The company had all assembled, and were gradually finding their way
from the close rooms into the garden, where the superb afternoon
attracted them all. The elderly ladies and gentlemen walked up and down
in the shady avenues, or inspected the superb greenhouses; the younger
people tried to arrange games on a beautiful lawn, which was partly
overshadowed by old, broad-branching trees; and from a corner in the
park, where a shooting-gallery had been improvised, firing was heard at
intervals. Melitta remembered the adage, that the reputation of young
women is made by old women, and thought that as she intended to enjoy a
certain degree of liberty at the ball, she had better pay for it now by
a few small sacrifices; she joined therefore a party of old ladies, the
Countess Grieben, the Baroness Trantow, and others. Oswald had at first
joined the young people, to whom Langen had introduced him, and had
helped to arrange some games which he had known in the capital, and
which he adapted skilfully to the exigencies of the day. The company
had met his suggestions with universal applause, and he was on the high
way of becoming eminently popular. But when he saw that Melitta would
not join the circle in which he was, he availed himself of a suitable
opportunity to escape. Langen had followed him, and overtook him in a
narrow path between two rows of bushes, where Oswald enjoyed the
innocent pleasure of picking gooseberries.
"God be thanked!" said Langen, following Oswald's example and
plundering a currant-bush, which hung full of blood-red clusters. "We
have escaped that horror! Curses be upon the man who invented social
games! Are the gooseberries ripe?"
"Delicious!"
"You must pay me a visit soon. My estate is only an hour or so from
Grenwitz. My wife, who has presented me a few weeks ago with a beauty
of a little girl, and who is not yet strong enough to go to large
parties, will be glad to make your acquaintance. If you will fix a day,
I will send my carriage for you."
"I accept your invitation with pleasure," said Oswald, who was almost
put to shame by this extraordinary kindness on the part of a man from
that class which he denounced so severely. "Suppose we say next
Sunday?"
"You are always welcome. If you would like to bring the boys, do so; I
have a couple of ponies, which the boys will like better than Nepos and
Ovid together.--Ah me! _Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim!_
There comes the Countess Grieben at the head of her staff. _Sauve qui
peut!_"
The young men slipped into another garden walk which crossed the first
at right angles, and were soon beyond the reach of the ladies' eyes.
Oswald, for his part, would have liked to stay, for he had noticed
Melitta in the "staff," and had hoped to catch a look in passing; but
he considered it his duty not to abandon his new friend, who had shown
himself so very amiable during the whole afternoon.
"You do not seem to be very fond of society. Baron Langen," he said,
smiling at the hurry of the young man.
"That society--no! I was brought up in almost absolute solitude. My
father, who is not very wealthy, sacrified society to the interest of
his children. Then I was sent to school. I should have liked to go to a
university, but my father needed me on the farm, especially as he grew
older and could not do as much as formerly himself. Since then my good
father has left us, and I have hardly ever been away from the _paterna
rura_. Are you anything of a sportsman?"
"No; I have never yet had an opportunity to cultivate the Nimrod
talent, which no doubt is quietly slumbering somewhere in my nature."
"Oh! that is a pity. But that will come. We have excellent sport:
wild-fowl and hares. You ought at first to practise a little with the
pistol. One learns to take aim and to have a steady hand."
"Well, pistol-shooting I have practised perhaps too much in my life,"
replied Oswald. "My father, a teacher of languages and a very peaceful
man, had a real passion for pistol-shooting; it was his only amusement.
He shot as I have never seen anybody shoot, with marvellous skill. I
have never found out what could have given him such a passion for it.
Once I thought I would ask him about it. I shall never forget the tone
in which he answered; 'There was a time when I hoped I should be able
to kill a man who had mortally offended _him_. When I was perfectly
sure of my aim--the man died. Since then I fancy I am firing at him;
every ace of spades which my ball hits is his false, cruel heart.' I
begged him to give me the name of the man. 'That I cannot do,' he
answered; 'but if you choose to have your share in my feelings--take it
for granted that the ace of spades is the heart of some nobleman or
other.'"
"_Mon Dieu!_" said Langen; "and have you really inherited this fanatic
hatred against my caste from your father?"
"Only partially," said Oswald, "as I have only inherited a part of his
skill in pistol-shooting.--Shall we go for a moment to the stand? I
judge from the sound we must be quite near."
"Bravo, bravo!" cried a number of voices from there; "Cloten, I bet on
you."
"I bet on Breesen," said another voice.
They found at the stand half a dozen gentlemen perhaps, all greatly
excited, with the exception of Baron Oldenburg, who, leaning against
his tree, and his hands in his pockets, looked at the marksmen and
hummed stanzas from the Marseillaise through his teeth.
"Bravo, Cloten. Again the bull's-eye--the fellow shoots like the
devil!" cried several voices.
"Has anybody else a desire to bet?" said Cloten, looking all around
with a wonderfully self-complacent air.
"I should like to bet, if you please," said Oswald.
"You?" said the dandy, with a look of speechless surprise.
"I bet a sovereign on the gentleman," said Oldenburg, grinning. "Who
will take it?"
"Done! Done!" cried several voices.
"I take it all!" said Oldenburg, who seemed to enjoy the joke of the
thing highly.
"Our bets have been a dollar so far--does that suit you?" said Cloten
to Oswald.
"Of course."
"But Doctor Stein does not know the pistols," said Langen; "and Cloten
has no doubt become quite familiar with them. That is hardly fair."
"If it was only a question of money," said Oswald, "I should try. But
as others choose to bet on my shooting, I should like to have a trial
shot first."
"Of course," said Breesen; "that is a matter of course," cried Baron
Barnewitz.
"Won't help him much," said Cloten, in a low tone.
"Do you see that pine cone up there, Baron Langen?" said Oswald, when
they had handed him a loaded pistol; "that one at the extreme end of
the branch?"
"Yes; but that is at least fifty feet."
"Never mind. These pistols look as if they would be safe even at a
greater distance."
Oswald raised his pistol. All eyes were intently gazing at the pine
cone.
"Ah, yes!" said Oswald, dropping his pistol again. "Would you have the
kindness. Baron Barnewitz, to introduce me to the gentleman who has
been pleased to form so good an opinion of my skill?"
"Quite forgot. Beg ten thousand pardons. Baron Oldenburg--Doctor
Stein."
"Ah, Baron Oldenburg," said Oswald, lifting his hat with his left hand.
"I hope you see the pine cone, baron."
"Quite distinctly!" replied Oldenburg, bowing politely.
Oswald raised his pistol once more, aimed a second--the pine cone came
down, shattered to pieces.
"Famous!" cried Baron Barnewitz. "Cloten, you have found your master."
"_Nous verrons!_" said Cloten. "You have the first fire, Doctor."
Oswald took the other pistol and fired, almost without taking aim.
"Centre!" cried the servant at the target, making a bow to the marksman
before putting a patch on the hole.
"Cloten, pay forfeit!" cried Oldenburg, jingling money in his pocket.
"Centre!" was heard once more from the target
"You see?" said Cloten, handing his pistol to another servant to be
loaded again.
"I think we had better take another aim or a greater distance," said
Oswald; "with a bull's-eye the size of a dollar, and only forty feet
off, Baron Cloten and I will have to fire a long time before the match
is decided. Are there any cards to be had?"
"I am content," said Cloten.
"Have you any cards, Frederick?" Baron Barnewitz asked.
"Yes, sir!"
"Take away the target and nail an ace of spades against the tree!"
"Of course, we shall only count the balls that pierce the ace itself,
or at least touch it," said Oswald.
"Of course!" said Cloten.
"Now the thing is fairly under way," said young Breesen, and rubbed his
hands with delight.
"Cloten, pay forfeit," said Oldenburg once more, and sang through his
teeth:
"Pine cones--ace of hearts--
Why, my love, why, it smarts?
Is it hatred--is it love?"
Cloten aimed carefully, but whether the new aim disturbed him, or his
hand had become nervous, his ball only grazed the upper edge of the
card. Oswald stepped forward, his eye took in the whole number of
noblemen who surrounded him. "Take it for granted that the ace of
spades is the heart of some nobleman or other," he heard a well-known
voice whisper.... He fired, and in the place of the ace there was a
hole a little smaller than his ball.
"Console yourself, Cloten," said Oldenburg. "'_Non semper arcum tendit
Apollo_'--that means: failures must come."
"Really superb," said Baron Barnewitz, showing the card to the company;
"the ace cut out clean."
"Do you wish your revenge, Baron Cloten?" asked Oswald.
"No, thank you, some other time. Feel my hand is not quite steady
to-day."
"Why did you not pay forfeit, Cloten?" laughed Oldenburg, pocketing the
money he had won.
"Here they are! here they are!" said suddenly a dozen girls' voices,
and from behind the shrubbery which separated the shooting-gallery from
the path there appeared Emily von Breesen, her cousin Lisbeth von
Meyen, and one of the three Misses Nadelitz, like so many white
butterflies.
"You are nice gentlemen--spoilers of fun--instantly you come back with
us!" said one after another.
"Surely, you might do something better, Adolphus, than to spend the
whole afternoon here with your stupid firing," said Emily to her
brother.
"He must come, too," cried Lisbeth, "we take them all captive.
You, Emily, take the doctor, you are the strongest and he is the
leader--Natalie, Natalie, hold Baron Langen! he wants to run away."
"Gentlemen!" said Oswald, "resistance would be high treason!--Ladies!
we surrender unconditionally," and he offered Emily von Breesen his
arm.
The two other gentlemen followed his example, and the three handsome
couples ran off laughing.
"An elopement in _optima forma_," grinned Oldenburg.
"I suppose we had better go too," said Barnewitz, "for I fear if we
were to wait till the young ladies come for us we would have to wait
forever."
"_Allons, enfants de la patrie!_" sang Oldenburg, in the falsest
possible tone, and with a voice which sounded very much like the
crowing of a hoarse rooster on a rainy day, and took Cloten under the
arm.
"Cloten, _mon brave_, we are growing old," he said, as they were
walking towards the house, a little behind the others. "If we do not
make haste to get married we shall lose all our prospects of conjugal
happiness, legitimate paternity, and a speedy death. Amen!"
"Ah, nonsense! Baron, you are at least five years older than I am."
"That did not prevent the young ladies from treating us both like
dogs."
"That little Emily is a prodigiously pretty little girl."
"_Si, signore_, and what eyes she made the doctor! Great, big, gray
eyes, full of love! At sixteen that is doing well."
"Wretched doll-baby."
"Who? Miss Emily?"
"Ah! that man, the doctor."
"Ah, indeed! Did I not tell you so? The girls are crazy about him. And
how the man shoots! Cloten! I should not like to stand at ten feet
distance from him, with the seconds behind us?"
"Ah! Thank you! Don't fight with a man of low birth. Too unfair. Don't
you think so, baron?"
"Perhaps the man owes his life to a visit of the sons of heaven to the
daughters of earth?"
"What does that mean?"
"Don't you know that was the way before Abraham to speak of the
children of nobles who had married beneath their rank?"
"No, never heard of it before! Sons of heaven? famous! Generally, Holy
Writ too severe for me. Just imagine, baron--that idea--all men from a
single pair! Nobles and not nobles!--Nonsense, impossible, ridiculous!
Always thought Holy Writ must have been translated by men of low birth.
Always annoyed when old tutor explained it otherwise."
"Cloten," said Oldenburg, standing still and placing his hand on his
companion's shoulder. "Cloten! You are a great man. That thought is
worthy of the deepest thinker of all ages!"
"Ah, pshaw!--are you in earnest, baron, or are you trying to chaff me
again?"
"My dear Cloten," said Oldenburg, passing his arm again under the arm
of his companion and continuing on his way; "let me tell you once for
all, I am invariably and terribly in earnest in all I say, and the
subject of which we were speaking is really of such immense importance
that it won't bear joking. Hear then--but you must not make any
improper use of what I am going to say--Cloten."
"Certainly not--_parole d'honneur!_"
"Hear then, that the same question which your genius has answered in an
instant with unfailing tact, has occupied my mind for years. I also
said to myself: The distinction between nobles and not nobles is not a
mere distinction of name, of caste--it is a distinction of blood, of
mind, of soul--_enfin_, of our whole nature. How can men so entirely
different from each other, descend from the same original pair? Where
would be the difference, if that were so? It overwhelms the mind to
think of the consequences!"
"Why, baron, at last you talk like----"
"Like a baron. I know. Hear again! This question occupied me so
persistently that I at last determined to solve it, cost what it might.
You all make fun of my solitary life, my studies, and so on. Do you
know, Cloten, what I was studying while you were amusing yourselves
with hunting and gambling?"
"No--'pon honor."
"Aramaeic, Chaldaic, Syriac, Mesopotamic, Hindoostanee,
Gangobramaputric, Sanscrit----"
"For Heaven's sake! Why, that is horrible! What for?"
"Because I was firmly convinced that there must be, somewhere in the
convents of Armenia, in the catacombs of Egypt, or elsewhere in the
East, a Manuscript which explains the matter. When I had learnt to
speak all these languages as fluently as French and German, I began
three years ago my great journey to the East. In passing through Italy
I searched all the libraries there. In Rome I met the Barnewitz party.
This meeting was very disagreeable to me, to tell the truth. I had to
accompany them to Sicily, as a matter of politeness. But in Palermo I
escaped as soon as I could."
"Ah, that explains your sudden disappearance--the 'Interrupted
Sacrifice,' great opera, and so forth."
"'Interrupted Sacrifice?' You never recollected that expression,
Cloten?"
"No--'pon honor--an invention of Hortense's; I mean of the Baroness
Barnewitz," the young man corrected himself. "She insists upon
it--_entre nous_, baron--that your meeting in Rome was not quite so
accidental on your part, and the whole journey from Rome to Palermo--is
not that the name of the place--was a perfect triumph for the Berkow;
Sacrifice--'Interrupted Sacrifice.' Ha, ha, ha!"
"But I do not understand you, Cloten?"
"Well, _entre nous_, Hortense has a good deal to say about that
journey. For instance, a scene during the passage from Ciproda----"
"Procida, you mean," said Oldenburg.
"Procida, I don't care which. I can't remember all those absurd names.
Well, from Procida to Naples."
"Well?"
"But, really, baron, you put the thumb-screws on too tightly. You had a
little fisher-boat, and there came a real storm--the waves were as high
as houses, and you were expecting the boat to capsize every moment.
Then you said in Italian----"
"The Barnewitz does not understand a word of Italian, as far as I
know," said Oldenburg.
"Not Hortense, but the boatmen, who told her afterwards."
"Then," growled Oldenburg, "she examined them. Well!"
"Then you said to the Berkow: Dear soul, to be drowned with you is
worth more than to live a hundred years with your cousin, or any other
woman!"
"Indeed! Does Hortense tell her friends such pretty stories? Well,
Cloten, I'll give you a piece of advice: Believe in every kiss that you
have had from Hortense's lips, or that you are going to have----"
"Ah, nonsense, baron!" said the dandy, with that smile which is meant
to be modest, and which is so horribly impudent.
"But do not believe a single word she utters. Can you really think that
I should have had nothing better to do than to court Melitta von
Berkow, when such grave, yes, such almost holy things filled my soul?
Let me tell you: I went from Sicily to Egypt, then up the Nile to Aboo
Simbul, back to Cairo, from there to Palestine, Persia, India--examined
every temple, every ruin, every crevice in the rocks. I did not find
what I looked for. At last--I was almost desperate--in the library of
the great monastery on Mount Athos----"
"Where is that, Baron?"
"Between the Indus and Oregon--there in the old library I discovered at
last the long-looked for Manuscript. There I found the whole story."
"What was it?"
"There it was stated in purest High-Bramaputric, that--translate all
that into our modern notions and expressions----"
"Yes, for Heaven's sake do so, or I won't understand a word."
"That there were, from the beginning, two pairs of human beings
created; as it could not well be otherwise: the one noble and the other
not noble. The name of this first noble race is not recorded in the
Manuscript. At the very place where it once stood, there is now a big
blot. So much is certain, it was not Oldenburg; it began with a C, and
somewhere in the middle there was a t."
"Perhaps Cloten," said the other.
"It may be, but I cannot swear to it. Nor is it said what family his
wife belonged to; she is simply called a noble damsel."
"But I thought she was made from the rib of man?"
"Why, you would not believe that stupid nonsense, Cloten? She is
expressly called a noble damsel, and so she must have been of noble
blood."
"But that is a curiously complicated story."
"Not so very complicated as you imagine. Enough, the noble gentleman
and the noble damsel, who soon became a noble lady, had a villa, which
was called Paradise--why should not a villa be called Paradise,
Cloten?"
"Nevertheless, very curious name."
"Why? Does not one call his place Solitude, another Sans Souci, and
still another Bellevue--why should not one of them have called his
Paradise? _Eh bien!_ The nobleman's servant was called Adam. Good name
for a man-servant. When he became old and stiff, they called him old
Adam--have you ever heard of a noble who was called Adam, Cloten?"
"Never in my life."
"You see there is the best proof at once. He called his servant Adam,
and his wife's chambermaid Eve--little Evy, very nice name for a maid.
My mother had a charming little maid, and her name was Evy. But Adam
was a bad fellow, just as our servants nowadays are bad fellows. And
Eva was no better. At last the old gentleman took his riding-whip and
drove both from the place. In their deportment-book he wrote: Dismissed
on account of dishonesty, fondness of dress, and laziness. That is the
story, of course only in the outline."
"Really, very remarkable, quite famous! 'pon honor! Did you bring the
book home with you, baron?"
"No; but an authenticated copy, endorsed by the justice of the peace of
the place."
"Are there justices of the peace out there?"
"But, my dear friend, how could there be a country and no justices?"
"To be sure. Still, it would be better if we had the book itself."
"Perhaps we can get it. The monks are wretchedly obstinate. I had a
great mind to poison them all with prussic acid. I shall probably do it
yet, if I ever get to that district again. Until then, we must be
satisfied with a copy."
"I say, baron, could you not let me have a copy like yours? Of course I
mean in the translation, and not in Bramaputrid, or what the nonsense
is."
"Hm! But you must promise not to show it to anybody?"
"Rely upon it."
"Perhaps to one or the other of our own circle."
"Ah! May I do that?"
"Oh yes! But do not mention my name. Tell them it was a mere hypothesis
of yours----"
"A what?"
"A mere idea, which had not yet been confirmed. When we get hold of the
original, then comes the time for your triumph and the triumph of the
good cause at once."