, who should evidently preserve intact the communications between the separate troops, although he might not take part personally in the intended salvo.
The Lieutenant was annoyed to perceive the long, thin figure of Merchant Böller in the opposite stage-box, where he had placed a few large bouquets of flowers upon the balustrade, and with yet greater displeasure he saw that his former friend and companion appeared in the pit, and greeted a number of young merchants with a friendly shake of the hand. Those, then, were the opponents!
It appeared to be a fine corps, well organised; the powerful shake of the hand promised vigorous work; bright confidence of success was depicted upon every feature.
"This miserable Brackenburg," muttered Buschmann to himself, "Clärchen has long since sacrificed him to her Egmont, and he still runs about the market and mobilises the citizens. Well, the iron tread of my Spaniards will pass implacably over them."
His confidence in the success of the good cause which he represented suddenly increased, when a noisy human stream suddenly poured into the pit, Spiegeler, in front, stamping with his crutches, eager for the fight.
Ah, that was Blücher at Waterloo! Now the victory was decided, those were veteran troops which he led, accustomed to the battle-fire of a theatre, accustomed to obey the leader's signal, to work together in irresistible onslaught, obstinate and tough enough to overcome all resistance. That was the select battalion of theclaquewhich understood how to raise the flag of fame on high, but also how to tear it down and trample it in the dust.
Buschmann's features became radiant. What could Böller's volunteers, with their undisciplined enthusiasm do against these well trained troops, which could stand immovably under fire?
In the densely crowded pit, however, Spiegeler at once recognised an enemy in his immediate vicinity--the singer's friend, the repulsive Italian, who had given him a palpable proof of this friendship. Despite all menaces, the critic had not brought the affair into court, because he did not wish that the episode at the "fleck" boiler's, by means of a trial and newspapers, should become too generally known; he believed rightly that his position as a critic might suffer if people learned what species of anti-criticism had been his portion. But secretly he brooded upon revenge.
He was delighted to perceive that Baluzzi stood amidst the faithful, who surrounded him like a lightning-laden cloud, and hoped that at the coming discharge some unexpected blow would fall upon the intruder's head.
The curtain rose when the overture ceased, the audience listened in breathless expectation; Figaro's song was tempestuously applauded. Giulia's friends aired their enthusiasm; their opponents, on the other hand, wished to make the contrast all the more conspicuous by previously helping a mediocre baritone to a brilliant success.
The singer was quite amazed at the unusual storm of approval with which he was greeted; he bowed his acknowledgments amid the most beautiful dreams of a future that fluttered through his mind; at last his great talent had met with merited recognition; in spirit he saw himself already as the first baritone at the Berlin Court opera house.
Then the street was changed into Bartolo's room. Rosina appeared.
Böller, always ready for service, hurled his wreaths behind the footlights, and gave the signal for applause; the young merchant guards in the pit joined in, also Kuhl and Schöner, and several unconcerned listeners in the stalls.
But simultaneously Buschmann and Spiegeler discharged their infernal machines--a hissing arose, as when fire and water are mingled. Others again commanded silence. Rosina began in a frightened voice; her heart, indeed, was heavy, but the power of the music soon carried her away above that dull oppression.
She sang with all her feelings--