Count Karl Styrum had never been very fond of large entertainment, and
had accepted his uncle the President's invitation on this evening only
because he did not wish to be rude to a relative whom he had not seen
for years. The ball had hitherto been rather a bore; he did not dance,
and, stranger as he was in this society, he took little interest in
watching others dance. The only figure that his eyes followed with any
pleasure in the waltz was his cousin Adele's, and he had intended to
slip from the room unobserved, when her gracious and cousinly
invitation to him to conduct her to supper frustrated his unsocial
plan.
He could not refuse so amiable a proposal, but he promised himself but
little entertainment in her society, since, although cousins, they were
now almost entire strangers to each other. He had last visited his
uncle, his mother's brother, ten years before, when Adele was a pretty
little girl with fair curls, whom he had made a pet of and called his
little sweetheart. In the busy years that ensued he had almost
forgotten her; indeed, he had hardly remembered her name. Now he had
come to M---- to arrange a personal adjustment with his uncle of a
lawsuit between them concerning an inherited estate. It had been the
cause of a not quite friendly correspondence, and the Count had not
looked forward to a renewal of intercourse with his relatives without
some misgivings. He was all the more pleased, therefore, by the
cordiality with which his uncle received him, and begged him to forget
the odious lawsuit entirely, except when it absolutely demanded
attention as a matter of business.
"I think, my dear Karl," the President said, when the Count first
presented himself at his house a few days before the birthday ball, "we
can manage to leave all quarrelling over mine and thine to our lawyers;
let us do all we can to aid in the settlement of the question, but if
this settlement be delayed, do not, for Heaven's sake, let it disturb
the friendliness of our relations with each other any more than should
our difference in politics, which latter, most unfortunately,
embittered your father towards me during the last years of his life; to
the day of his death he could not forgive me because we Prussians were
victorious in 1866. I trust that you, Saxon soldier though you be, are
more placable, and will reflect, as I do, that your dear mother was my
favourite sister, and that we loved each other faithfully as long
as she lived. It was not our fault, as we both thought, that our
grand-uncle involved us in a lawsuit by an ambiguous will."
Count Styrum could not possibly fail to reciprocate so kind an
expression of good will on his uncle's part. He did not, it is true,
accept the pressing invitation extended to him to leave the hotel and
make the President's house his home while in M----, but he promised to
spend every spare hour beneath his roof. He did this the more readily
since his cousins welcomed him as cordially as their father had done.
On Adele's part this amiability was certainly sincere, while Heinrich,
who was an assessor in his father's office, probably acted in mere
compliance with his father's wish in the matter. Adele was thoroughly
pleased with her cousin,--she knew nothing of the lawsuit, and cared
nothing for politics,--Karl was to her simply the son of an aunt whom
she had dearly loved, and with whom she could remember passing happy
weeks, in Dresden, in her childhood, when "Cousin Karl" had always been
so kind to her. During all the long years of absence she had never
forgotten him, and she treated him now with a degree of sisterly
familiarity which greatly pleased him. He would gladly have availed
himself of his uncle's kindness to pay frequent visits to his
relatives, but his stay in M---- was very short, and most of his time
was occupied in interviews with his lawyers, who would not listen to a
friendly adjustment of the matter in hand, so that until this evening
he had scarcely done more than exchange a few cursory remarks with
Adele. He had been favourably impressed by her frank and easy gayety of
manner, but she had not aroused in him any deeper interest, and he had
accepted with some reluctance her invitation to be her escort to
supper, since this would of necessity detain him longer than he had
proposed to stay at the ball. Suddenly, however, his feeling with
regard to her changed entirely, upon witnessing her spirited opposition
to Count Repuin. How beautiful she was as she confronted the Count with
indignation flashing from her eyes! and how lovely was the change in
her expression when she turned to her friend with such tender
affection! Involuntarily he compared the two young creatures before
him.
A few minutes previously he would have pronounced Frau von Sorr the
more beautiful of the two,--the most beautiful woman, indeed, whom he
had ever seen; but now there was no doubt that the golden-haired Adele,
with her earnest eyes sparkling with anger and then melting with
tenderness, was, if not the more beautiful, by far the more attractive.
It was strange that never until this instant had he been impressed by
this exquisite development of the pretty child into the lovely woman.
And now, when, after Count Repuin's departure, she gayly entreated her
friends to forget the unpleasant scene they had witnessed, and when,
seated at the supper-table, she did all that she could to dissipate
Frau von Sort's melancholy and win a smile from her, she seemed to her
cousin more enchanting than ever. She so managed the conversation that
neither Frau von Sorr, who could not soon forget what had just
occurred, nor the Assessor, who was rather ashamed of the part he had
played, was obliged to talk much, while Count Styrum was drawn on to
speak of his travels, and this all the more willingly as he felt he was
seconding Adele's efforts in so doing.
The Count had resigned from the army at the close of the war, and, that
he might be prepared for the management of the large estates to which
he was heir, had spent a year in attending the lectures at Tharandt.
Then, in company with a former comrade in the army, who had been his
fellow-student also, Baron Arno von Hohenwald, he had travelled for a
year in Belgium, Holland, England, and Italy, being finally called home
by the death of his father.
The Count was an admirable narrator as well as observer: no one could
throw more interest than he into the details of his travels, and on
this occasion he surpassed himself. Not only did Adele listen with
sparkling eyes, now and then asking an eager question, but Frau von
Sorr was gradually aroused to attention and interest. The Assessor
alone was very silent and not at all comfortable. In addition to the
mortifying consciousness that he had failed entirely to undertake the
defence of Frau von Sorr against Count Repuin, he could not help
experiencing a decided envy of Count Styrum, who was thus monopolizing
the conversation, and evidently making a favourable impression upon
Adele.
Although he enjoyed the proud consciousness that among the gifts with
which kind nature had endowed him, and of which he would not boast, a
talent for conversation which had frequently stood him in stead was
most conspicuous, here he was undeniably thrown into the background,
and this, too, in the presence of his adored Adele. He several times
attempted to divert the talk from these overrated adventures of travel,
but without success, until at last, upon the frequent mention by the
Count of the name of his companion, Arno von Hohenwald, he broke into
the conversation with, "Do I understand you, Count? Are you really
speaking of Baron Arno von Hohenwald? I can scarcely credit that you
travelled for a year with that gloomy misanthrope, that inveterate
woman-hater. And yet it must be so, for to my knowledge there is but
one family of Hohenwalds in Saxony, and I ought to know, for I am
distantly connected with them myself. I never judge others with
severity,--it is not my nature,--but I cannot help pronouncing the
Hohenwalds, that is, the old Baron and his son Arno, haughty,
disagreeable, inaccessible people, who have very little intercourse
with any one, not even their nearest relatives. The best of them all is
Arno's brother Werner, the Finanzrath;[1] it is possible to get along
with him; but my cousin Arno?---- Really, I cannot understand how you
managed to travel with him for a whole year."
"Your judgment of my friend is very harsh and unjust," Count Styrum
replied, gravely. "And yet I cannot blame you for it, for there are few
who know how to value Arno von Hohenwald, or who, indeed, have any
knowledge at all of him."
"Of course; he is absolutely inaccessible. Can you deny that he is a
perfect misanthrope, refusing to mingle in any society, and repulsing
discourteously every advance made to him?"
"Arno is no misanthrope, but the warmest-hearted fellow and the truest
and most loyal of friends. I grant that it is not easy to win his
confidence, and that to the superficial observer he may seem to shun
intercourse with others; he has no small change of conversation for
that society where you, my dear Assessor, are in your element. In the
army he had but few intimates, And took no part in our card-parties and
the like entertainments. Nevertheless he was a good comrade whom every
one liked, for all knew that when there was need of a friend's
assistance it was sure to be found at the hands of Arno von Hohenwald,
and we forgave his burying himself among his books while we pursued our
pleasures. I alone of all his comrades could boast of any real intimacy
with him, and I am proud to think that he considered me worthy of his
friendship--his confidence."
"Oh, then he has certainly told you the story of his notorious
love-affair with the rope-maker's pretty daughter, which ended in his
being the furious woman-hater that he is! You must ask the Count to
tell you that story, madame. I assure you it made quite a noise at the
time at the Court of Saxony, where the Hohenwalds stood very high."
"I am not curious," Frau von Sorr observed.
"But I am!" Adele interposed. "I confess, Karl, that I take great
interest in your friend. I have heard much of him. Madame von Kleist is
a cousin of the late Frau von Hohenwald, and the other day, at an
afternoon party, she had such wonderful things to tell of the
eccentricities of the old Baron and his son Arno, that the entire
conversation finally turned upon the Hohenwalds, their lives and their
peculiarities. Several of the ladies present were distantly connected
with them, and they not only confirmed all that Madame von Kleist said,
but contributed various anecdotes to show that the old Baron was no
better than an ogre, and that the son Arno was following worthily in
his father's footsteps. The old Baron, they said, lives in perfect
solitude in Castle Hohenwald, never seeing a visitor, nor indeed any
one beside his two sons and his daughter, except, perhaps, the village
priest, who is the young girl's tutor. All sorts of tales are told of
the way in which the old man has repelled his relatives' advances, as
well as of his quarrel with his son Arno, whom he threatened to
disinherit because he had betrothed himself to a pretty girl of the
bourgeoisie. When the engagement was broken off Arno was reconciled to
his father, having become a more terrible misanthrope and woman-hater
than the old man himself. So you may readily imagine, Cousin Karl, how
I should like, after all these stories, to hear as much of your friend
as you can tell us without indiscretion."
Count Styrum looked annoyed. The gossiping Assessor had given a turn to
the conversation that necessitated explanations which he would gladly
have avoided. Since this turn had been given, however, he felt it due
to his friend to disprove the false reports current with regard to the
Hohenwalds. "There can be no indiscretion," he said, "in relating facts
known to many, although I certainly would rather avoid doing so since I
know my friend Arno's dislike of any discussion of his private affairs.
However, the truth had better be told about them, that it may
counteract these silly rumours with regard to the family, rumours which
some of their connections, indeed, are not ashamed to circulate."
The Assessor turned red, feeling that the Count's words might well
apply to himself, but he judged it wisest to take no notice of the
reproof conveyed in them.
"The Hohenwalds," Karl began, "have furnished food for gossip to the
Saxon aristocracy for many years. They are a singular race; their
peculiarities have been inherited for generations, but the haughty
Barons troubled themselves little as to what the world might say of
them, and lived out their convictions with unshaken fidelity. It was a
Hohenwald who, in Augustus the Strong's time, stood forth at the Saxon
Court as the champion of good old German morality in social life,
scourging with bitter words the wanton frivolity of the lovely court
dames, and denouncing the extravagant luxury that ruined poor Saxony.
All that saved him from persecution and perhaps imprisonment in
Koenigstein was Augustus the Strong's own declaration that the
Hohenwalds had always been fools--it was best to let them wag their
tongues and pay them no heed. So Werner von Hohenwald was not sent to
Koenigstein, but to his own castle, which he never left for many years,
leading much the same hermit-life there as is led by his great-grandson
to-day. Another Hohenwald, the father of the present Baron,
distinguished himself in the early part of this century as a warm
friend of Prussia and a bitter opponent of the Franco-Saxon alliance
and of the first Napoleon, who would have had him shot but for the
interposition of the king, who declared, as Augustus the Strong had
done, that the Hohenwalds were fools, not to be too severely dealt
with. He, too, was sent to live in undisturbed retirement in his own
castle. The present lord, Baron Werner, resembles his forbears; like
them he is unyielding, keen in word and in action, a steadfast, severe
man, living according to his own convictions, and holding himself aloof
from a world that does not share them. I do not know him personally,
but I have heard so much of him from my friend Arno and from my own
father, who was intimate with him many years ago, that I have a very
vivid idea of him, I can see him in my mind's eye,--a tall, stout old
man, his stern face framed in beard and hair of silver, from which the
black eyes can flash terribly when he is angry, although they beam
mildly enough when their gaze rests upon his darling, his daughter. It
is said that in his youth, departing from the traditions of his family,
he was a gay and genial man of fashion. As a wealthy landed proprietor,
he passed his summers at Hohenwald, his winters in Dresden. At that
time my father knew him well, and their friendship lasted for a number
of years after the Baron married a Countess Harrangow. He seemed to
live very happily with his beautiful wife, keeping open house, as well
in Dresden in the winter as in summer upon his estate of Hohenwald,
which is not far from the Prussian boundary. His wife's relatives
visited him frequently, and often spent weeks beneath his roof, where
they were upon the best of terms with the lord of the castle, although
they were Prussians, and he a bitter enemy of Prussia and a great
friend of Austria, never hesitating to declare his anti-Prussian
sentiments in the presence of his Prussian guests.
"A few months after the birth of his youngest child--a daughter--there
was a sudden and complete transformation in the Baron's manner of life,
the cause of which was entirely unknown. He separated from his wife,
who returned to her paternal home, where she received from the Baron a
large yearly income, but whither she was not permitted to take her
children, two sons and the baby daughter, who remained in Hohenwald. No
one knows the reason for this separation; the Baron has never by so
much as a word alluded to it, and all the reports concerning it
circulated in Dresden society, where the affair of course made a great
deal of noise, are utterly without foundation. Even the Baroness, who
died within a year after the separation, without seeing either husband
or children again, never assigned to her parents any reason for her
expulsion--for that is the only term to be applied to it--from
Hohenwald. The relatives of the Baroness, who had hitherto always found
a welcome at the castle, did all they could to effect a reconciliation
between husband and wife, but they were repulsed by the Baron with such
harshness and severity that they never renewed their efforts. My
father, too, fared no better. Relying upon the claims of long
friendship, he complied with the wishes of the king, who regretted that
the Baron should have so treated his wife's relatives, and expressed a
wish that my father would use his influence with his friend, so that if
no thorough reconciliation could be brought about, at least the public
scandal of a separation without a divorce might be avoided. With some
reluctance my father undertook the task thus assigned him. He could
hardly refuse to do so, although he had but small hope of any good
result. He went to Castle Hohenwald, where the manner of his reception
showed him the hopelessness of his mission.
"The Baron met him with a dark frown. 'What is your business with me,
Count?' he asked, without offering his hand. My father, embarrassed by
a reception in such marked contrast to the terms of friendship upon
which he had felt himself with the Baron, could not, of course,
immediately explain the real cause of his appearance at Hohenwald, and
spoke courteously of his desire to see a friend from whom he had been
separated for some time; but the Baron interrupted him with, 'Pray take
no unnecessary pains, Count. I am not fond of idle phrases, and declare
to you once for all that I will suffer no one to meddle in my affairs.
If you have been sent hither, repeat this to whoever sent you; if you
are here of your own free will, take my words to heart. If in
consideration of our former friendship you are inclined to do me a
kindness, pray shield me from any further attempt to influence me. Say
in Dresden that the gates of Castle Hohenwald are in future closed to
all visitors; that I have irrevocably and forever broken with all my
former acquaintances and friends!'
"It may easily be imagined that my father after this made no attempt to
speak with the Baron, but left Castle Hohenwald immediately, never to
return to it. From that day the gates of the castle have been closed to
every one. One or two attempts were made by near relatives to see the
Baron, but they were entirely unsuccessful,--the servants denied him to
every one. So completely did he isolate himself from his former world
that he answered no letters addressed to him except those relating
solely to business. From that time he has led the life of a hermit in
his castle, never leaving his estate, seeing no one except the pastor
and the doctor. In spite of all this, his servants and the labourers
employed upon the estate, as well as the poor of the neighbouring
villages, will stoutly deny that he is a misanthrope; they represent
him as the kindest of masters, the best of landlords. Therefore I would
advise you, Herr von Hahn, to lay stress upon this fact in your future
narratives with regard to the life of the Baron von Hohenwald."
"I shall most assuredly do so, my dear Count," said the Assessor;
adding, "Justice demands it, and I could not do otherwise, for a love
of justice is one of my characteristics. I make no boast of it, for the
gifts of nature are various; but so it is, and I am indebted to you for
your information with regard to the old Baron von Hohenwald, while I
await with eagerness what you have to tell of the son, Baron Arno."
"You will have occasion to modify your judgment of him also, for, in
spite of some eccentricities, Arno is one of the best and noblest of
men. You have already laid perhaps more than sufficient stress upon the
faults which prevent mere acquaintances from rightly estimating his
excellence. There is nothing, therefore, for me to do but to explain
how he came to share his father's eccentricity and to withdraw himself
from society."
"He is a woman-hater, then?" Adele asked, curiously.
"I cannot exactly contradict you. He shuns the sex for the fault of an
individual, but I am sure you will judge him gently when you hear his
story. I told you just now that he was a silent and reserved officer.
One of our regiment who had been with him at school described him to me
as the merriest of lads, always ready for any school-boy prank. But the
separation of his parents seems to have made a profound impression upon
him, destroying in him all the joyousness and geniality of youth. After
his mother's return to her father, Baron von Hohenwald recalled Arno to
Hohenwald from school in Dresden, and engaged as tutor for him the
pastor of the village, a very earnest and learned man. Thus the boy
grew up sharing his father's solitude; perhaps his father confided to
him the cause of his lonely life; certain it is that never during our
years of intimacy has Arno mentioned to me his mother's name. His
relations with his father were most intimate and affectionate. Whatever
cause the old Baron had for repudiating his wife, his anger was never
visited upon her children. To them he has always been the most kind and
indulgent of parents,--even to Arno's elder brother, who was much more
of a stranger to him than the others, since he, Werner, was already a
student in the university when Arno was recalled from school. The
visits to Castle Hohenwald of the elder son, who embraced a diplomatic
career, have been of necessity infrequent, so that naturally his
father's heart does not cling to him as to the constant inmates of his
household.
"His solitary life at Hohenwald fostered in Arno a love of retirement,
which was manifest during his military life in Dresden, whither he went
to join the army, by his father's desire, at the conclusion of his
studies. He would have preferred to embrace one of the learned
professions, but his father's wish was his law in this respect; and he
made a capital officer, gaining both the respect and the esteem of
his comrades and his superiors. He took lodgings in the house of a
rope-maker, and, as he spent all his evenings at home, only leaving it
to fulfil his military duties, he saw more of his hostess and her
pretty daughter than would otherwise have been the case. The daughter,
Rosalie, a young girl of sixteen, had been educated for a teacher, and
her associates at school had taught her the air and bearing of a higher
social rank than her own. How could a young man, who knew nothing of
society and the world, fail to be attracted by a girl of extraordinary
beauty and a fair degree of culture, and with manners far above those
of her class? How could he suspect the utter want of moral training
beneath so fair an exterior, or dream of the arts that were practised
to attract him? You spoke, Herr von Hahn, of a 'love-affair with the
pretty daughter of a rope-maker;' a very grave 'love-affair' it was for
Arno, for he asked the girl in marriage of her parents, and of course
received from them a glad consent to his wishes. Not only this, but, to
the extreme surprise of Rosalie's parents, the old Baron von Hohenwald
did not refuse to sanction the marriage. When Arno went to Hohenwald to
tell his father of his betrothal, the old man was naturally enough
dismayed at the prospect of such a misalliance. He represented to his
son all the consequences of so fatal a step, the disapproval it would
meet with in all quarters, the annihilation of all prospect of
advancement in his profession, the scandal it would cause in
aristocratic circles. But when Arno declared that his word was pledged,
and that nothing would induce him to recall it, his father withdrew all
opposition. He consented to the union, though he refused point-blank to
repair to Dresden to see his son's betrothed, declaring that he should
have time enough to make her acquaintance after the marriage.
"In Dresden the betrothal made a most disagreeable talk; Arno's
comrades were beside themselves; they adjured him to resign all
thoughts of the girl, hinting that she was quite unworthy of the
sacrifice he was making for her. All that they said was to no purpose,
however; and in several cases Arno was with difficulty prevented from
calling to a bloody account those who dared to remonstrate with him.
The colonel of our regiment, by advice from very high quarters, called
upon Lieutenant von Hohenwald, but his representations availed nothing
against my friend's obstinacy. Arno professed himself ready to request
his dismissal from the army, but not to break his plighted faith. This
offer on his part would doubtless have been accepted but that war with
Prussia was imminent, and the services of so brave an officer as Arno
von Hohenwald could not be spared. It was therefore intimated that the
royal consent to his marriage would be accorded him provided he would
accede to the king's wish that it should be postponed for a year. To
this condition he consented, although the pretty Rosalie pouted and
sighed, and her father and mother were quite indignant at the delay.
"During the short campaign that now took him from Dresden, Arno wrote
frequently to his betrothed, without, however, receiving a word in
reply, a circumstance for which his trusting nature found abundant
explanation in the irregularity of the Bohemian postal arrangements. At
Koeniggratz he was severely wounded; indeed, the newspapers reported him
killed, and as such they mourned him for weeks at Castle Hohenwald.
Meanwhile, he was lying unconscious in the hospital. I was in the same
ward with him, only slightly wounded, however; I was soon sufficiently
recovered to go to Dresden, on leave, to regain my strength there. When
I left Arno his condition was still very critical; in one of his
intervals of consciousness he sent a message by me to his betrothed,
which I of course made it my duty to deliver as soon as possible. I
found only the mother at home when I paid my visit to the rope-maker's,
and she shocked and disgusted me by the want of feeling she displayed
upon hearing that Arno was not dead, as had been supposed, but only
dangerously wounded. She even appeared glad to learn that, in the event
of his recovery, it must be months at least before he could come to
Dresden. On the same day, however, all that was strange in her
behaviour was fully explained to me by the physician whom I consulted
with regard to my wound, and who had been a fellow-lodger of Arno's and
his warm friend. As such he felt it his duty to acquaint me, the poor
fellow's most intimate friend, with the wretched story that so closely
concerned him, and that filled me with consternation and disgust. Arno
had been infamously deceived both by his betrothed and by her parents,
whose sole thought had been how to enrich themselves at whatever
expense of honour and honesty. Some time before her betrothal to Arno,
Rosalie had been secretly under the protection of a wealthy
manufacturer in Dresden, her connection with whom, when the report of
Arno's death seemed to her to free her from the necessity for
concealment, became a day's theme for public gossip. She flaunted her
disgrace abroad, meeting with no opposition from her parents in her
downward career. There is no need to dwell upon the details of this
miserable business; the investigations I felt it my duty to my friend
to prosecute fully confirmed the physician's story. This being the
case, what was I to do? Of course, I ought to acquaint Arno with the
facts I had learned, and yet the knowledge of them might kill him in
his present precarious state. I needed advice in the matter, and I
turned for it to my friend's father. I wrote to him telling him all,
begging him to come to Dresden to receive personal confirmation of the
truth of what I wrote, and offering, if he desired it, to go
immediately to Arno and inform him of his betrothed's worthlessness. I
supposed that the Baron would reply to my letter in person, but he did
not come to Dresden; by return of post I received a letter from him,
expressing heart-felt gratitude to me. 'I need,' he wrote, 'no further
confirmation: it is for my son to investigate this matter. Of course he
will not condemn his betrothed without hearing her in her own defence.
I suffer greatly from the gout, and cannot come to Dresden; besides, I
do not think myself justified in forestalling my son in this matter.'
He then begged me to fulfil my promise to go to Arno as soon as
possible and tell him all. 'Do not be afraid,' he said, in conclusion,
'that you will retard my son's recovery in thus performing your duty as
his friend. We Hohenwalds come of a tough stock, and know how to bear
pain; it may perhaps bend, but it will not break us. Believe me when I
tell you this.'
"He was right, as I found when a few days later, sitting at Arno's
bedside, and finding him quite himself again, I tried to prepare him
gently for what I had to say. He perceived instantly that I was the
messenger of evil tidings, and briefly and firmly bade me speak out and
tell him all that was to be told. I did so, and he listened in gloomy
silence, with downcast eyes, asking no question, giving no sign, except
the convulsive clinching of the hand that lay on the coverlet, of the
storm of emotion raging within him. When I had finished, he looked up
with eyes that seemed to read my very soul. 'I do not thank you,' he
said. 'I cannot tell, before I have seen and learned for myself,
whether you have rendered me the greatest service that one friend can
render to another, or whether I must call you to account as my mortal
foe. Until then we must part. Leave me now. I shall soon seek you out
in Dresden, either to thank or----'
"I tried to soothe him, but he repulsed me sternly, and I returned to
Dresden without seeing him again. His surgeon informed me that he
considered his condition very alarming, that he feared the worst, and
that at all events it must be months before he could leave the
hospital. So I left him, filled with remorse for having followed the
old Baron's advice; but scarcely four weeks had passed when one day
Arno entered my room in Dresden. He looked terribly,--his dark eyes
gleamed with unnatural brilliancy in his wasted countenance, his right
arm was in a sling, while, although he supported himself upon a stout
cane, he could scarcely stand. When I hurried towards him he sank, half
fainting, into my arms, and I carried rather than led him to a lounge.
He pressed my hand, and, as soon as he could speak, said, 'I thank you;
you told me nothing but the truth, and yet not all the truth. You have
saved me from a horrible fate, and I never will forget it. Add still
further to my obligations to you by granting me one request: I entreat
you never, never again to make the faintest allusion to that wretched
girl.' I promised, and since that day not one word with regard to her
has passed Arno's lips. How he parted from her I never knew. He had
spent two days in ascertaining the truth of the story I had told him,
and then came to my room, which it was long before he left again. His
strength of will had sustained him until his purpose was fulfilled, and
then he was utterly prostrated. For many a night I watched by his bed,
hopeless as to his recovery, but in the end his vigorous constitution
conquered. The old Baron was right.
"During his convalescence we often discussed our plans for the future.
We both resolved to send in our resignations. I spare you our reasons
for this course of action, for I know that you, my dear Assessor, are
one of Prince Bismarck's most enthusiastic supporters, and that my
lovely cousin Adele, as the daughter of a Prussian official high in
rank, could hardly appreciate the feeling that made it impossible for
us to continue in the army after peace was concluded. Arno's political
opinions so closely coincided with my own that our plans for the future
were the same. For him, as for me, it was simply impossible to accept
office under government, and so we determined to withdraw altogether
from public life, to study the management of estates and to find our
calling in the future in administering our own.
"I wrote to my father, and received his speedy approval of my
resolution. Arno, as soon as he was strong enough, set out for
Hohenwald. I proposed to accompany him, but to this he objected,
telling me frankly that he could not invite even his dearest friend to
Hohenwald; that his father's seclusion must be invaded by no stranger.
He attained his wish, however; his father had no objection to make to
his plans; and so we both went to Tharandt to study, and later
travelled through Europe together, until my father's death called me
home. Since then Arno has been living in Hohenwald, where, as he writes
me, he has undertaken the management of his estates. I have not seen
him, for Hohenwald is closed to every one; but we correspond
constantly, and he has promised to pay me a visit shortly."